Ægir’s Bride

Sven brushed the strand of hair back from her face. He could not resist the urge to simply caress it between his fingers for a long moment. It was incredibly soft, but not as soft of her skin...her generous ass that had cradled his cock the whole fucking night...or most of all the tender heart that beat between those full tits. He shook his head and cursed under his breath. 'What the fuck are you going to do?' asked that tormenting voice in his head.

This morning though there was not much he could do. Right now, he needed to wake her up. He had wanted to let her sleep later, after keeping her up half the damned night. But after the way his baby brother stormed out of the house, he shook his head. He was definitely not the one to go after Bjorn. Nor were Olaf and their mother, who had broken open the hidden vault of family secrets to him. And Mikael? With his own issues?

No, she was the only one that stood a chance of reaching Bjorn now. Of making him see through the betrayal he must be feeling. How had it come to this? How many times could they have simply explained it all to him without all this damned drama? Every single time the kid had begged for a baby brother or sister was a lost opportunity. Back then he might not have even connected the pieces.

Damn, Mama...and their fathers! They should have never kept what happened a secret from him. In the end, Mama had been all right. They all had. Sort of anyway. The important thing was that she had not died. But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. A horrible lie as he remembered that year...and all the pain it had held. And the painful silence since then?

He let her hair go, brushing it back out of her face, caressing her cheek tenderly until she stirred in her sleep. She frowned as she rolled over and stretched, "Sven?" she whispered in that sexy, throat tone. His cock hardened just at the sound of his name on her lips. Even after taking her four times last night, he was more than ready to bury himself in her welcoming depths again.

But as much as his body needed hers, his baby brother needed her more. "God morgon," he offered as he reached for the still steaming cup of tea he had sat next to the bed earlier. "You might need this," he offered with as much of a smile as he could muster.

She half smiled in return and clutched the duvet tighter, drawing it up to cover more of those lush breasts. "Thank you," she muttered as she blew on it. How would it feel if she did that across the head of his cock, he wondered.

She brought the cup to her lips, how many times had he kissed those lips last night. He could tell they were still a bit swollen even. Kissing had never been his thing. It was too intimate, much too intimate for his taste. Except when it came to her. With her, he needed to taste and feel all of it.

Her smile was wider and her eyes a bit less dreamy when she lowered the cup a moment later, "Tack," she said.

"You are learning quickly," he smiled as he bit back the words 'good girl.' It would not do spoil her with them. She needed to earn them.

"Tack så mycket," she replied as he bit his tongue. She smiled and drained half the cup. "You know for coffee drinkers you are all getting damned good at making a decent cup of tea."

He laughed, "Yes, we shall have to keep the damned stuff on hand until we convert you."

She shook her head, "Lycka till med det du. Good luck, I hate the stuff," she finished it and handed the cup back to him as she clutched the duvet and sat up in bed. "What time is it?"

His eye brows went up; she was getting quite good at Swedish in less than a week. "Earlier than I wanted to wake you. I had planned to let you sleep until noon. But I need your help," he stammered a bit. "We need your help."

Her eyes searched the room until they found her clothes folded on the chair across the room. He noticed the frown that creased her pretty face and it was all too easy to guess her thoughts. Normally, he would have never ceded so easily to such insecurities, but right now it was not his wife's behaviour that needed correcting but his baby brother's. So he picked them and handed them to her.

"Tusen tack," she responded with a smile. Damn, she was getting very good at their language. "So what do you need my help with?" she asked as she tried very hard to unfold her sweater and put it on over her head without dropping the duvet and revealing her full figure. In the end, she gave up and looked up at him, "Turn around."

Sven debated the issue. Yes, his brother needed her right then. But if he allowed this one to pass unchallenged it set a precedent, a huge one, and more importantly fed her insecurities. "No, you are my wife. You dress and undress in front of me," but before she could argue he launched into the crux of the matter.

"I do not feel like wasting time arguing with you when I have every intention of winning this one. And when Bjorn needs you more right now than you need to be playing the shy little girl with a man, who has seen, touched and tasted every fucking inch of that body. So get up and get that cute ass dressed or you can spend half an hour that we do not have standing in the corner."

He stepped forward and stared into the depths of her blue eyes, "And you will be standing there naked, my beautiful wife." He punctuated his words with a slap to her bum. "Now get dressed while we talk."

***

Kirsty exhaled slowly. Damn him. Damn him to... She searched her mind for the stories that Bjorn had told her as they cuddled together after making love. They always talked...about anything...everything...nothing.

Not so with Mister Cool. Yes, fuck Atlas. He reminded her more of a favorite series of books as a child, Mister Men. And this one was Mister Cool. And damn him to Helveti; that was it. Damn Mister Cool to Helveti.

She wanted to argue. Honest, she did. Punishment be damned. She was not going to just parade around naked in front of him. Hell that was hard enough with Bjorn and she knew he loved her. With Mikael? Well, honestly, she was no longer certain what things would be like with him, now that they had a truce. But with Sven, intimacies aside, she still felt more like a prize heifer than the wife he called her.

But they could have that argument later. "What is wrong with Bjorn?" she asked as she stood up, still half clutching the duvet as she struggled into her jeans.

He shook his head at her; it was clear from his stare that he was not pleased. Too damned bad. This time he was not bullying her...Domming her into anything. Maybe it was about time he learned that she had a little thing called limits and maybe naked was one of them. A fucking hard one at that, she considered as she buttoned up the jeans and pulled the sweater down to cover her too soft tummy.

Damn the man, why did his eyes have to linger there of all places? Another reminder of all she was to him, "Bjorn?" she demanded; this time with an edge to her voice.

He sighed and looked back up into her face, "Mama and Olaf spoke to him over breakfast this morning. About..." he trailed off.

She shook her head, "Why? Why would they do that now? After all these years. Didn't they know it would upset him?"

"Because Mama just had to go telling you for some stupid reason and because you are the world's worst fucking liar." He stepped closer and his thumb caressed her cheek, "One look in those gods' be damned eyes and baby brother would know something was wrong."

"Even after fucking you all night long, I can still see it there. How long exactly do you think it would take him to get the story out of you? How many sweet words or tender kisses until you told him every fucking thing, sweetheart?"

"Hell, you don't even love me and still you cannot deny me any fucking perversion I want. How much more with the one of us that you do fucking love?" His whole body was stiff. Those lines around his mouth and eyes seemed etched in stone.

For a moment, she wanted to wrap her arms about him, press her body to his and deny it. Deny that it was only Bjorn, whom she loved. But the steel blue in those eyes held her back. Why? Why would she risk rejection from a man that despite Petrine's words only wanted one thing from her?

Well, maybe more than one thing, but that was just kink and sex. All men needed that. It did not mean he gave a damn about her. No, this one was definitely a two-way street. "I would not have said anything," she asserted.

He shook his head, "That's just it. You don't need to say a damn thing for us to know when you are upset. Even I know that right now you want to hit me. Go ahead, dear wife. Maybe another round of lust filled fucking will wipe that look off your face," he growled as he laced his fingers through her hair. His eyes held hers for a long moment.

Kirsty could not deny the hunger or the pain she saw there. But that did not mean this man cared, the way his mother wanted to believe. It only meant he wanted sex. Some Darwinian imperative to breed even. Maybe it meant he was even jealous of his 'baby' brother. She supposed guys could be like that. Want what the other had...even if they did not really want it for themselves.

Might never...Her throat tightened at that thought. But she was not going to allow him to win, not anymore. She shoved at his chest, "Bjorn? Where is your brother? Where do I find him?"

He instantly released her as if just touching her burned like boiling water. "Oh yes, run. Run away. To the little virgin. Although I am sure you have handled that by now. You have managed to get from my idealistic baby brother what all those other women could not, haven't you, my dear sweet almost as innocent little wife?"

She turned on him, hands on her hips, "You were the one who came to me, remember? And hell yeah, if he needs me I am going to him. But just for your fucking information, I would do the same for Mikael. Hell, if you would take two fucking minutes to drop the über Dom crap, I'd do the same if you needed me. It's what people do when they..."

"Love someone?" He snarled, "Don't give me that shit, sweetheart. You barely can stand me. You think I did not feel how many times you drew away from my touch last night? That naïve little mind of yours having problems with how easily my experience can play that needy little cunt of yours in ways that the man you love cannot?"

"Well, here is something else for you to think about. Get fucking used to it. We are a package deal. And you know who you have to thank for that? My mother and the man you love. They were the fucking ones that insisted the old ways were best. They were the ones that dragged Mikael and I, kicking and screaming, into this little web of jealousy and deceit. Oh yes, if baby brother had not been so fucking starry eyed about 'tradition,' he could have had you all to his fucking self."

Kirsty had had enough, she stepped forward and shoved Sven with all her might back onto the bed, "Well, while we are at honesty, dear husband," the vitriol dripped from her words. "You try this on for size. It was you. Your photo that I saw first. Your mother even made me realize yesterday that if it had been Bjorn's I would have never replied. just like I did not with all those other messages."

"And it was you, who decided to bring me back here. You. You who had final fucking say as the eldest. And you who..." Her throat got so incredibly tight on the words. She could not even say 'took' me anymore. Truth was that as scared and insecure as she had been that day she had wanted it. Wanted him. This man. Before Bjorn or Mikael even came into the picture, it had been him.

She felt the tears threatening to spill once more. But she would be damned if she gave him that satisfaction. 'Never let them see you cry.' She turned her back and shook her head. What did it matter now? He was Mister Cool. Atlas. Closed off and unreachable...and that was his fucking choice.

She had her own to make. "Where would he go?" Kirsty hope that he could not hear the husky hint of tears in her voice. "Where would Bjorn go when he's upset?" she focused upon what she could do in that moment. She would deal with this shit...another time. Maybe delay it as long as she could.

"The old clubhouse that we played in as boys is the only place Mikael and I could think of," his voice was as quiet then as her own was.

She was tempted for a moment to turn around. But why? What could she say or do? How could she reach the unreachable? By his own choice. She nodded without looking back, "I'll find Mikael then. Have him show me the way."

She forced one foot in front of the other. Each step she reminded herself, you cannot help him if he won't let you. Focus as he says upon the one that does love you. The one that needs you now. But the short distance off the boat seemed like the never-ending maze of the Labyrinth and Sven the Minotaur.

She lost the battle with those tears until her vision blurred and she stumbled on the bottom rung of the gangway. She might have fallen face first into the mud except for the strong arms that caught her, "Be careful, princess."

Through the tears, she looked up into the cold steel grey of the man, who she had gone to find. "Take me to him, Mikael."

She saw him inhale as he nodded. "Of course," was all he said as he led her to a four wheel ATV. "Put this on," he said as he handed her a helmet.

After the fight she had with Sven, she was too drained to argue as she strapped it on and hopped on behind him. Her arms wrapped about his waist and the only sound for the next ten minutes was the rumble of the engine. Each lost in thought. Neither willing to bend enough to share.

When they arrived, it was the very edge of the Holding. The fjord ran just feet from where he stopped. Mikael pointed to a bunch of trees that had thicker underbrush than most of the island. "Through there about twenty yards. It isn't much but you cannot miss it. Just a basic lean-to that Sven and I built for him when he could barely walk. We used to come out here all the time before I went to sea..."

She watched his face, saw the play of emotions there. She wanted to reach out brush the frown from around his lips, "When Mama needed some time alone...for her flowers or to write in her journals, I'd bring the little hellion out here to give her a break."

He paused and looked up at the sky as if they could take him back to that time, "Anyway, since the car and the boat are still here, there are not many places he could go. I am betting this is it. But I'll wait five minutes, just to be sure. Take you back if I am wrong."

She smiled and brushed a brief kiss on his cheek, "Thank you, Mikael."

He shook his dark head, "For what? Not strangling him back then when I could have?" he chuckled. He sighed and brushed hair back from her face that the helmet had displaced, "I know I probably don't need to say this, but just never hurt him, okay?"

Kirsty fought back the tears that had remained just below the surface as she nodded. This time she boldly pressed a chaste kiss upon his warm full-lips, "I won't." 'And neither will I hurt you,' she thought as she turned. Torn once more.

She felt hysterical laughter welling up inside of her, "How the fuck did you do this shit, Rachel?" she whispered to the crisp early morning autumn air.

She hoped that something was out there, their gods or hers. Because she could really use some help here. If loving one man was hard, loving three seemed impossible. But she also knew that if one of those gods suddenly appeared and forced her to choose, she could not. Not even with Mister Cool.

She smiled as she pushed a branch aside and came into a small clearing. He sat on a stone in front of a collection of logs that might have once been a mighty fortress to a small boy. Even with his back to her, he looked as broken as it was. She walked to him and simply placed her hands on his shoulders.

When he turned, she saw tears in those Kelly green eyes and her throat tightened even more than if his hand were on her throat. She knelt on the cold ground next to him and simply pressed her forehead to his. Sometimes words just got in the way.

***

Bjorn reached for her, the only solid ground in a world that was shattered and falling away. He could not help it. As much as he wanted and even needed to protect her, the love and concern he saw in her eyes melted all his resolves. He could never deny her anything as his mouth took hers.

The emotions were raw, just as he felt in that moment. But with her none of it mattered. Just her tender caress, her concerned smile and the genuine care in those blue eyes, did any fucking thing else matter? Would it? Ever?

At least not in that moment as his hands inched beneath the coat and her sweater. Even in the crisp autumn air, her skin was soft and warm and welcoming. All he needed most in that moment. But it wasn't, not really.

His fingers found the button at the top of the damned jeans and popped it off in urgency. His other hand joined the battle as together they tore the zipper open, slipped to her hips and shoved the roughness away. His mouth never left hers even in the heat of battle.

She too seemed to share his need for urgency as she lifted just enough to allow him to push them to her knees. She discarded them, kicking them among the dead leaves. When she came back to him, her fingers fumbled at the waistband of his own.

But he had long since lost patience as he pushed hers aside and tore at his own with the same delicacy as he had dispensed with hers. It took only a second for his cock to spring free, to rise between them as he pulled her onto his lap. With no preamble, he sank fully into her. Found and took the solace she offered, that she alone could give.

He pulled her tighter against him, as if he did not squeeze the very air from her lungs, she would slip away. As if she were the wind and he was powerless to capture it in his sails, even though it was all that propelled him forward. He knew he could not fully capture it...keep it. Her love was the wind, ever changing and ever constant, moving and blowing across him, flowing and ebbing. It was all he wanted or needed as fleeting as it was.

Even as his hands on her hips guided her movements, as he lifted his and filled her, he knew it was not enough. It never would be. No matter how many times she opened her legs, no matter how often she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, no matter how many times he felt her shudder and tremble, her tight cunt clasping about his throbbing cock. It was not enough. Not a fucking lifetime of her would ever be enough.

But there were no guarantees in this life. His mother's words echoed like the yodeller's song off the mountain tops. The what-ifs drove him, haunted him, and pushed him onwards as he growled into her open mouth like the wounded animal he was. His fingers bore into the soft flesh of her hips as he propelled them forward.

It was not delicate, not soft and tender the way he tried to be with her, but he needed her too much just then to worry about such things. He would give her that and more...later. Maybe much later, but right now he needed to push these demons aside. To reassure himself that she was here, that she was his, that she always would be. Would always welcome him as she did now.

It was as fast and desperate as he felt in that moment. As raw and fuck it, just as needy. And he did not give a gods be damned. He did need this woman. His wife. His woman. His. And in that moment, she was his alone. His.

His fingers sank deeper into the softness of her hips even as his cock sank deeper into depths that were softer still. "Fuck," he cursed into her mouth as he felt his body betraying him. Gods be damned. Not yet, his mind screamed. But her arms only wrapped tighter about his neck. Her moans greeted the thrust of his tongue against hers as she lifted her hips to draw him deeper still.