Bjorn put the plates on the tray and tidied up the galley. He turned when he heard someone coming below deck. The last person he wanted to see at the moment. "Mikael, food is in the oven. It is my night with Kirsty so unless the boat catches fire, don't bother us." He saw the contemptuous look on his older brother's face, "Hell even if it does...don't bother us."
His brother shook his head and sneered, "Why? Why did you have to do this? We were fine. We did not need this crazy tradition. In the world we live in, it's dangerous and stupid. We could go to prison for a long time if we get caught." He shook his head, "We don't want to share a woman."
Bjorn sighed, "We or you, Mikael? We tried it your way, remember? And honestly, whether you want this or not, it is who we are. Modern world or not. So instead of spending the rest of your life trying to break away from traditions, maybe you should ask yourself why?"
He reached out his hand to put it on his brother's shoulder, but he shrugged him away. Just as he always pushed them all away. "Being a part of this family, of its way of life, does not have to make you second best. It can offer you the chance to be your very best, be who you really are."
Mikael shook his head and screwed up his face until it was a mask of scorn and disgust. But Bjorn was not going to be silent this time, "You know that whole lone wolf thing is highly overrated. Without the pack to have their back, they die. Of starvation. From other predators. They are miserable without their pack. Sound familiar? Now if you will excuse me, I have better, prettier company to keep this evening, brother."
He shook his head as he pushed past his brother. He knew that he had been rough upon the man, but maybe that was what he needed. He did not care. As he said, right now he had much better things to do than spend any more time trying to convince the man of something they had all agreed to, something that was already done even. No, now, it was about moving forward. Moving forward as a family. And she was the key to that. The key to making three brothers who had spent a lifetime squabbling as siblings always did into a real family, into men.
She was their anchor. He chuckled at the analogy. How appropriate but that was what they were a ship. A ship that was broken, pulling apart by the storms, hell, hurricanes of modernity. But she could be their anchor, could hold them together, and help them ride out the storm.
He paused outside of the door way. He squared his shoulders, inhaled deeply and prepared himself for whatever waited on the other side. Because the truth was that while his company was most definitely prettier than either of his brothers, she was no less stubborn. And he needed to gird himself for a battle with her too.
But unlike his Viking forefathers it would not be axes or shields with which he fought. It would be his mind. And he welcomed the challenge as much as they had welcomed the battles and the blood. "Valhalla could never be half as sweet as winning you will be," he smiled as he knocked.
This time he was both shocked and relieved when a feminine voice answered, "Come in." They were making progress, perhaps? But when he opened the door to find her standing next to the bed, naked and with every damned implement from the toy box laid out on the bed, he stopped short. Without a word, he put the tray down on the table.
He walked over and began picking up the ropes, cuffs, floggers, paddles, and all the rest. His hands were full as he turned silently and put them back where they belonged. It took him two trips to complete the task. She stared at him the whole time. As he closed the lid, she stamped her foot and crossed her arms over her breasts, she stared at him. But he refused to back down. She was the first to look away and Bjorn smiled quickly at the tiny victory.
He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it to her, "Put this on."
Her head popped up, her hands dropped to plant firmly on her wide hips, she jutted her chest out like a banty roster. Her cheeks and chest flamed a deep scarlet that made her even more beautiful if that were possible. But the words out of her mouth floored him, "What? The fat girl not to your liking? Sven's choice not up to Thor's standard."
He shook his head as he reached out to grasp her turgid nipples firmly between his thumb and forefinger. She dropped her gaze to the floor. He smiled, realizing that Kirsty did not want him to see just what he was doing to her, to her body. He rolled them back and forth for a moment until they were even harder, though how that was possible Bjorn was not sure. He pinched them then.
Her gaze shot up instantly to meet his, "What makes you think that you were Sven's choice? He preferred the jaded Russian girl with the kid. Thought she would be easier, more grateful just not to have to struggle and always worry about keeping a roof over her kid's head and food on the table."
He enjoyed the look of shocked surprise then, "He probably was right to. Except for the abusive way she treated the child. That we won't stand for." He chuckled, "And I suppose I don't need to tell you that Mikael refused to put forth a candidate, said it was up to us to choose. He would go along with whomever we wanted. He did go along with the plan last night, did he not? Not the easy ally you expected, was he?"
She blushed even deeper at the truth of his insight as his fingers left her nipples, reluctantly. He held her gaze, dared her to look away. "You are MY choice. And if I ever hear you use that word about yourself again, you won't be able to sit down for a couple of days."
He heard the quick intake of breath at his threat, "Oh, that turns you on does it? Then I'll have to come up with another option. Punishment is not meant for your pleasure. But never doubt, I will find your weakness. That thing you fear most. And I am not afraid to use it. When you deserve it."
He sighed, "As for the toys? Those are easy, Kirsty. Any Dom can use handcuffs and a paddle. Hell, any idiot can, and more than a few do. With a bit of practice, they can even learn to rope like Sven. And one day, I will introduce you to the pleasures...and pain...that a flogger can give. In the right hands of course."
"All of that is easy. What I want...what I need...is so much more than that." He stepped even closer. She was not a small woman, but neither was he a small man, and he used his size then to intimidate her. He wanted her to feel vulnerable. He wanted her to feel small. He even wanted her to taste fear...just a bit. He tapped her head, "No, what I demand is so much more than that."
The fingers of his other hand moved between their bodies until they found the soft smooth, wet surface at the juncture of her thighs. He savored the way her eyes widened as they slipped just inside the wet folds, "No, my love, I don't want any of that..." He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his lips, licking the wetness that glistened in the light from them as he held her gaze, "Or even this sweetness."
He smiled as he used the same fingers that the moment before had been inside of her to tap her forehead, "Not until I have what is in here." He dropped them lower to the hard flat surface between those beautiful alabaster tits sprinkled generously with light brown freckles until they looked like cupcakes covered in candy flecks just waiting to be devoured. "And what is in here."
He held her gaze until once more her blush deepened and she dropped her eyes. He bent then and picked up his shirt from where it had landed on the bed. He held it out for her. "Now put this on like I told you to before. Not because I don't want to look at that luscious body, but because I do not want to be distracted and tempted with thoughts of all the thousands of ways I will use it, train it, bring you...and me...pleasure that you cannot even imagine yet."
"You would not go naked on any other first date would you? Not while we get to know one another. Tonight is about getting to know one another more. About talking...and eating over a nice bottle of wine. About me learning even more about your job and friends. And about you learning more about us, our home...I can't wait for you to meet our mother. You are going to love her. Maybe almost as much as she does you. So please, put on my shirt while I warm our food back up."
He gave the order, even though it was crouched as a request, it was a command nonetheless. He picked the tray up, turned and walked to the door. He did not look back as he opened it and stepped outside. Only then did he allow himself the huge smile that he had been holding in from the moment she dropped her eyes that first time.
He was not sure what the score was at this point in the game, but he knew one thing...he was winning. That round at least.
It was Sven he found in the galley when he went to warm the plates in the microwave. "What did you say to Mikael this time?" he demanded.
Bjorn finished punching the numbers into the microwave before turning to answer his brother's question, "The truth. Nothing he does not need to hear."
Sven shook his head as he brought a bite of chicken to his mouth. They were both silent as he chewed. He did not speak until he had taken a swig from the open bottle of beer on the table, "You know she was supposed to make things better. Bring us together. Not have us at one another's throats. Tear us apart."
Bjorn chuckled as the machine dinged and he pulled the plate of food out, placing it back on the tray before lifting it, he answered his brother with a smile, "If you listened to Mama's stories, you would know that sometimes you must do one before you can do the other. Our way is not easy, brother. Just right...for us anyway. Now if you will excuse me as I told Mikael I have much prettier company this evening."
***
Kirsty tried to stifle a yawn as she chuckled at another of Bjorn's funny stories about growing up on the 'holding' as he called it. She did not know how long they had been talking. The plates sat empty on the table, the tray discarded on the floor, as they cuddled together in the bed half naked.
She chuckled again and blushed at the thought, "What?" he asked with a deep rumbly chuckle of his own that she felt through her whole body. Her head rested upon his bare shoulder, one hand exploring the expanse of his surprisingly bronzed chest.
She bit her lower lip and moved her hand away. Or tried to anyway until he covered it with his own. "Kirsty, look at me," the command was back in his voice. And it did funny things to her body. She struggled to breathe even as she fought not to obey him. But she lost as she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. How could she hope to win when it was herself she was fighting and not this man?
"I asked what you were thinking," he replied casually, but the way his fingers caressed hers as they rested over his heart, the dark intense gaze, was anything but.
