Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
They’d ended up going three rounds in the hot tub.
Or was it two and a half? After Freya had ridden him reverse-cowgirl-style, she’d given him some time to recover before she commanded he sit on the hot tub ledge.
Yeah, that’s right. Commanded. His sweet girl was a bossy little thing.
Not that he minded. Not at all. Especially since she’d eagerly taken him down her throat.
It had been so damn hot, and she’d sucked him so fucking good, he’d seen stars and come within minutes.
After their hot tub naked times, he’d added extra chlorine to the water because, well . . . bodily fluids, right?
While he’d grilled up some steaks for dinner, he’d made a mental note to not only check the pH levels in the morning, but to also delete the security video footage overlooking his back deck.
After dinner, they’d shared the two remaining cobblers.
Though truth be told, he’d probably gotten one bite of the blueberry and maybe three bites of the strawberry-rhubarb.
Not that he cared. He loved finding out these little things about her.
She didn’t like sharing her dessert. And when she was bossy, it was sexy as hell.
They’d gone one more round after dinner.
While their time in the hot tub had been wild and fun and raw, this last time may have been his favorite.
In his bed, face-to-face, slow and sweet and gentle.
He’d taken the time to explore every part of her body.
Kissed every silky, soft inch of her skin. Every scar.
And there had been scars. Jagged scars along her ribs that had piqued his curiosity, but he’d shelved his questions.
It hadn’t been the time or the place. Especially since she’d tensed when he’d kissed them.
At the time, her apparent anxiety had made him even more determined to get her to relax again, to put her at ease in his arms, to make her boneless. To give her his all.
A small smile lifted his lips. It was nearing ten at night, and they were still cuddled in bed. Still spent. Still naked.
Mission accomplished.
She was sprawled over him, and as he’d been doing for the last handful of minutes, he traced his fingers up and down her spine.
He loved how she sank into him, utterly relaxed.
Her hair was draped over his chest, and he wasn’t embarrassed to admit he’d buried his nose in her hair countless times to inhale her soft floral scent.
In a ridiculously short amount of time, this woman had slipped under his skin, under his defenses, and deep into his heart.
And he had no intention of letting her go.
With the only light in the room coming from the fireplace, he traced his fingers over her shoulders and then dipped them lower and traced the scars along the left side of her ribs. For a split second, she tensed. A warm satisfaction coursed through him when she relaxed a moment later.
He knew it probably wasn’t the wisest idea, but his curiosity nagged at him. “Tell me about these?”
Tension returned to her body, and he wanted to smack himself upside the head. Holy fuck. What the hell is wrong with you?
He hugged her tightly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s alright,” she murmured as she shifted off him.
She lay on her left side—with her scars no longer in view—and he rolled onto his side so they faced each other. The sorrow coloring her beautiful face punched him in the gut.
“Freya, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head and let out a breath. “They’re from a car accident.” He didn’t think her expression could get sadder, but it did.
“Frey?” He gently brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Worry churned in his gut as her eyes glistened, filling with tears. His heart ached when a single tear escaped and dripped onto the pillow.
It took her a few moments to find her words, but he remained patient. When she finally spoke, his heart stopped.
“I killed my best friend.”