Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
F redrick
I’ve never been prouder of my wife’s strength of spirit than I am when she hands that precious little girl to her mother.
Pearl’s grandmother, Cass Owens, works part-time as a secretary at a police borough outside Glasgow. Word of our search reached her over time. Two years ago, her daughter, Leah, who was only nineteen at the time, briefly dated someone much older than her.
A man named Ross Macdonald.
Cass and her husband Joe never took to Ross, even before they found out about his criminal past. During that short time, Leah got pregnant by him.
When the baby was born, Ross demanded custody of the girl. He threatened Leah. Already feeling unsure of her ability to be a mother at such a young age, not to mention becoming a financial burden on her parents, Leah relented.
Her mother, Cass, says that Leah instantly regretted caving to Ross. She cried a lot. She tried to focus on school. And she never stopped pining for her daughter.
A dark-haired baby she had named Ophelia.
Pearl—now we know her name is Ophelia— had grown so close to Freya that she didn’t want to go to her mother, Leah. Freya offers the child and mother soothing words. “Don’t worry, she’ll warm up. She loves everyone.”
Leah’s young eyes fill with joy and uncertainty as Freya approaches her with Ophelia.
Leah’s hands tremble as she reaches to take Ophelia. “I only held her once. At the hospital. She has no idea who I am.” Gently, she takes the baby from Freya’s arms, her smile beaming, nerves dissolving as she holds her. “Ophelia. Hello. I’m your mam.”
Ophelia looks from Leah over to Freya, reaching for her with her little words: “Fre-da. Fre-da.”
“It’s okay, clever girl.” Freya smiles, gesturing to Leah. “This is your mama. Can you say mama?” Her wide blue eyes look from one woman to the other, trying to make sense of this moment.
“Here.” Freya slips off the three-strand necklace of pearls she’s worn daily since the little girl came into our lives, lovingly placing it around Leah’s neck. “Take this. Pearl—I mean, Ophelia…she loves it.”
Ophelia takes the familiar beads between her fingers, relaxing in her mother’s arms, and the two quietly study one another’s faces.
Leah and her parents spend the day with us, learning Ophelia’s routines and likes and dislikes. At one point, Cass looks at Freya and me, saying, “I’d do anything for Leah, and I’ll do the same for Ophelia, too.” Which makes Freya tear up when Freya’s goal is not to cry today.
When the day ends, Freya, a Burnes through and through, can say goodbye without a tear. Me, on the other hand? I am wiping my eyes right to left, pinching the end of my nose, saying, “I must be having allergies.”
When the door closes, Freya turns to me, crumpling into my arms. I hold her tightly for a long time, not speaking, only offering comfort. Finally, I say, “I know you’re not alright but are you…okay?”
She gazes up at me, a sweet smile on her face. She’s striking, sending a pang through my heart. She says, “Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye.”
“Meaning?” I ask.
“She belongs with her mam and her kin.” Freya shakes her head. “We were only meant to be a stop-by on her way.”
Feeling a welling in my chest, I pinch my nose again. “I—I’m glad we could give her a safe place to stay.”
“Aye, and I’m grateful we could shield her from her father’s death and aid in reuniting her with her family.” She wipes away a stray tear. “I know it’s right, but it still hurts.”
I say, “ Le temps guérit toutes les blessures .”
“Meaning?” She smiles .
“Time heals all wounds.” I wrap my arms tighter around her, returning her head to my chest. I stroke her hair, kissing the top of her head. “It will take time.”
“Aye. I know. It helps that Leah has such a sweet spirit. I can’t imagine missing the first year and a half of your baby’s life.”
“Now, her baby is safe in her arms.”
“And I made it all day without crying in front of the baby! The last thing I wanted to do was confuse her more.”
Now, glassy tears brighten her green gaze, threatening to fall. I want nothing more than to brighten Freya’s mood. What can I distract her with? “Let’s do something to relax.” I name the things she loves. “Wine. Movies. Joyeux.”
“Hmm.” She pulls back, staring up at me. Her nose crinkles. “No wine. Don’t want to get more emotional.”
“Ice cream?” I offer. “I could make milkshakes. I have no idea how to do so, but I’m confident I can figure it out.”
Her eyes light with mischief. “Now you’ve got your plough in the ground! Great idea.”
“Plough in the ground?” I give her a curious look. “Island saying?”
“Oui!” she confirms. “No one is around this late. They can’t stop us from using the kitchen. Let’s do it.”
We give one another a conspiratorial fist bump.
We change into our matching black silk button-down pajamas. I prefer sleeping in boxers, but happy wife, happy life. She pulls her long hair into the high ponytail I find so sexy, her face bare and clean.
On tiptoe, we sneak off to the kitchen from which we’ve both been banned.
I stand at the kitchen counter, watching her move gracefully as she pours creamy milk into the blender. I add a generous scoop of rich vanilla ice cream, tasting the cold sweetness on the tip of my finger.Feeling mischievous, I swipe more cream from the carton lid, smearing it over her lips. She playfully kisses me, smearing the ice cream over my cheek in retaliation.
A bowl of freshly washed strawberries is on the counter, tempting me. I grab a handful of berries and drop them into the blender, hoping their sweet flavor mixes with other ingredients.
“Och!” Playfully, she elbows me, adding another scoop of ice cream to the blender. “We agreed on vanilla! Not strawberry.”
“Think it’s ready?” I ask.
“Let’s see!”
Our arms touch as we lean over the blender to see if our milkshake is ready to be blended. A loud noise suddenly jolts me. Freya pushed the button before I secured the lid.
In a split second, creamy white liquid and chunks of fruit fly out of the blender in a chaotic explosion, splattering all over our faces, hair, and clothes, and covering the walls and ceiling.
We both freeze, staring in shock at the mess. Morven’s perfect kitchen is destroyed.
“My God, I’m glad Morven’s not here right now. ”
“And just when she was starting to think we might be more than just pretty faces.” Laughing, Freya wipes milk from her face. “This is a disaster, not to mention the pasta night failure?—”
“Of which we do not speak,” I remind her, thinking of the globs of linguini we burned to the bottom of Morven’s favorite pan.
“Exactly why we are NOT allowed in the kitchen, husband.”
She’s so sexy, so utterly sensual, standing there, covered in cream and berries, her long ponytail swishing as she moves toward the towel drawer. “How in the Green Hills of Scotland will we clean up this mess?”
“First,” I say, “let’s get those messy clothes off you.”
I step closer to Freya, my hands reaching for the hem of her soiled black pajama top. I gently lift it up and over her head, revealing her bare skin underneath. She's not wearing a bra, and I stare at the beauty of her breasts, her tight, peaked nipples.
She stands before me, unashamed and unafraid, her confidence making desperate need tighten in my core. I stand there fully dressed and soaked through, wanting her so badly. “You know you’re not allowed in the kitchen, naughty girl.”
“It was your idea.”
“But you pushed the button. What a mess. You’ll have to be punished.”
With a low growl in my throat, I scoop her up in my arms and carry her to the counter. She gasps softly at the contact, and I can feel her heart pounding against me. Her legs wrap around my waist as I sit her on the cold granite. She shivers at the contact but doesn't pull away from our heated kiss.
“How are you going to punish me?” Freya whispers. Teasing me with sexy naughtiness, she grabs the end of her ponytail, letting her teeth sink into her full bottom lip.
I snag a berry from the bowl, popping it into her mouth. Grinning, she offers me a bite. The taste of strawberries and cream explodes in my mouth, making me even hungrier for her. I kiss her, taking the berry and finishing it for her. Our tongues tangle, tasting one another and the sweet tang of fresh strawberries.
“I’m going to torture you, princess.” I dip another strawberry into what’s left in the blender, covering it as much as possible with the ice cream. Grabbing the back of her head, I distract her with a deep kiss as I move between her legs. She gasps into the kiss as I tease her entrance with the cold berry, pushing it inside of her.
I lay her down on the island, her back bare on the cold marble, her ass on the edge, her legs over my shoulders. “Lay just like that and take your punishment.”
I grab the pitcher of the blender, holding it high. With her hands folded under her head, she stares up wide-eyed. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Slowly, watching her face every moment, I tilt the pitcher forward. Ice-cold milkshake pours through the air, dripping all over the outer lips of her bare pussy.
She moans from the cold. I go to my knees, pants slipping in the milky mess on the floor. Holding her ass in my hands, I bury my face in her pussy, lapping up sugary cream and the taste of her. I find the strawberry, nipping at its end before pulling it out and feasting on it. I replace the berry with my fingers, stroking her velvet insides as I suck and nibble at her clit.
“Oh God.” Her fingers dig into the backs of her thighs. “Oh. God.”
With a tight shudder running through her body, she comes fast and hard, back arching over the marble. “Oh MY GOD!”
Satisfied she’s pleased, I’m ready to feel her body against me, my cock buried inside her. She lays on the counter, legs hanging down weakly. I stand, rip off my shirt, tear off my pants, and grab her legs.
Before she’s fully caught her breath, I pull her from the island, put her on her feet, grab her hips, and flip her around. Gathering cream from the counter, I slide my flat and slippery hand from her lower back up her spine, cupping the back of her neck.
Needing to fuck her, I push her down on the counter. She sucks air in as her bare breasts press against the island. With one hand tangled in Freya's hair and the other holding onto her waist, I guide myself inside of her. We both moan at the feeling of being connected, of friction after so much teasing. Her hands splay, her cheek presses against the marble.
“How hard do you want me to fuck you, princess?” I grab her hips, thrusting deep inside her.
“Harder!” she moans.
“God, you’re perfect. “A laugh chokes off in the back of my throat as the first waves of climax start to hit me. My pulse drums in my ear as I hold her hips, pulling her back into me over and over, hard and fast, my pelvis thrusting forward to slam into her each time. Covered in milkshake, my skin grows slick from effort. My fingers find her slippery clit, working it over as I fuck her from behind. “Is this how you like it, hard and fast, my naughty princess?”
“Yes! God. I LOVE the way you fuck.” She slaps a palm against the island, gasping as her body tenses. Her shoulders tighten, her neck arching, her head curving back as her pussy locks around me like a clamp. “Fuck, Fredrick! Fuck.”
I slap her ass, groaning as I bury my cock inside her, my fingers digging into her hip as I come, hot and flowing, filling her till it spills out of her. I collapse against her back, my chest slick and sticky against her skin. She reaches for the back of my head, stroking my hair. “Damn, you’re good at what you do.”
“You too, princess.” I kiss the back of her neck, savoring the sugar and salt. Gathering her into my arms, I carry her to our massive shower, lathering every inch of her skin. I even shampoo, rinse, condition, and comb her hair for her.
Dressed in robes, our hair damp, we stand in the kitchen doorway, staring at the mess—floors, walls, ceiling all covered in sticky drying cream and chunks of berries.
Sharing a glance, I say, “So this is why they keep us out of here.”
“Ready to tackle our biggest challenge yet?”
“No,” I say, overwhelmed by the disastrous kitchen. “But Morven will kill us if we don’t try.”