Chapter Twenty-three
Hale
I moan long and low as I lick the remaining flavor off my lips. The chocolate icing is rich, lingering on my tongue. Aksel chuckles at the spectacle I’m making of myself, but his pupils are blown as he says, “Keep making those noises, and I’m not going to be able to control myself, Fylgja.”
I throw my head back and laugh, the sound echoing warmly throughout the quiet room as I set the now-empty plate on the table. When I lean forward on the bed, I expect his mouth to find mine.
Instead, he surprises me.
His tongue drags a line from my chin up the side of my face. I freeze, breath catching, and eyes widening as heat rushes straight to my groin.
“Perv,” I say, feigning disgust to hide the arousal running rampant through my body.
“You had icing on your face,” he replies, unapologetic. He winks as he retreats back to his side of the bed.
I stare at him, mouth slightly open, as he calmly goes back to his cake.
Earlier tonight had been our first real date. No cameras shoved in our faces, no competition looming over our heads. Or at least, that was the plan. The tiny hole-in-the-wall diner had been perfect right up until fans started trickling in. Then flooding. Photos. Autographs. Questions. Smiles.
It had been flattering and exciting for about ten minutes.
By the time our waiter asked, half-jokingly, if he could get on our future client list, my social battery was dead and buried. Aksel noticed immediately. He always seems to know when I’ve had enough. He ordered a massive slice of chocolate cake to go and paid the bill without comment.
The walk back to the hotel was nice. The cool breeze beat out the Vegas heat as night settled in, and Aksel’s fingers laced with mine.
Now, wrapped in hotel robes, bellies full and bodies relaxed, the room feels like a sanctuary.
I sink back against the tufted headboard with a contented sigh, patting my stomach. Despite the mob, tonight was good. More than good. Aksel has been… incredible. Thoughtful. Attentive.
And yet, there’s still so much I don’t know about him.
“I wanna play a game,” I say suddenly, sitting up and crossing my legs as the idea clicks into place.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, eyebrows lifting with interest. “What kind of game?”
“Not that kind,” I say quickly. “A question game. I ask something, and you answer.”
He pretends to think about it. “Am I allowed to ask questions too?”
I sigh dramatically. “I guess.”
We trade questions back and forth, silly ones, embarrassing ones, things that make us laugh and groan in equal measure.
When my turn comes again, I feel the need to ask more serious questions. “Tell me something no one knows about you.”
He stills, the playfulness fading as he considers it, gaze drifting somewhere inward. When he finally looks back at me, his expression is guarded.
“I really did love you at first sight.”
My heart stops. Fully. Completely. I’m gone.
“Gods, you’re such a fucking romantic,” I mutter to break the tension.
He just shrugs. “It’s true. I went home that day and told my parents I’d met the boy I was going to marry.”
I blink. “You said that?”
“Of course I did,” he says easily. “They were ecstatic. You’ll see eventually when they come for family week.”
“You guys sound like you’re close,” I say, rubbing absently at my chest.
He nods, a faint sadness softening his handsome features.
The light catches in his eyes, making them deeper somehow.
“We are. I hope you’ll become close with them, too.
They’ve been our biggest supporters since the very beginning.
” He hesitates before asking his next question. “Do you miss your parents?”
I tilt my head back and forth, cracking my neck to buy time to think.
His question lands heavier than I expected.
Do I miss them? I avoid thinking about my parents so thoroughly that the idea of missing them feels foreign.
I don’t miss my dad. The memories I have of him are all sharp edges and fear.
But my mom…
When she was sober, she was my safety. Her gentle hands and soft laughter guided me through the minefield my father wreaked on the house.
She loved me the way a mother should when she could.
When she couldn’t, it was like I disappeared entirely.
I was a ghost in my own home, watching her chase the next hit.
Always just one last hit. Nothing else mattered.
“I’m not sure,” I finally say. “They were never really that great of parents. I mean, my mom tried, but my dad and the drugs kept her away from me. I guess I kind of miss sober her.” I shrug; the vulnerability I’m feeling sits wrong. I feel too exposed.
Aksel nods solemnly, taking in my answer without judgment. There’s no pity in his gaze, none of that awkward sympathy people usually offer when they hear my story. Instead, there’s something firmer there. Resolve? Like he’s quietly deciding something I’m not privy to.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat and forcing a lighter tone. “My turn.”
He raises a brow in suspicion as he senses my attempt at changing the mood.
“What does your… anatomy look like in your kraken form?”
His laughter bursts out of him, breaking the tension instantly. “Maybe I’ll show you if you win.”
“Really?” My interest sparks. “You’d shift for me?”
Showing someone your shifted form is extremely intimate.
“I don’t know if I would shift fully,” he says with a shrug that is far too casual for what he’s offering, “but I’d definitely do a partial shift for you.” He hesitates, then asks more softly, “Can I see your tail one day?”
Gods, I miss shifting. I didn’t realize how much of myself lived in the water until I went without it.
When the stress built up or the sadness settled too deeply, I used to slip beneath the surface and let it all fall away.
I took Eric’s private pool for granted, thinking of it as little more than an easy convenience.
Now it feels like a release I didn’t fully understand.
I smile, warmth blooming in my heart. “How about this? If you win, I’ll show you my tail. If I win, you’ll show me your… tentacles.”
His laugh is lower this time, huskier, as he holds out his hand. “Deal.”
I don’t shake it. Instead, I tug, catching him off balance. He lands on top of me with a surprised oof, his grin spreading slow and bright, like he knows exactly where this is headed.
“When we win,” I say quietly, suddenly serious, “Do you want to open the shop together?”
The surprise on his face makes my stomach twist with guilt that I haven’t made my feelings for him clear. “You want that? With me? For real?”
I wrap my legs around his hips, the fabric of my robe slipping open enough to feel the cool air against my warm skin.
My fingers toy with the edges of his robe, easing it open and exploring the familiar lines of his chest. “Yes. I do. I’m not interested in divorce anymore.
You’re my husband. This marriage isn’t a mistake.
” I trace my hand up his chest and shoulders.
“I want to stay in Vegas… but I know how close you are with your parents. I’d understand if you wanted something different. ”
The small furrow between his brows sends a spike of panic through me. My heart stutters. What if I was wrong? What if our dreams don’t line up the way I want them to?
He must see it on my face because his expression softens. He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I can’t think of anything I would want more than opening a shop together.”
Relief floods hard and fast. I smile up at him, joy swelling until it feels too big to hold in. For once, I don’t let my anxiety about my past and future ruin the moment. I let myself have this moment.
We stay like that for a while; our bodies close and breathing in sync. The world narrowed down to the space between us. Slowly, like a rising tide, the energy shifts. His breathing deepens as his pheromones rise. My body reacts naturally, my hole leaking slick and my dick hardening in anticipation.
I pull him down, capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s all pent-up feeling and promise for our future.
His answering growl is all alpha claiming his omega.
He thrusts his hips against mine in a frantic search for the friction we’re both craving.
Our cocks align perfectly as we race to the finish line.
I’m close. So fucking close, but he pulls away, sitting up and shucking off his robe.
I whine needily, my hips thrusting uselessly in the air in search of my alpha warmth.
Next thing I know, he’s back on top of me, our leaking cocks slotted together as our tongues tangle in a sensual dance. He tastes like chocolate and cinnamon, and I’m quickly becoming addicted.
I turn my head, gasping in a lungful of air as he moves down to my neck, sucking a dark spot into the skin over my scent gland.
“I need you inside of me,” I moan wantonly.
He pauses, looking up at me from beneath long blond lashes. “Are you sure?” he asks. His scent flares, stronger than I’ve ever smelled before. My hole drips, demanding attention from the only being who can assuage this arousal.
“Can’t you feel how much I want you?” I ask him, purring as he licks over my Adam’s apple.
Our mixed pheromones permeate the air, creating a heavy weight that pushes me to mate even more than I already want, my slick dampening the bed underneath me.
He moans, dropping his head to my shoulder and shuddering in desire.
His hand slides down my abs, past my aching dick, to between my legs.
He rubs his finger around my puckered entrance, teasing the sensitive muscle with a faint pressure that drives me crazy.
“Gods, Fylgja. You’re fucking soaked,” he growls, pushing his finger inside of me. I instinctively push back against him, gasping and searching for more.
“I need,” I whimper pathetically, “I need… something. Please, alpha.”