A Nordic King(73)

So many years being afraid and ashamed and trying so damn hard to make up for all those mistakes.

Because that’s really what he was. A mistake.

And it took me ages to realize that it wasn’t my fault.

I was so young.

I had no one else in my life.

I left school.

I was at his mercy.

Under his influence.

I did bad, bad things.

Things I don’t even remember.

Things that haunt my dreams at night.

Things that made me cry for the lost girl that I was.

Things I don’t ever dare talk about.

And when I finally left Australia behind, I vowed to never make that mistake again, because I would know better.

I’d never let a man have power over me again.

Until now.

Because Aksel has complete power over me and for the first time, I’m completely surrendering.

And…I’m not sure that I should.

All I know is that, like it was with Dan, I can’t help it, and I probably should know better.

There are details, so many details, that I willfully overlook when I’m with him, because when I’m with him, the details, the doubts, the world—none of those things matter.

Love makes you na?ve, razes your defenses to the ground, and pumps hope through your veins, sticky and sweet and utterly intoxicating.

I’m drunk on my need for him.

I’ve had sex with him twice now.

I’ve had blisteringly wild orgasms around his cock.

I’ve felt his body under my hands and seen his eyes roll back into his head as he’s come inside me.

I’ve had him in a way I never dreamed possible.

Something beyond my reach is now in my hands, and I don’t ever want to let it go.

He’s rich, powerful, privileged. The King of a prosperous nation.

I’m just a girl. A nanny. Australian trailer trash.

There are a million reasons why we shouldn’t work.

Why we shouldn’t do what we’ve been doing.

But in my heart, I know it doesn’t matter. In my heart, I know what I have with him, whatever this is, is right.

You will never be his queen, the voice in my head says.

But to that I answer—it doesn’t matter right now.

The only thing that does matter is right now.

So I get up out of bed. It’s past midnight and I’ve been lying awake for a few hours, my body aching and squirming for him, touching myself and pretending it’s Aksel’s lips. To tell you the truth, I’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting for a knock at my door, for him to come by.

Waiting sucks.

I’ve gone from craving him with mind and heart to craving him with my body and now I want all of him. I want him with a crazy, obsessive, primal need, like I’ll stop breathing without him.

I head toward the door and open it slowly.

The hall is dark. Quiet.

His room seems so far away, down the opposite end of the hall.

What if someone were to catch me going there?

Why can’t there be some little secret passage from my room to his?

I look both ways again and then quietly shut my door and slowly sneak down the hallway, making sure I’m absolutely silent.

I pause outside his door and take in a deep breath.

Despite being with him already, this is all so new. It’s fragile and growing, and I’m a little nervous. I don’t want to push him, I don’t want to ruin anything.

Butterflies dance in my stomach, adding to the jitters.

I don’t knock though, I don’t want the sound to wake anyone up, especially Maja who is a few rooms down. Despite her age, she’s a light sleeper.

So I put my hand on the knob and very slowly open the door.

The room is dark.

Shit. Maybe Aksel is sleeping.

I shouldn’t wake him up.

He’s a bloody king and he’s busy and the last thing he needs is for me to interrupt him and ruin his morning.

I’m about to close the door when I hear. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” I whisper, stepping inside. I close the door behind me and now I’m in darkness too.

The light beside his bed flicks on and he’s lying under the covers, staring at me in awe.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?” he says, blinking.

I shake my head and anxiously walk over to the bed. “I don’t think so.”

He stares up at me. “You came.”

A smile tugs at my lips while my eyes coast over his bare chest. “You were waiting for me?”

“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “Hoping, is perhaps the right word.”

It’s so strange now that I can just pull back those covers and climb in bed with him, that I can just come into his room late at night and be with him. Strange and undeniably thrilling.

Suddenly I feel shy. I’m hardly ever shy. But all of this is happening so fast and yet not fast enough and I’m blushing, unsteady on my feet.

“What is it?” he asks, sitting up and reaching for my hand. “Come here.”

He tugs at me, but I keep standing. “I want to take things slow,” I tell him, and I’m shocked that the words just came out of my mouth.

“Whatever you want,” he says. “Just come here. I want to hold you.”