A Nordic King

I should tell him. If he’s firing me, then nothing binds me to him anymore. I can say what I want without consequences.

But love requires that bravery I still don’t have.

His fingers disappear into my hair, making my eyes close, my breath fall from my mouth.

He leans in close, so close, his chest against mine, his forehead rests against my forehead, tip of his nose against my nose. As intimate as lovers, as intimate as we’ve ever been.

“How do I make you feel?” he says again, breathy and slow, his words making me ache. “Show me.”

Everything I’ve ever wanted is within an inch of my lips. All that I’ve dreamed about, all that I’ve rallied against. One inch that would change my life forever.

That one inch between his mouth and mine might as well be a million miles long.

And I am far too afraid to take that step and cross it.

He has all the cards here, all the power.

I won’t do it.

I glance up at him through my lashes. “Make me show you,” I whisper, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him into me. His erection presses into my hip, making me clench with want and need because of how he wants and needs me.

“I can do that,” he says gruffly.

His other hand goes to my cheek, grabbing my face, hot, wide palm against my already feverish skin.

His lips close the gap, crashing into mine.

It takes a moment for it all to sink in.

I’ve never craved something so badly only to get it in the end.

I almost don’t know what to do with it.

But that disappears a second later.

I know exactly what to do.

His lips are warm and soft, his kiss is hard.

It’s driven by pure lust and need.

By months and months of wanting and never getting.

And now I’m giving.

I make fists into his jacket as my body gives way to his, my mouth surrendering to his, his tongue rolling against mine in a feverish, driving pace.

I groan into his mouth, the taste of brandy on his lips, heat crashing over me and shooting between my thighs. My fists tighten as his grip grows harder, holding me in place as his kiss demands more and more of me, and right here, in his office, I give him more and more.

We’re both done fighting it.

We’re both finally surrendering to each other.

He makes a light fist in my hair and gives my strands a tug, making me whimper. I can’t get him closer.

With lips locked and tongues tangled, we move backward across his office until my back crashes against the wall and he presses into me, his dick so hard that I’m practically squirming.

“Oh god,” I cry out hoarsely, my hand going to the back of his head, feeling his silken hair as his mouth goes to my neck, biting and licking and sucking until my eyes roll back.

Is this really happening?

Is this really him, the man of my heart, the man I’ve dreamed of day in and day out?

Is it really his head my palm is cradling, is it his snide mouth sucking my skin between his teeth, is it really his cock that radiates heat into my hip?

“So this is how you feel,” he murmurs into my neck, pulling away enough to meet my eyes, his hands smoothing the hair off my face. My hands trail down his back, relishing the hard planes of muscles as I stare into his eyes, glazed and raw and real. “Because this is how I feel.” He’s breathing hard and so am I, and I bet his heart is beating as loudly as mine is.

I try to form words but I can’t. I already feel bereft without his mouth on mine and my hands grip his suit jacket, tugging, wishing I could rip it off.

Rip everything off of him.

The look in his eyes changes to one of awe, and a hazy smile curves his lips. “Look at you,” he whispers harshly, gaze roaming all over my face from my eyes to my nose to my temples to my lips.

“Me?” I breathe.

He gives a faint shake of his head. “What a rare and beautiful thing you are.”

I’m dying inside. His words. The way he’s gazing at me, like he’s seen something no one else will ever believe.

I’m so fucking done for.

I open my mouth to talk but only a groan comes back as his mouth envelops mine again, searing, like he’s trying to brand me as his.

Then he pulls away and flips me around so I’m facing the wall, my forearms bracing me. His fingers curl around my blouse, ripping it backward as he brushes my hair away, rough enough to tear out a few strands. The pain is sharp and sweet and makes the ache inside me grow by leaps and bounds.

I hear the fabric of my blouse tear as he pulls the collar back and then his mouth is at my bare shoulder, biting into my skin.

I cry out from the shock, a jumbled mess of feelings, bracing my hands against the wall to steady us. One of his hands slips down in front of me, sliding over my belly until it reaches the hem of my skirt and tugs it up my thighs.

His other hand goes behind me, to my ass. I feel it bump against me, then hear the buckle of his belt being undone, the sound of his pants being unzipped, the harsh, distinctive, thrilling noise filling the room.

Holy fuck.

Is he going to fuck me from behind, here against this wall?

Before I can even prepare myself, a knock on the door shoots between us like a shotgun blast, blowing the moment to smithereens.

Shit.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He stops, breathing hard, and yells, his voice coarse. “Hvem er det?”

“Det er mig.” Maja’s voice.

“Hvad vil du?” He rests his forehead against my back, trying to steady his breath.

“Jeg vil gerne tale med dig,” she says. She wants to speak with him but it doesn’t sound like there’s any trouble.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Aksel swears. He straightens up, and my back feels cold without him there. I quickly turn around until I’m leaning against the wall. If I weren’t, I’d fall to the ground. My knees are shaking.

My heart is pounding hard, my breath too flighty to catch. I stare at him with raised brows, not in just the “what were we just about to do” but in the “where the fuck should I hide?”

He nods at me, I guess to stay where I am, pressed against the wall, and quickly does up his pants before I can catch a glimpse of anything. He straightens his shirt and jacket though I’m not sure how he’s going to hide the flush on his face.

He takes in a deep breath and walks over to the door, opening it a crack and peering out. “Ja?”

I can’t see Maja, though if she stepped into his office or looked around the door, she’d see me. She tells him that Clara is requesting a bedtime story from him.

He nods, tells her he’ll be right there. Then he leaves the door open and comes over to me.

He stares down at me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I have to go do this,” he whispers. He gestures to the door. “Wait a few minutes and then sneak out. I’ll make sure no one sees you.”

Sneaking out. Oh my god, the reality of what we’d just done, what almost happened, hits me like a sledgehammer. I’m speechless, breathless, watching as he strides back toward the door.

“Wait,” I squeak.

With one hand on the door, he glances at me expectantly.

“Am I still fired?” I ask.

Another quick smile. “Fired?” he repeats. “No. You’re not fired.”

And then he’s gone.

I hear him walk down the hall.

I spend the next few minutes counting down and trying to calm my racing heart.

When I’m sure enough time has passed and that my knees aren’t shaking anymore, I check that the coast is clear. Then I head out of his office and to my room, closing the door.

I immediately go to the small bottle of medicinal Underberg Schnaps in my room and down it in one go, then sit on the edge of the bed and try to think.

What have we just done?

What does any of it mean?

And what the bloody hell happens next?





Chapter 15





Aurora





The next morning my alarm goes off and I feel as if I could sleep forever. It doesn’t help that it’s chilly outside the blankets, my nose practically frozen.

“Can’t you afford heat in this damn house?” I grumble to no one in particular before closing my eyes and trying to go back to sleep. For a few moments I’m lulled back into oblivion until I remember.

Aksel.

Last night.

Everything.

My eyes fly open.

Holy shit.