“Do you want to go for a swim?” I ask, my voice throaty, craving him. I think marriage and this sunshine is a lethal combination.
He clears his throat. “I guess I am burning up.”
My hand goes lower, sliding over the bulge of his swim shorts and I can feel his dick twitch, growing harder under my palm.
“You certainly are.”
He lifts the towel off his head and tilts his head toward me, my own brazenness reflected in his aviator shades. “Where’s Einar?”
A throat is cleared from the cockpit. “Right here, sir.”
Ah yes. Exactly why I wanted to go for a swim. It’s too hot below and when you’re on deck, well, Einar seems to be everywhere.
Magnus lifts his head and looks at him. “Yes. There you are.” He looks to me. “Shall we?”
We both get up and before I can even think about what’s next, Magnus is running down the deck and launching off the side, doing a full summersault before he splashes into the ocean in a perfect dive.
Show off.
I go to the edge and look over. “Were you a gymnast in another life?”
He’s treading in the aqua-blue water, his hair slick off his forehead as he stares up at me. “I don’t know.” He looks down the yacht toward Einar. “What would you rate that?!” he yells at him.
“Eight out of ten, sir,” Einar says.
“Only eight?” Magnus decries. “That was a perfect landing.”
“You went in with your sunglasses, sir, which are no doubt sinking to the bottom.”
“Shit,” Magnus swears. He looks to me. “Ella, come in before I make Einar throw you in.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I tell him.
“Einar,” he commands.
Einar gets up, makes a motion to walk toward me.
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I tell them quickly, carefully stepping over the railing. No way that man is throwing me overboard.
I stand on the edge, take in a deep breath, and jump.
The water is colder than you’d think, especially with the temperature outside being so hot, and it’s a shock to my system. I also feel like I’m sinking way further than I should, but then I feel Magnus’s hand on my arm, pulling me up to the surface.
I yelp once I break through, spitting out water. “Gah, it’s cold!”
“Stop being a wimp,” Magnus says.
“I’m not a wimp,” I protest, treading water around him. “You’ve got crazy Norwegian blood.”
“I also have a crazy Norwegian cock,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me toward him. His eyes have gone from being light and teasing to half-glazed with arousal.
I grin at him. “You missed out on a serious Norwegian Wood pun. I’m very disappointed in you.”
“You’re right. Guess I was a bit distracted.” He looks over my shoulder and up at the boat, judging to see if Einar can see us our not. To be safe, while he’s still got a hold around me, he starts swimming backward until we’re just beside the anchor at the stern.
“Now, where was I?” he says, his eyes dropping to my lips.
It’s funny how just a look from him can get my body revved and running. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he slips his fingers to the front of my bathing suit, rubbing them against me.
“Here?” I ask, looking around. Even though Einar can’t see us, it doesn’t mean passing boats can’t. I know that the paparazzi hasn’t discovered us in the Canary Islands yet, but all it takes is one photo.
That said, I’m sure a couple having sex on their honeymoon will be forgiven.
“Hold onto the chain,” he whispers, leaning over and taking my lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it.
A small moan escapes from my lips, the pressure from his fingers growing harder. He reaches down with his other hand to free his cock from his shorts while I grab the anchor chain.
“No, up high,” he says.
I raise my arms above my head and hold onto the chain that way.
“God you’re fucking sexy,” he growls, staring at my breasts as my chest is thrust forward. Then he grabs the chain with one hand, just below where I’m holding on.
“You got it?’” I ask as his lips go to my neck, sucking the salt water off me.
“Mhmm.” He pushes aside my bikini bottom and runs the tip of his cock up and down my slit, teasing oh so slowly.
I’ve never had sex in the water before—before Magnus, I’d never had sex standing up before, let alone in public—and I’m grateful that he gets me wet and greedy so fast, because when he starts to push in, I feel everything. I suck in my breath, my fingers clamping around the chain, trying to hold on.
“You’re making me see stars,” he tells me, licking my earlobe. “I’ll take it slow until you tell me otherwise.”
I nod and let out my breath, feeling myself expand around him. The pressure of his fingers on my clit fills me with an aching hollowness, like I need more of him inside, like I’ll never have enough of him.
“That’s it,” he groans, mouth at my neck. “Fuck yes. Oh, Ella. Tell me how this feels to you. How fucking hard and thick does my cock feel? Do you want me deeper?”
I fumble for words. I make a sound of dazed encouragement and try to breathe, my head back to the blue sky above. He starts pumping into me faster, deeper, controlled jabs of his hips against mine. The friction of the water seems to slow down time, making me feel every single inch of him as he thrusts in and out.
I don’t know if it’s the turquoise water of the Atlantic that envelopes us or the stark sunshine that illuminates everything, but I’ve never felt so alive and free and wild. I’m being thoroughly fucked by my husband, by my world, and I think with every thrust he’s imprinting himself on me.
Magnus looks up from my neck, staring right into my eyes, his wet hair slick. His breath is ragged and rough as he moves in and out of me, picking up the pace. But his brown eyes never break from mine and I watch as the fire inside them builds, just as it builds inside me.
I can’t hang on anymore. Either onto this control or onto the chain. “Oh, fuck, Magnus,” I cry out softly. “I’m coming.”
“Fuck,” he swears, his eyes snapping shut as he thrusts in harder, deeper, his fingers on my clit rubbing me to completion. My fingers slip away from the chain and I’m holding onto him desperately as my legs convulse, trying to keep from drowning as I let go and he pumps into me until he’s grunting and cursing into my shoulder, finding his own release.
When I’ve finally caught my breath, I lift my head and give him a lopsided smile. “Happy honeymoon to me.”
He kisses me softly on the lips before he slowly pulls out of me. “Happy honeymoon to both of us.” He tucks himself back into his shorts. “How would you rate me on that one?”
I grin happily. “Ten out of ten.”
“You hear that Einar?!” he yells. “Ten out of ten!”
Even though we were only away for a week, I feel like a different person by the time I return to Thornfield Hall. Not only are Magnus and I both tanned and glowing (okay, so I’m still a shade of pale with the addition of a few freckles), but I feel like a giant weight has been lifted. Now, looking around at this place, it feels like ours and ours alone.
Well, aside from the fact that we share it with Jane and Einar and Ottar and a bevy of cooks and drivers and cleaners. But even so, it’s ours and we’re putting our own stamp on things. Literally, too. We got our own official stamp after we got married, not to mention a coin.
I have so many plans to get started on. I want to get a dog, I want to start redecorating some of the rooms, I want to start horseback riding lessons, I want to start planning my non-profit organization. I want to jump into this new life with both feet.
Today, though, it’s all about sitting together with Magnus in the parlor room and going through all the wedding gifts and writing out thank-you cards.
With the snow falling lightly outside, hot cocoa drinks at our sides and a roaring fire, it’s actually quite enjoyable.
For me, anyway. I can tell this is boring Magnus to tears, having to sit here and do this.
“We can make it a game,” I tell him. “To make it more interesting and fun.”
He sighs dramatically. “No. It’s fine.” He pauses. “Can’t you just forge my signature?”
“No,” I tell him and then watch as he reaches behind a couch pillow and pulls out a bottle of something and pours it in his hot chocolate. “What is that?”
“Medicine,” he says. “To keep me from dying of boredom.” I roll my eyes. I can smell the whisky from here.
He picks up what looks to be a paper-mache crown out of a box and glances at the card. “I mean what is this? And why did the Duke of Cornhole send this to us?”
I snatch the paper-mache mess from his hands. “It’s Duke of Cornwall. As in Prince Charles, you shitbag. Have some respect.”
“Respect? You’re the one who just called me a shitbag.”
“I always call you that.”
He sighs again and scribbles something on the card then hands it to me. “Exceptionally yours?” I read it out loud.
“That’s my calling card.”
“You could just write thank you.”
“I could but that has a better ring to it, don’t you think? Exceptionally Yours, His Royal Highness Crown Prince Magnus of Norway.”
“That’s quite the mouthful.”
He wags his brows at me and gives me a salacious grin. “You know I am.”
Suddenly a loud, frantic knocking at the door makes us all jump, including Einar who has been sitting in the corner of the room and doing his best to ignore our bickering.
“Are we expecting anyone?” I ask as Einar strides across the room and disappears into the hall. Jane went into town with Ottar, but they shouldn’t be back for another few hours.