Bjorn put the finishing touches on the sandwich. Pickles, real dill pickles. They were her favorite. He half smiled as he thought how amazing it was: the stuff that you will tell strangers over the Internet. But they were not strangers anymore. They were her husbands.
But not by her choice, he reminded himself as he placed the piece of bread on top of the corned beef, cheese and pickles. It was spread with extra mustard and just a touch of mayonnaise. The way she liked it. Would she even care? Would it make any difference to how much she hated them?
Hate and love were twins, the light and the dark, his mother had always told him. If she could hate them now, then with the right touch, she could come to love them. Or so his mother had promised. After last night not even he was sure anymore.
He did not know what had happened between her and Mikael...or even between her and Sven. He honestly did not want to know. Not the details anyway. But what he did know was that cry had woken him from a light sleep. Just as he was beginning to dream that it was him holding her in his arms, kissing her lips, rolling her nipples between his fingers...
Stop it, he reminded himself. This was getting him nowhere. None of this was. Why did Sven and especially Mikael have to ruin this for him? He had waited his whole life for this...for her. While Sven dreamt of fish and making Ægir's Captive a success, while Mikael dreamt of breaking free from their big brother's long shadow and asserting himself as his own man, he dreamed of one thing...coming home to her.
Of course, he had not known who she was then. But ever since he was a teen, his wife, their wife had consumed his dreams. Sure, he was not chaste, what good would that do them? But other women had always been more about learning to please her than pleasing himself.
Then he remembered how wide her eyes had gotten last night when they told her their destinies. He had wanted to be the one to spend the night with her then. To hold her and reassure her that it would not be that bad...that despite what society might think, loving three men could be easier than one. Or so his mother had told him. He had wanted to cuddle with her and tell her all about their mother, about their homeland, about the tradition that she was upholding.
But she had chosen Mikael instead. He was certain that it was because she could sense his reluctance in this plan. Perhaps she thought to find an ally among them. Perhaps convince him to help her escape this fate. She had chosen poorly. Even if he had been reluctant about this plan, Mikael needed Kirsty, needed her even more than he did. And that was saying something.
He admitted it...he needed this woman. Not as Mikael did to care for his child, or Sven to provide heirs, the next generation of fishermen for Ægir's Captive. He needed her love. He needed someone to hold and be held by. And he wanted so much more from this woman than either of his brothers could even imagine. He wanted her soul...and body.
He steeled himself as he walked down the short corridor. He knocked lightly at the closed door. He waited for her to welcome in, tell him to 'come in.' He stood there holding the tray with its sandwich cut into triangles and a can of her favorite soda. And he stood there. Two minutes. Three. Maybe five. Before he realized that the invitation he hoped for was not going to come. He sighed heavily; was that prophetic? He hoped not.
He thought about knocking again. But what would be the point. She had closed the door to them. Maybe that was even to be expected. He tried to put himself in her position. Everything that she had known, everyone, had been stolen from her. He remembered all his mother's advice...you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, she had said. So why had the woman chosen Mikael's vinegar over his honey last night?
He turned the knob and pushed open the door, half expecting his way to be blocked. Chairs or shelves or anything she could find blocking the entrance to the captain's cabin. But the door swung open easily. He saw her sitting in the corner of the bed. Her legs were drawn up almost to her chin as she stared out the tiny portal to the waves that almost reached its edges. Her arms were wrapped tightly about her knees as if she were hugging herself. Did she not realize that was what he longed to do more than anything? Hold her, keep her safe?
When she finally turned towards him, he saw the moisture glistening in her eyes. For a moment, he wished he could turn back time. He regretted all they had done...the way they had captured her. Then he remembered the most important of their search perimeters...someone who was not happy in the life that they led, that had few truly deep connections.
The truth was that while she loved her career...that was all she had had in her old life. Her job. And between Monika and the babies they would give her, she would have plenty of things to occupy her. She had given her heart and her time to another man...tried the traditional relationship...and been hurt by it. Saddest of all, her parents, her friends were just straw men in her life. She shared no deep bond with them. She had admitted time and again how shallow her existence was, how alone she felt, how she longed for something simpler, something more.
Bjorn knew...they could offer her all of that. Given a chance they could make her happy and in return she could make them happy. That was how this was meant to work, his mother told him. Showed him every day of his life. This bond could give her the sense of belonging that she craved. He just knew it. For now though, all he had to offer was a sandwich. Some conversation. And perhaps friendship.
"I made this for you," he said almost shyly as he held out the tray. "Corned beef with cheese, pickles and mustard. The way you like it." He knew he was rambling. He probably sounded like some love sick teenager. That was not how he wanted to come off. How he wanted her to see him.
She nodded and took the plate off the tray. Bjorn considered returning around and running back to the kitchen to hide. This was not going the way that he expected. None of it had gone as he hoped and planned for all those years. He had been prepared for Sven to be the first. That was as much a part of this tradition as kidnapping. But he was certain that after his eldest brother's 'vinegar,' she would turn to him for honey. Instead she had chosen Mikael...and that ate at his gut.
The woman...Kirsty...he reminded himself. When had she become just...the woman? That was how Mikael saw her, perhaps even Sven. But to him, she had always been Kirsty...the one. Was he doubting that now?
He watched as she looked the sandwich over. Did she think that he would drug her? Then she smiled weakly up at him and muttered, "Thanks."
It was as close to an invitation as he was likely to get anytime soon. He took it as such and sat next to her on the bed. He saw the marks again. The red and purple teeth marks were beginning to be tinged with yellow and green this morning. Of course, he had seen them yesterday when they were fresh...after Sven had taken her. He looked for other marks, new ones, from Mikael but he saw none. That should have been a relief to him. But remembering her cry that had rent the dark night, it was not.
It was not that bruises or marks bothered him as such. This was part of who they were. Dominants. It would always be a part of their dynamic with her. That was why they had chosen to look specifically for a submissive on a kink site. They were not as much forcing this woman to things that were not to her choosing. They were exploring her fantasies as well as their own...or so he assured himself.
No, it was not the marks themselves. It was that they were not his. Not his marks. He frowned as she took another bite of the sandwich. Not that his kinks would leave these types of marks upon her alabaster skin. No, he wanted so much more from her than a few bruises here and there. He wanted to own her. Own her body and soul. The games he liked were in her head...mind fucks.
Challenges to test the depths and breadth of her submissive nature. Breathe play when he held her very life in his hands. Orgasm control where she begged and pleaded for release that he alone could give her...or not. And the ultimate...potty training where she must ask his permission even to piss. Oh no, his needs from this woman was for so much more than a few simple bruises that were already beginning to fade. He wanted her all...her mind, her heart, even her spirit.
But not to crush as some did. He wanted to set her free. As a child on one of their trips with his brothers and their fathers, his mother had taken him to an aviary. He must have been seven, maybe eight. But he would never forget watching the hawk show. They had sat on hard wooden benches. He must have asked Petrine two dozen times...'when will it start?' Then the air above his head stirred and was rent with a cry unlike any he had ever heard. He watched as a brown splotch circled high above them, occasionally swooping low then seeming to soar straight up again. He did not dare move.
Then a man's voice joined with the hawk's cries. He told of the birds, how they were endangered, their desire to be free, but how the world in which they lived was encroaching, threatening all of that. How this magnificent bird, who flew back to perch upon his gloved hand was safer as his captive than she could ever be in the wild.
That hawk was his Kirsty. Her need to care, to submit to a man, no longer fit this modern world. She could not find the fulfillment she sought in traditional relationships, or social media 'friendships,' not even in the career that she loved. No, she needed a depth of connection that only he...and his brothers...could provide. Only in that captivity would she truly be safe to take to flight, to soar higher than any of them ever could. And always come back to land safely in arms.
