Sentenced to Two Wardens, I Served My Whole Term in Their Bed novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Both Hands

Linnea takes Mikkel in her mouth and orders him to break the sentence, and he eats her out on the kitchen table, until Anders knocks with an axe at dawn.

The second night I went down on my knees on the rug in front of the stove, between Mikkel's boots.

I did not wait for him to say anything.

Anders was out on the bluff.

It was his walk, ten until two, the whole north boundary and back, and the house had been quiet for an hour.

Mikkel sat in his chair with both hands already on the arms.

"You learn fast," he said.

"I learned yesterday."

I unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans, and he lifted his hips so I could pull them down.

His cock came free thick and flushed and already leaking.

The swell at the base was half grown.

"Look at that," I said.

"Don't."

"Why not? I like it."

I took the head into my mouth.

He swore through his teeth.

His thighs went hard on either side of my shoulders, and the chair creaked as his hands tightened.

He tasted of salt and clean skin.

I took him slowly, an inch at a time, and worked my tongue along the underside until he groaned.

When I pulled back to the head and sucked, his whole body arched.

"Linnea," he said. "Jesus. Your mouth."

I took him deeper, until he touched the back of my throat, and I swallowed around him.

His breath turned into a run of short, shocked sounds.

I pulled back and ran my tongue slowly around the head.

I licked the slit, where he was wet, and then dragged my tongue down the whole underside to the swell at the base.

I kissed it, and took one side of it in my mouth, and felt it pulse.

"Linnea," he said, in a voice I had not heard from him. "Christ. Do that again."

I did it again.

I looked up while I did it.

He was watching me with his mouth open, and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

"You look so good on your knees," he said. "Do you know that?"

"Tell me more."

"You look like you were made to be here. With my cock in your mouth and your hair all down."

I took him deep again, and hummed, and he shouted.

I set one hand at the base, where the knot was swelling under my fingers, and squeezed.

"Don't," Mikkel said, strangled. "Not yet. I want to finish you first."

I took my mouth off him with a wet sound.

"You can't touch me," I said.

"No."

"Then I'm going to order you to."

His eyes opened.

They were gray-green in the stove light, and they were not laughing.

"The sentence," he said.

"The sentence says you may not lay a hand on me. I'm telling you to lay both of them on me. Which of us wins?"

"The judge," he said.

"The judge isn't here, Mikkel. I am."

I stood up and pushed my underwear down my legs and stepped out of it.

I pulled the T-shirt over my head.

I stood naked in front of him in the lamplight, with the bay roaring under the house.

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he let go of the chair.

His hands came up and settled on my hips, wide and warm, and the whole length of him shuddered.

"Say it again," he said.

"Touch me."

He stood with his jeans around his knees and lifted me onto the kitchen table in one move.

The wood was cold against the backs of my thighs, and I gasped.

He kissed me hard, with one hand in my hair and the other on my breast.

His thumb dragged over my nipple until I arched into it.

"You taste like me," I said against his mouth.

"Wait until I get lower."

He grinned, quick and wolfish.

Then he went down on his knees on the floorboards and pushed my thighs apart.

"Mikkel."

"Hold on to the edge," he said. "I'm going to be here a while."

He put his mouth on me.

I cried out loudly enough that it echoed in the rafters.

He licked me in one long stroke from my entrance to my clit, and then he flicked it with the tip of his tongue.

He did it again, slower, and my head fell back.

His hands slid under my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the table.

My legs went over his shoulders and my heels dug into his back.

"Yes," I said. "There. There."

He found a rhythm, fast and exact, and every circle landed where I needed it.

Then he closed his lips around my clit and sucked, and my hips came off the table.

"Mikkel. Oh God."

He made a pleased sound against me that I felt through my whole body.

He pushed two fingers inside me, slowly, to the knuckle.

He curled them upward, and I clenched around them and heard how wet I was.

"That's it," he said, with his mouth against my thigh. "That's my girl. You're so wet. You're so tight."

"Don't stop."

"I won't."

He didn't.

He fucked me with his fingers, steady and deep, and the whole time his tongue worked my clit.

I held the edge of the table with both hands, and the boards shuddered under me.

The pressure built and built.

"I'm going to come," I said. "Mikkel, I'm going to."

"Come on my mouth."

I came so hard the lamp went blurred.

My thighs clamped on his head, and my back bowed off the table, and I screamed, a rough, helpless cry.

He held me through it and kept licking, softer and softer, until I was shaking and pushing at his shoulder.

He lifted his head.

His chin was wet and his eyes were wild.

"Again," he said.

"I can't."

"You can," he said.

"Mikkel, I just."

He put his mouth back on me, gentle this time, a slow lap of his tongue over the swollen place.

His fingers began again, a patient slide and curl that found the spot inside me at once.

"Oh," I said. "Oh, that's mean."

"You said it yourself. I'm funny."

I laughed, and then I could not laugh, because he sucked my clit between his lips and curled his fingers harder.

The second one built faster than the first.

I came again with his name in my mouth, tighter and deeper, shaking all through my thighs.

When it passed I lay flat on the table with my chest heaving and my fingers tangled in his hair.

He kissed the inside of my knee.

He kissed my hip, then my stomach, working upward slowly.

I reached down and wrapped my hand around his cock.

He was iron hard, and the knot at the base was fat and tight and hot under my palm.

"Inside me," I said. "Now."

"Not on this table."

"Why?"

"Because if I put this in you, it ties," Mikkel said. "Twenty minutes, Linnea, with me locked in you and nobody to cover the door."

"You're on watch."

"I'm on watch. I won't do it to you on a watch."

I stared at him.

I had come twice on his tongue and he was shaking with need, and he still said that.

"Then what do you want?" I asked.

"This."

He leaned over me and took his cock in his fist.

He drew it through my wet folds once, slowly, the thick head dragging over my clit.

I gasped.

He did it again, rocking against me, sliding along the length of my slit without going in.

My swollen flesh lit up all over again with every pass.

"Oh, that's," I said.

"Yes."

"Do it harder."

He did.

He braced one hand on the table beside my head and fucked the groove of me, his cock rubbing my clit with every stroke.

He was slick and hard and heavy.

I moved with him and pulled at his shoulders.

"Linnea," he said, hoarse. "Look at me."

I looked.

"Come with me," he said. "Come again."

"I can't."

"You can. Look at me."

I did.

He thrust against me once, twice, and the third time the swollen head caught my clit just right.

I came a third time, silently, with my mouth open.

He came with me.

He pulled back and spilled hot over my belly and breasts in thick pulses, his head down and his teeth bared.

His fingers dug into my hip, and the knot throbbed against my thigh as it swelled to its full size and slowly eased.

I ran my fingers through the mess on my stomach and brought them to his mouth.

He looked at me.

Then he opened his lips and sucked my fingers clean, slowly, with his eyes on mine.

My whole body clenched, helplessly, after three orgasms.

"Mikkel," I said. "You're going to kill me."

"Not tonight," he said. "I'd like to be around to see the rest."

He kissed my wrist.

He kissed the inside of my elbow, and my shoulder, and the corner of my mouth, tasting of both of us.

Afterward he rested his forehead on my sternum.

We stayed like that for a while, sticky and shaking, with the stove ticking.

"Well," he said at last. "That's the sentence in pieces."

I started laughing and could not stop, and he laughed with me.

He got a dish towel from the counter and cleaned me with such care that my throat closed.

When I was dressed again, he pulled on his jeans and went to the cot against the wall.

The blanket on it was folded into a perfect square, the same as it had been since I arrived.

He picked it up and smoothed it flat.

He folded it again, exactly the same, and put it back at the foot of the cot.

He sat down on the edge of the cot, not under the blanket.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" I asked.

"I'm on watch."

"Mikkel, you've been on watch for two nights."

"It's a long watch," he said.

I went to bed in the narrow room with my body humming, and I slept hard for the first time since the Rite.

At six a hard knock came on the door of the back room.

I opened it in my T-shirt.

Anders stood there in his coat with an axe over his shoulder and his eyes on the floor between us.

"Split wood with me," he said.

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