Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
F reya
I don’t want him to see me cry. We’ve gotten so close so quickly; he has done everything to make me feel welcome, special, and beautiful. I don’t want to make him think I’m running away from him.
“I’m getting hot in all these layers. I need to—change. I’ll be right back.”
Knowing there’s something wrong, he follows me up the stairs. Silent. I enter my bedroom, holding the door open to him as an invitation. I flop down on the bed. He sits beside me where I lie.
Not wanting to talk about my pain, I grab his hand. “Tell me about your mother,” I say. “If that’s okay…”
He looks down at me. “I’d love to share with you. It’s a heavy story, though. Should we save it for another night? ”
“Tell me.” He lies beside me, and I curl up on his chest, ready to listen.
“She suffered from depression. My father was not an easy man to live with. I don’t know which came first, my father or the low mood, but either way, she struggled. She built this garden in the back of our home. Her calming garden, she called it. It was meant to be beautiful, but I always found it eerie with the vines creeping up the stone walls. There was a big tree, a massive oak.” His voice catches, and he takes a moment.
I reach up, touching his face. “You don’t have to continue. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, I want to share this with you.” He takes a shaky breath. “One day, this world was all too much for her. I couldn’t find her anywhere. The last place I looked was her garden. There she was…hanging from the tree.”
“Oh my God!” I gasp, covering my mouth with my hands, sorry for my outburst. I quiet myself, wanting to be calm for him. “You saw your mother…and you were a child.”
“Only ten…” His voice trails off.
We’re silent for a moment, him thinking of his mother, me thinking of how strong he is, how this would have shaped him. Glancing up at his face, I see the pain. All I want in this moment is to take that pain away.
There are no words to ease his pain. So, I kiss him. A deep kiss filled with wanting. A kiss to let him know how much I love being here with him and how much I trust him, as much as he trusts me.
Slowly, we take one another’s clothing off. We lie back down on the bed, kissing. My mind strays, thinking of how much I’ve grown to trust this man, how I trust him implicitly with my body.
The first time he tried to touch my breast, I freaked.
We were in the Great Hall, and he was sucking, nipping, as he is now, surely leaving marks on my skin as he did at that moment. He smoothed a hand down my side, over my stomach, brushing over my breast?—
And the awful, icky feeling filled me, instantly robbing me of all the heady, sensual ones that had me on cloud nine only a moment ago. I tore his hand away, saying no.
The heat of humiliation washed over my shame-filled face. And he…
He said, “I understand.” He told me to tell him if he ever does anything that doesn’t feel good to me. Then, he made me feel amazing; my body responded to his every touch and kiss. Like he’s doing now, exploring every inch of my body while being so careful to avoid my breasts.
I categorized him, putting us in neat little boxes that night, letting our sexcapades escalate while our relationships remained stagnant, deadlocked in the place of the tug and pull we’d been caught in. Now, as we lie together, naked, bared, the warmth of our bodies pressing together, I feel closer to him than I’ve felt to anyone.
He stops kissing me to look at me, brushing my hair away from my face. He holds my gaze. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you.” In this moment, our eyes lock. I take his hand in mine, bringing it to my breast. I cup his palm over my breast, feeling his warmth, fighting through the ick till it’s just him and only his hand on me.
His eyes widen. “Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. Holding him there, I kiss him.
A warm shiver runs down my spine as his lips move to gently graze my delicate skin. The sensation of his mouth on my breast is unlike anything I have experienced before, and it only intensifies the desire that slowly consumes me. His hands, firm and gentle at the same time, cup my breast as he continues to kiss and nibble my tight nipple.
My breath quickens as he gently pinches my other nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch. A soft moan escapes me, eliciting a smile from him as he continues. Staring down at his face, his closed eyes, his expert mouth smiling around my breast as he worships it for the first time…the way he looks is so sensual I almost come.
He reaches up to brush a stray hair out of my face. "You are so beautiful," he murmurs. "I've never felt so connected to someone before."
I smile back at him. "Me too. I want…” Unable to say the words, I stare into his eyes. He reads me. He moves closer to me, his lips hovering just above mine. His breath is hot against my skin as he speaks again. "Are you sure you're ready for this? We can wait if you want."
I take a deep breath and nod, feeling a surge of bravery. “I want this. I want you. I trust you.”
“Such a gift.” He leans in and kisses me gently, his lips soft and sweet against mine. I feel myself relax into the kiss, letting go of all my inhibitions. His hands roam over my body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, wanting more and more of him.
His lips travel down my neck, and tingles travel to my core. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the feeling of him. This is the man, the moment I’ve been waiting for. What my body has been craving.
His touch is slow and deliberate, each caress sending shivers down my spine. But as his fingers dip into me, I can't help but wonder if I'm ready for this. His knee nudges at my inner thigh, spreading me open, and I feel vulnerable and exposed.
Our eyes are locked in a heated gaze as he hovers over me. As he finally enters me, I let out a sharp gasp, feeling the pain and pleasure collide. He continues to watch me intensely, but I can see the concern etched on his face.
“Are you okay, Freya?” In this moment, I'm not sure if I can handle this, but I don't want to disappoint him either. Brushing my hair back from my face, he asks again, "Are you okay?"
I struggle to find the words to answer. "Yes," I manage to say, unsure if it's the truth or just what I want him to hear.
As his hands move across my body, I feel conflicted. On the one hand, the stress and worries of the outside world seem to fade away, leaving only a burning desire for him. But at the same time, I can't help but feel a tightness in my chest, knowing that this moment is fleeting and will eventually end.
Will I still trust him like this in the morning?
Will he still want me?
As he enters, a tidal wave of physical and emotional tension crashes over me. My body wants to welcome him fully, but my mind is holding back in fear—my anxiety is not allowing me to let go completely.
He senses my turmoil and brushes his lips against my forehead, cheeks, and chin. "Ma chérie, my princess," he whispers, his voice soothing and reassuring. “I’ll never hurt you. Let me make you feel good."
My heart races at his words, and I take a deep breath to calm myself. As I release it, he thrusts completely into me with force and speed, filling me. My breath catches in my throat as he stretches me beyond what I thought was possible. He's so big, and the pleasure combined with a hint of pain leaves me gasping for air. But I trust him and know he will take care of me in this moment.
He starts to move faster inside me now, every thrust sending heat through my body. My skin is on fire, and my heart is racing with the moment. I reach up to meet his lips, our tongues twisting. The intensity builds, each movement more powerful than the last. He grips me tightly, our skin slick with sweat, our bodies moving in perfect unison.
"Yes," I murmur against his lips, my voice hoarse with desire. "Harder."
He takes me up on my challenge, thrusting deeper into me, his hips slamming against me. I cry out in delight and pain.
Our hearts beat wildly together, our breaths ragged and uneven.
"I need you," he growls, his voice rough with need. "I need you now." He flips us over, me now sitting on top of him—another new, overwhelming sensation.
I take a moment to orient myself with my hands on his chest. My hair curtains the sides of my face as I look down at him. I move my hips, trying to get used to the new, strange, intoxicating sensation of his hardness inside me.
His voice is a rake over hot coals. “Dance for me, Freya.”
His sexy words release my remaining inhibitions. I let go, throwing my head back, running my hand through my hair, arching my back, and riding.
He holds me tightly, his hands gripping my hips as he guides my movements. Our breaths quicken. His desire is evident in the way his body moves beneath mine, every thrust hungry for me.
"I'm going to make you come,” I say, riding him hard.
“God, you’re so fucking sexy.”
Every muscle in my body tenses as I cling to him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin and the strength in his arms. The room is filled with an intoxicating mixture of our combined sweat and passion.
Our eyes lock, and we share a brief moment amidst the chaos. Everything else fades away for a split second, leaving only the two of us caught up in this. About to come, I feel a sudden need to be closer to him.
I lean over, and he rises to meet me, our lips tangling in a passionate kiss, his hands in my hair, our bodies curling around one another, a tight knot of tension.
Then, we find our release.
“God! Fredrick!” I clamp down tight, burying him inside me, chasing down that final rasp of friction my body so desperately craves. I feel the orgasm throughout my entire body this time. Warmth, energy, liquid release. He comes inside me, heat and wetness, so full it runs out of me, wet and hot between my thighs. I collapse against him, catching my breath.
He holds me there, just like that.
Afterward, we shower, change into pajamas, and move to his bed for the night. The first night we’ve spent in the same room. I’m sure we won’t go back to separate rooms after this.
Finally, I ask the question burning in my mind since he shared with me the story of his mother. “How do you live with the pain?”
Fredrick smooths my hair, thinking. “I face my past, my pain, directly. I don’t hide it, don’t push it away. If that image… of my mother comes to mind, I watch it pass by like a scene from a film. I allow myself to experience the emotions. Then, I let it go. Knowing it will be back.”
“Hmm.” I process his words, wondering if I could do as he does.
“Ma chérie, you push the difficult times away. As you know, the pain will return. When you don’t embrace the emotions, you give them strength. Each time they return, they come back stronger. And if you don’t face them head-on, one day it may all come rushing back so strong, it swallows you whole.” He strokes my cheek. “‘ On ne voit clairement qu'avec le c?ur. ’ We only see clearly with the heart.”
“That’s pretty.” I mull over his words. “Is that a French saying?”
“From the book, The Little Prince .” His voice lowers. “My mother used to read it to me.”
Beautiful .
Fredrick’s right. I push things down. Now, I stare at my life point-blank.
“I want to tell you about Jack. The case that ended up bringing me here.”
He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing each finger in turn. “Please. Share.”
“I was riding high off a win I’d just had against Patrick, when Jack first approached me about representing him,” I tell Fredrick.
“What was your meeting with Jack like?”
I flush under his attention; he always seems interested in my life, my thoughts, my idiot-syn-crazies. I tell him, “I invited Jack into my office. He sat in the chair across from me at my desk. He beamed a stunning grin, and I got caught in the beam.”
“As I’m sure he was caught in a cloud of your beauty.” He sends me a flirty quirk of a brow. “I can picture you at your desk. Black suit? Ten-meter heels?”
“Always.” I give a choked laugh, shaking my head at his compliments. “In my self-importance, I wanted to prove to him that I could win his case. I was more focused on celebrating, partying, and whisky than on vetting him. Knowing his dad, I didn’t investigate Jack as I should have.”
The case came so fast; the firm was already dead busy, and no one checked behind me—they didn’t think they had to.
A tear slips down my cheek. Fredrick kisses it away. I wrap my arms around his neck.
He clears his throat. “I made a similar mistake when I first brought you here. I was drawn to your strength, then ignored what made me want you. I thought I could force you into a wedding gown…and that would make you mine.”
Reaching over me to flip open the lid of a wooden box on the nightstand, he says, “Now I know you can’t take what can only be given freely.”
Staring into my eyes, he holds up a ring I may have designed for myself—a simple yet generously sized, brilliant, emerald-cut diamond with a high setting on a thick platinum band. The light hits the diamond, casting rainbows.
“It’s stunning.” I absorb the ring, taking in its brilliance and everything it stands for. We may not be in love, but we’ve become best friends with delicious benefits. I know he’ll take care of me, protect me—and continue giving me phenomenal orgasms.
Most of all, with Fredrick, I’m getting the security I crave.
“You belong here. You belong with me.” He slips the ring on my finger.
And in the contentment of my afterglow, I let him.