The bed is incredibly soft to the touch, the furs covering you from the winter cold. There is nothing more delicious than the peaceful feeling that runs through your body. You cannot remember the yesterday, or worry about the tomorrow. The only thing that matters is the warmth of your lover's arms around you. Sweet kisses on your neck keep your attention on the now. He pampers you with love and understanding you have never dared to dream before.

"Min dronning," your husband whispers against your back. Something in the way he speaks sends a shiver down your spine. It is deep, powerful, dangerous, and you adore it. You adore him. How could you not? If he is the one who has given you all.

You turn around in his arms, your naked front right within his reach. He grasps your hips, bringing you closer. Your husband leans down, his mouth instantly finding your nipple. You cannot see his face, but his dark hair fans over your chest while his tongue licks your sensitive tip. It isn't the first time that he has done it, he loves worshiping your body in the most depraved yet delicious ways.

It's almost poetic, the way you instantly respond to him. Your back arches, and you let out a faint moan as his lips kiss from one breast to the other. His tongue instantly catches your other nipple, your lover circles your tip. Then his teeth make contact. He is tender, he doesn't bite, but instead the way he pulls only makes you moan harder.

Your husband doesn't just stop at that, though. While his mouth is busy with your upper body, his hand decides to take a trip south. First, it deliciously travels from your hip to your ass. He takes his time to caress the curve of your cheeks as if starved from contact. He squeezes once, twice, and then moves to your inner thigh.

You both know what is bound to happen, there is no reason to play, but oh your husband loves to tease you. He can't get enough of the way you squirm at his ministrations, of the way you beg and beg for him until he finally fucks you. Most of the time, he does it with his mouth or fingers, but there are moments you get lucky. And you feel the luckiest, because when he thrust his cock in you, all you can think about is him. The way he stretches you, the way he smells, the way he moves, the dirty words that only spur you on to be his naughty wife.

You love your husband, and that is the only explanation possible for the wetness in your pussy when he hasn't even touched you yet. "Min lille kone," your lover whispers against your skin when he finally notices how soaked you are. He will give to you all and more.

Expertly, his fingers find your lovely, delicate button, and the pressure is just the right amount to have your toes curling and your mind going fuzzy. You want to speak, you wish to cry out for with, but you cannot find in yourself the power to do so. It's like your voice can't do anything but moan for him.

Your husband's touch is torture, he caresses and caresses without entering. You like what he does to you, you love it, but you need more. You always need more, as the vicious creature you are. Umettelig, sometimes he whispers in your ear. Not only does it describe the way you crave him, but your thirst on the battlefield. More, you want to demand of him, but you can't. Your words are stuck, leaving you a whimpering mess under his control. Still, he knows you too well, because his skilled finger thrusts into you swiftly. He circles your mound with his thumb, and it just feels too good.

For a precious moment, the room fills with the sounds of fucking and lust. For a moment, you're back where you have always meant to be; in your husband's care. Then, he lifts his head from in between your breasts, and you see him. You notice his gorgeous blue eyes. And then you wake up.

The stiff morning air is cold and filled with the smells of cooking. Your foster family is probably preparing breakfast right now. It's early, but god, they love to wake up at the break of dawn. You will never understand it. If it weren't for your need to go to school, you would remain in bed until noon. You take a peek at the clock on your bedside, you still have 10 minutes before your alarm rings.

A few months after you arrived in Sweden, you started to have these dreams. It was always with the same man, though when you wake up you never remember his face. The situations aren't always steamy. Sometimes they are sweet, borderline domestic. Other times they are dreams of war, carnage, and blood. But he is in all of them, perpetually by your side. Most of the time, you forget what you dreamt by the time you wake up. The only thing left is the feeling of peacefulness, something that you came to relate to him.

The first time that he spoke, he did it in a language that you didn't understand. It was all guttural and strange, foreigner. Not French, not Chinese, nothing you've ever heard of before. Then, he kept on doing it. One time, when you woke up and -sort of- remembered what he said, you researched about it. It is how you found out he was talking in old Norse.

Even if you recall snippets of dreams, you have never been able to remember anything about his appearance. It's always blurry by the time you wake up. And three years after your arrival to Sweden, you have decided to leave these dreams where they belong; in your bed. You don't talk about it, you don't think about it beyond the comforts of the sheets. It's better that way. You prefer not to spiral out of control or focus on a man who doesn't exist. For all you know, it's your subconscious telling you that you're too lonely. You can't even remember what he looks like anyway... until today.

His eyes are engraved in your memory, the deep blue color ever-present now as you close your eyelids. You have never seen orbs quite like those, it can't be something you've made up. Because if it is a trick, if it is just your mind making things up, why does it feel so real? Even now, awake, you can still perceive the ghost of the lingering touches of his fingers. It's thrilling and scary at the same time. You sigh, and for a moment, you pray to go back to dreamland. Maybe, that way, you'll return to him. You sway in and out of consciousness, almost falling over the edge. The incessant beeping of the alarm clock doesn't let you slip further.

You are in your last year of university. Three years ago, you decided to travel all the way from your home country to Scandinavia searching for adventure. Living in a new country has been quite the challenge, but not really what you were seeking. Although, you're not sure what you were looking for in the first place. Perhaps break free from under your parents' thumb, and seek independence. Something tells you that it's more than that.

With a groan, you turn off the alarm and get ready to begin a new day. You just started the semester a few weeks ago, and as much as you would love to stay in bed more, you can't. That dream of yours quickly slips away as you focus on present matters. You go over your normal routine, and soon you're saying goodbye to your foster family as you leave for school. The Anderssons have been kind enough to take you in during your time at the University of Uppsala. They are a sweet old couple with no children that opened their home to you. They have been more than welcoming, and you have to thank them especially for the way they have helped you not to miss home too much. It almost feels like living with your grandparents, but with a lot more freedom.

This time, you decide to bike to the campus. After all, it isn't far from where you live. The route is almost scenic, filled with nature and fresh air. And then there's of course the busy parts of the city. You almost enjoy your ride in the cold morning air. You will never truly get used to the different weather the northern territories provide.

Soon, you find yourself walking through the busy school corridors, making your way to your next class. People are going about their business as they walk, immersed in their worlds and problems. Usually, you do so as well. It's easy to ignore the unimportant existence of someone you've never met, of someone you'll never see again. So, it takes you a while to notice him. You are so busy walking down the University's corridor, that if you hadn't looked up at the exact moment he did, your eyes would've never met. And you would've never had such a vision.

In another life, the tall man with blue eyes stands beside you on a big Viking ship. One of his hands rests comfortably around your waist, as it has always belonged there. The other one is holding a crutch used to support his body weight. There's a crown atop his head and a vicious smile as he surveys the horizon. The sea is calm, but you can see a storm brewing far away. Your lover looks at you with confidence and adoration. At that moment, you get overwhelmed by a mixture of feelings; expectancy, blood thirst, bravery, and love. You know that the last emotion is for the man next to you, and for a second your soul provides his name and your life together. For that second, you belonged in another time, in a Viking era.

However, that fragment of existence is lost in time and space when your eyes break contact. The illusion disappears, and your past gets forgotten again. The recognition that flashes in his blue orbs vanishes just as fast as yours. The next moment, you brush past without looking back.

Still, something lingers from the encounter. The nagging feeling in the back of your mind that you have seen those eyes before, somewhere. And yet, you're sure you have never seen that man previously, or have you? It is all too annoying, and it gives you a small headache to think about it. So, you let it go and continue on your way to class.

Once in your assigned seat, your friend during all these months, Thora, is waiting for you with a smile on her face. She has been kind enough to show you everything there is about the culture of this new place. The girl is a great teacher and an even greater company.

"Good morning," Thora greets as you grin back. "How was your rest?"

Your mind goes briefly back to steamy dreams. "Nice, what about you?" Even if Thora is your friend, you would never dare to tell her about that. It's too personal, and also, you want to keep it as your little secret. Only between you and your mystery man.

"It was fine," she sighs as she answers, and you know that there's more to it. "Hvitserk has been behaving weirdly lately. I asked him if he wanted to come over, and he made some halfhearted excuse about his family."

Hvitserk is Thora's new boyfriend you have yet to meet. "Well, maybe he did have business with his family..."

"Don't be like that. He doesn't. I know he and his brothers aren't that close. Hvitserk is definitely hiding something!" Thora has been acting paranoid ever since she started dating the Lothbrok. You don't appreciate their toxic tendencies, but you also cannot really do anything about it. "He said he had breakfast with them on first period, that's why he couldn't stay over. But look over there! His brother is here." You glance up just at the right moment he enters, it's the same guy you saw in the hallway. Why is it only now that you notice you've been sharing class with him? Why does it matter?

"Who is that?" You whisper at Thora.

"Ivar Lothbrok, the asshole little brother of Hvitserk." The name causes your headache to be back.