Yet, why do I want to crack his skull open?
“Do you cook, Jarl Calder?” Serk interrupts his violent musings as he cuts carrots.
Before he can answer, Aura scoffs. “Oh no, he is a Jarl of Skalor and a Drengr of my father. He likely hunts the creature but pays someone to prepare it.”
His eyes flash at her presumptuous attitude.
How beautiful would she look bent over my knee? I could change that spirited mindset with two fingers buried in that sweet little cunt.
He shakes his head.What in the Abyss am I thinking?
“Well, Serk, had I not been so rudely interrupted,” he glances ather. “I would say my elk steak would melt in your mouth.” He plucks a carrot from the butcher block and munches while they stare at him as if he bloomed from the ground. “I prefermymeticulous way of preparing meals to trust anyone else with their care.”
Serk nods, impressed, while Aura’s eyes turn to slits as if she blames him for speaking the truth.
Don’t tempt my resolve, Princess.
“I heard the Conclave started…” Serk begins, only for a splash and shout outside to cut him off. “Shit, I better grab Eivor before she swims to the river again.” He hobbles outside on his staff.
Calder leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, as he watches the Princess relentlessly attempt to beat the dough into submission with a wooden spoon. “What in the Abyss are you doing?”
“Mixing.” She grits her teeth and pounds the spoon against the flour-coated dough mound.
By the gods, she is feisty.
The longer he studies her actions, the more he wonders how she would look with her little cunt pounded until those heavy tits pour out of that dress.
I have never been tempted like this before.
“Stop.” Calder can no longer take her ridiculousness and catches her wrist, removing the spoon and setting it back into the bowl.
His hand glides along her abdomen, pulling her closer to him. The fragrance of Blackwood tree flowers, a distinctive floral aroma reminiscent of home, wafts from her neck, undermining his firm control. He covers her delicate fingers with his, forever stained with the blood of so many innocent lives.
He guides her hands around the dough and instructs her to knead it. As she responds in silence, his fingers trail along her arms, resting on her hips momentarily before he relinquishes his touch.
“Push the dough flat with your palms.” He commands, craning over her shoulder, smirking when her breathing hitches.
Calder directs her through the process, the tip of his nose trailing along her neck. His mouth salivates in anticipation of her sweetness.
She pushes away from the bowl, her back crashing into his chest. “Do you think you’re in control here?” Her words bite.
He presses his palms against the opposite counter, gritting his teeth to avoid engaging.
If I turn around, I will not be able to stop.
“That’s what I thought.” Her backhanded comment shoves him against his internal wall of self-control. Calder whips around, his rough touch gripping her throat. He tilts her head back, forcing her to meet his cold gaze.
“Yes, Princess.” His lips ghost along her jaw. “I am in control here.”
Release her, now! Apologize for your treason and pray for Sigvid’s forgiveness.
“You’ll never break me,Iss Drengr.” A boldness glints in her gaze that fractures his wall of discipline.
Instead of walking away, his grip tightens around her delicate neck column.
She wants this from him.
Despite her father's mandate, she longs to dance with the demon.
