The Virgin

He was opening her up and she couldn’t bear the wait and she made that clear with her pleas for mercy. And at last he took pity on her. With one hard thrust the full length of him was inside her where she wanted him, where he belonged. With his hands on her hips he worked her back and forth until every breath she took came out as a moan. The intensity of the thrusts left her reeling. She could feel him in her stomach. His fingers spread the lips of her vagina wider, then found her clitoris and stroked it, setting off small explosions of ecstasy all through her. She arched her back, parted her legs and raised her hips to offer even more of herself to him. His free hand grasped the back of her neck to the point of pain as he pounded into her. And when she couldn’t take it anymore—the pain or the pleasure—he pulled out of her, pushed her onto the bed, and forced her onto her back.

Their mouths met in a hungry kiss. She was greedy for him and pulled him to her, on top of her, and he entered her again.

He devoured her mouth while he fucked her and she lifted her hips eagerly into his. They became nothing but bodies, nothing but burning flesh and need for each other. Søren slammed her hands down onto the bed, pinning her down so hard she cried out. Her renewed pain renewed his pleasure and he lowered his head to suck her nipples. It was what she needed to send her right to the edge, and there at the edge she hovered as the pressure built, every nerve in her hips tingling and thrumming, vibrating with bliss. Nora dug her heels into the bed and tilted her hips. The base of his cock grazed her clitoris and she came with a silent gasp, her hands clutching empty air as his fingers tightened on her wrists.

As she came, Søren moved into her with quick hard thrusts that ended with a final push. His body went taut and still against her as he came, pouring his semen inside her, filling her and fulfilling her. When it was over and done, he rolled onto his back and brought her with him. She luxuriated on top of his body, relishing his skin against her skin, his heart against her heart.

“I’m not sorry I left you that year,” Nora said, lifting her head to kiss him. “But I am sorry it took me so long to come back.”

“Don’t be sorry. Go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine,” she said, resting her head once more on his chest and settling into sleep. “After all, it’s only a wedding.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” he said, twining his hand in her hair and resting it on the back of her neck.

Nora closed her eyes and inhaled. Søren smelled like a winter’s night, and though winter nights were cold and cruel, they were also clear. And Nora would happily sacrifice the heat of the nearest star to see the light of the farthest.

“I know.”

37

IT WAS A bright and sunny morning, and Nora woke up alone. She looked around, called Søren’s name and received no answer. Knowing Søren, he’d probably gone for a run to burn off his extra energy, his excess stress. Running for fun...proof Søren was as much masochist as he was sadist.

Nora dragged herself out of bed and touched her neck. Her collar was gone, locked up in the box where it would stay until Søren wanted to have his wicked way with her again. She pulled on her abandoned pajamas from last night and her black silk bathrobe and wrapped her hair up in a loose bun. When she was fit for human company, she left her room and went in search of breakfast.

The wedding wasn’t until this evening at five but the castle already bustled with guests and workers and, of course, lawyers. Kingsley had imported three of them simply to handle all the nondisclosure agreements every guest and worker had to sign. Why couldn’t they elope? Why go to all this trouble for something you could do in private in front of a justice of the peace? Then Nora saw a group of men walk past, all wearing kilts.

Oh yes, that’s why they went to all this trouble.

Kilts.

In the castle kitchen she found coffee and chugged it. She met the castle’s wedding coordinator and went over final details. She checked in with the caterers, the DJ, the florist and the photographer. By the time she was done Nora had decided she would rather fuck a haggis and eat it afterward than ever be part of another wedding again. Last time she ever agreed to play wedding planner.

Nora ate a pastry. Then a second one. She had a second cup of coffee and between sips went over the schedule with the waitstaff, who listened to her with impressive attentiveness. Someone had apparently told everyone working the wedding that Nora was a professional Dominatrix. Once she’d finished scaring the staff into submission, Nora headed back up the stairs, coffee cup in hand.

When she returned to her bedroom, she found the bathroom door closed and heard the sound of water running. Søren had returned from his run and hopped in the shower. She considered joining him but she heard him turning the water off. Damn. She’d missed her chance. No worries. Always tomorrow. She took off her pajamas and yanked on a pair of comfy jeans and a white T-shirt. While she finished her coffee she dug through her suitcase, pulling out her shoes and her stockings. Maybe she had underwear in here, too. Or had she not packed any? That might be a problem. No, probably not. Not with this crowd.

She had a shoe in one hand and her curling iron in the other when Søren emerged from the bathroom.

Both the shoe and the curling iron hit the floor at the same time. Galileo would have been pleased.

“Holy shit.”

“Eleanor, behave.”

“You’re wearing a kilt.”