Page 10 of Bred By The King

And I don’t let go.

Eight

SOREN

The flight to Vinterfjord is long. Layla sleeps against my shoulder, her hand on my thigh, her scent wrapped around me. I keep one hand on her the whole time, possessive as hell. When we land in the cold, the contrast is sharp: icy wind instead of warm sea breeze.

My people line the runway, curious and wary. Layla steps off the plane in a long coat, her brown skin and dark hair standing out against the snow. She looks like a flower in a frozen wasteland. Beautiful. Alien. Mine.

My palace sits on the edge of the fjord, stone and timber, lights glowing against the early dark. I take her straight to my chambers. No tour. No bullshit.

The second the heavy doors close, I’m on her again.

I strip her out of the coat and the rest of her clothes, then lift her on the massive bed covered in furs. In my territory now. My bed. My woman.

“Look at you,” I say, standing over her naked body. My cock is aching. “Curvy little southern queen in my bed. Spread your legs.”

She does, eyes challenging even as she obeys. I kneel between her thighs, push them wide apart, and sink into her in one hard thrust. The cold air outside has nothing on the heat of her pussy.

“Fuck yes,” I groan. “This is where you belong. Taking my cock in my palace. Gonna fuck you until you can’t walk straight tomorrow.”

I set a brutal pace, hips slamming, the heavy bed creaking. Her tits bounce with every thrust. I lean down and suck one nipple hard, then the other, biting just enough to make her gasp.

“Mine,” I growl. “This body is mine. This pussy is mine. I’m breeding you every single day until it sticks.”

She digs her nails into my back and comes again, crying out. I follow right after, filling her deep, holding myself inside her so nothing spills out.

After I don’t pull out. I stay buried in her, rolling us so she’s draped over my chest.

“You’re really obsessed with this breeding thing,” she says, voice husky.

I grip her ass and squeeze. “Damn right. Started as a clause on paper. Now it’s all I think about. You, round with my baby. Tits full. Walking around here knowing I fucked you so deep you couldn’t escape it.”

She huffs a laugh, but doesn’t argue.

Nine

LAYLA

The cold here is brutal. It bites through my coat and makes my bones ache. Vinterfjord is beautiful in its own harsh way: steep fjords, dark water, lights glowing in the stone palace. But I miss the warmth.

Soren, of course, thrives in it. The big bastard walks around in fewer layers than I’d wear to bed and still looks comfortable. He’s been insatiable since we arrived. This morning he fucked me bent over the balcony railing overlooking the fjord, growling about breeding me in his territory.

I’m sore in the best way.

We’re in one of the training halls now. I insisted on sparring with his warriors. I need them to see me as more than the southern wife their king brought home. The men watch me curiously. Soren stands off to the side, arms crossed, eyes tracking every step.

Erik comes at me. He’s the tall blond warrior, the one Soren threw against a wall for calling me “southern spy pussy.” I haven’t forgotten. He hasn’t apologized.

He’s strong but predictable. I use my speed and hips to throw him. The smack of his back hitting the mat echoes. A few of the others mutter.

Soren’s mouth twitches, almost a smile.

“Again,” I say, breathing hard.

After the session, Soren pulls me into a side room, locks the door, and crowds me against the wall.

“You looked good out there,” he says, voice low. His hand slides under my training top, palming my breast. “My men are going to respect you. But they’re also going to know exactly who you belong to.”