Ravish Her

He held his hand out, and she eyed it. She shook her head, lowered her gaze to the ground, mouthed something soft and low, and his annoyance over her reluctance grew. But when she exhaled roughly and moved closer, he made himself calm.

She placed a hand in his, and he pulled her closer. Tonight, they’d bathe together as husband and wife, even if it wasn’t an officiated union. She was his.

He wasn’t letting her go, and for Stian, that was all he needed to have his claim on her.

7

Agata stared at the man in front of her, all hard, scarred, and defined muscles. He was so big… everywhere. She swallowed, not feeling confident that she could act like she wanted this, even though she wanted to run away. He aroused her. There was no doubt about it.

He was an attractive man in a brutal, “he’d kill someone with his bare hands” kind of way. But despite the fact that she’d never seen a man in the flesh who looked like that and wanted her, she also knew she couldn’t stay here.

Agata wasn’t about to entertain the idea that whatever potion that old woman had given her had somehow transferred her to this In-Between world, to this alternate dimension. That was too farfetched, too unbelievable for her.

The truth was she was probably taken after she passed out at the festival, drugged by the old bitch, and sold like cattle. But who in the hell wanted to live like this, isolated from everyone else, and act as if they were trapped in the age of the Vikings? She needed to find someone who spoke English, or at least a dialect of Norwegian she could understand.

“Konna, jeg vil lauga deg minn.” He pulled her closer to his nude form, and she swallowed when her gaze dropped down to his cock again. God, this man was monstrous in the nether region. He was also uncut, and although she wasn’t a virgin, she felt like one in this instance.

She’d never been with a man uncircumcised, never even seen one in movies. Maybe she was a prude in most cases, but this man looked like he’d tear her in two if he tried shoving that thing inside her.

Agata was frozen in place when he started slipping off her blouse, and although this was not something she should be allowing, a fire started inside her when he touched her.

The shirt was now gone, and he started undoing her pants. When those were removed, he stared at her in her bra and panties, this string of words leaving him and confusion covering his face.

He picked at her bra, ran his fingers over the underwire, and did the same to the lace at the top of her underwear. These weren’t even her good undergarments, yet he was heating her further with every stroke of his finger along her flesh.

He then removed her bra one strap at a time. Her breasts sprang free as soon as the wire and fabric didn’t constrict them anymore. She was a bigger girl, thick and curvy, a healthy size sixteen.

She’d always loved her body, even if society and some of her boyfriends hadn’t cared for the larger frame she sported. But this man was staring at her like he wanted all of her, wanted to caress her curves and bumps with every part of his body.

His cock seemed to grow bigger, if that was even possible, and she licked her lips and tore her gaze from his cock. His blue eyes were trained right on her, intense, demanding, controlling.

He cupped a breast, and she knew she should have slapped him, maybe kicked him in the dick, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.

“Agata, du er veldig falleg.”

The way he said her name, spoke in that thickly accented, strange Scandinavian language, turned her on. She wasn’t even going to lie or deny it. She was wet right now, her nipples hard, her body feeling hot.

Keep your mind intact, girl!

She’d play the part, but she wouldn’t succumb inside. She pushed her panties down, held her back straight, and let him look his fill… which he most certainly did. She felt her strength in this matter grow, and she smiled sweetly, leaned in, and watched the guarded expression cross his face.

Good, he should be on the defense, because she wasn’t going to stand here and let him claim her like a barbarian in the middle ages.

“You’ll never have me, not really.” She spoke softly, gently, knowing he didn’t understand her. “I won’t make this easy on you either.” She added a little moan on the end. His nostrils flared, and she thought maybe she’d gotten a little jab at him, even if he didn’t know what she said.

This man could read people—that was clear by the intelligence reflected in his blue gaze. He didn’t speak English, or the dialect of Norwegian she knew, but he could “read” her.