For The Sake of Revenge

III~Chapter 11: Down on your luck

"Ivar?" I murmured tiredly when I felt someone enter the room. I had decided to take a nap while waiting for him and it was already dark out. In the firelight, I could make out his tall figure and broad shoulders. I struggled up to my elbows, watching hungrily as he began to undress.

"Go back to sleep, Yasmeen."

"Are you angry with me?"

"I'm annoyed that you have the runt sleeping on the bed."

Oh, I forgot about that. But now Summer wouldn't budge and I didn't have the energy nor heart to move her.

"Let her here if you are not going to have sex with me tonight," I instructed him, sniffing.

Ivar barked something in old Norse at Summer who whimpered and guiltily slid off the bed. He snapped his icy gaze to me. "Whether or not I intend to fuck you does not determine whether or not the runt stays in our bed, wife."

Why why why why why did I have to be so attracted to him when he was in such a beastly mood? I turned around, on my side facing away from him, pride stinging and half in love. I heard a lot of shuffling around. It was amazing how much sound that Ivar can do when he wasn't in a stellar mood.

A rough curse, a kicked object, sloshing water, and a hateful, not-so-quiet mutter. I sneaked a glance behind me, he was in the bathtub, furiously scrubbing himself in what had to be lukewarm water as he hadn't waited for it to be heated.

Eventually he came back to the bed, shivering and I sighed, rising to stoke the fire and then join him again. He was still half wet, not having bothered to properly dry himself before he decided to jump back into bed that I strive to keep warm and dry. I glared at him, grabbing a rough towel and rubbing his chest with it, peeling the dampened covers from him and snapping at him in Arabic so that he doesn't understand me insulting him. But I guess tones were something anyone can understand without having to master any language, because Ivar understood my derogatory tone and roughly yanked me over him, exactly where I needed to be.

I gave him no time to speak, I covered his mouth with mine and wove my hands through his damp (still soaked) hair. His mouth remained hard and unyielding beneathe mine so I pulled away, glaring at him. He was glowering back at me and I felt my resolve shake from how intimidated I was. "What is it?"

"I am tired and my wife here keeps irritating me," he said in a low, unmerciful voice. I felt my face, against my intent, crumple. I shoved him away by his chest, sliding from his lap.

"I will leave you to sleep in peace then," I snapped, unwilling to let him stare at the hurt in my face. If he wanted to be horrid, he can do it on his own. I snatched my pillow but he had grabbed it and yanked it violently.

"You will lay next to me and keep your silence, woman," the same commanding voice that made me weak in the knees had me bristling now.

"No," I snapped, walking towards the door. "I want to have sex with my husband and he wants to sleep and be angry and childish--"

I haven't heard him come behind me, but I didn't even get to finish my sentence. I felt him grab the back of my neck and yank me back around. I helped at how invasive and shocking the action was, my hand raised and ready to slap him but he grabbed that hand too and he barked another command in Old Norse which I understood to be:

"Stop."

And then his other hand slid from the back of my neck to my hip, never breaking contact with my body.

Finally.

He never disappointed.

*

"Is my dress too simple?" Millicent asked. "Too vulgar?"