Epilogue #2
She smiled at him, her eyes filled with love.
In the celebration that followed, she had barely left his touch, and he had no intention of letting her go.
A grand feast had been laid out, tables overflowing with roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet honeyed cakes.
The scent of spiced ale and burning peat filled Michael’s lungs as he sat at the head of the table, his wife—his wife—by his side.
He barely paid attention to the toasts being made, to the well-wishes and bawdy jests thrown his way.
He only had eyes for Freya. She was radiant in the firelight, her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the hall, her laughter rich and full as she indulged Cody and the girls, who were gleefully retelling some tales of mischief.
Michael smirked, shaking his head as Marissa launched into an exaggerated version of the time Freya had bested a man in a climbing race up the walls of a nearby hill.
“I tell he, ye nearly broke his neck tryin’ to keep up with Freya!” Marissa declared. “She reached that top like a squirrel!”
Michael turned to her, amused. “Aye? Is that so, wife?”
Freya grinned, tilting her chin. “Of course. Ye should ken by now I always win.”
He chuckled low, leaning in close. “We’ll see about that later.”
Her breath hitched, and he took great satisfaction in the way her fingers tightened around his beneath the table.
The night wore on, the revelry growing wilder. The ale flowed freely, and the men had begun their rowdy singing. Brodie was well into his cups, leading a group of warriors in a raucous Highland tune, while Marissa and Abigail swayed with laughter as they attempted a dance.
Michael had seen enough.
He turned to Freya, voice quiet amidst the noise. “Come, lass. I’ve had me fill of the feast.”
Freya met his gaze, understanding flickering in her eyes. She nodded, standing gracefully, and without a word, he took her hand and led her through the hall. When they reached their rooms, Michael pushed the heavy wooden door open, stepping aside to let her enter first.
Turning to her, he took her into his arms, lifting her with ease. She let out a soft gasp, her hands gripping his shoulders as he strode toward the bed, kicking the door shut behind him with a resounding thud.
Her breath was warm against his neck, her fingers twisting into his plaid. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his chest, matching the wild thrum of his own.
He set her down at the edge of the bed, his hands lingering at her waist, his thumbs brushing over the silk of her gown. He had imagined this moment more times than he could count, but now that it was here, now that she was his, he wanted to take his time, to savor every inch of her.
Slowly, he reached for the laces of her gown, fingers deftly working them loose.
The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing the soft curve of her skin, the delicate rise and fall of her breath.
Her breasts, small but plump, offered themselves to him.
Her pink nipples pebbled, begging for his attention.
Before he could undress her further, Freya’s hands shot up, gripping his plaid and pulling him down to her. Her mouth crashed against his, fierce and desperate, stealing his breath.
“I cannae wait,” she murmured against his lips, her voice thick with longing. “I need ye now, Michael.”
His restraint shattered. A deep growl rumbled in his chest as he claimed her lips again, his hands sliding over her body, mapping every dip and curve as if committing her to memory.
Freya responded in kind, her fingers tangled in his hair, her body pressing into his as if she couldn’t get close enough.
He released her from the confines of her gown without breaking their kiss. His lips traversed every inch of her body, the soft hollow of her neck, her collar bone, down to her perfect breasts. She moaned as he took her nipples into his mouth, sucking, teasing them, making her want more.
He was torn between the desire to take her now and to savor the moment. But she had told him what she wanted, and he would oblige… always.
His lips traveled down her belly, past the soft mound of her most hidden, most tender flesh. His tongue gently caressed her, making her moan loudly. The sound was like the choir of the angels themselves. She was delicious, decadent, and all his.
Her hips bucked higher towards his lip. He listened to her panting as his finger separated her wet folds. Everything about her was pure perfection. He spread her thighs even more, his fingers disappearing inside of her.
He sucked harder and harder, feeling her thighs tightened around his neck. He wanted her wet, hot and aching for him before he claimed her. His tongue teased her mercilessly, sucking on her pearl. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, gripping him and he knew she was close.
She came undone a moment later, his finger buried inside of her, his lips sucking on her wet heat. Her body tensed, and she released a soft, almost kittenish sound. As she relaxed, he withdrew his finger, kissing each of her inner thighs, before he climbed back up to the level of her eyes.
He couldn’t stop looking at her. He wanted to claim every inch of her perfect body, of her magical mind, of her wonderful soul.
He adjusted himself between her thighs, their foreheads touching. “If it hurts, tell me…” he whispered.
“Nay,” she smiled. “Ye could never hurt me…”
Her hands pulled him closer, and her legs locked around him, drawing him inside of her. He was slow at first, gentle. She urged him on, biting her lower lip. It drove him mad, that fire in her eyes.
Deeper with each thrust, she welcomed him into her wet heat.
The fire inside of him was claiming them both.
He thrust harder, deeper, and her body followed his rhythm, until they both reached their climax.
His roared through him with ferocity he wasn’t expecting.
He filled her, burying himself into her, never wanting to be apart from her.
When they finally released each other from their grip, he kissed her forehead.
“I love ye,” he whispered, still breathing heavily.
“I love ye, too…” she whispered back.
He could barely think, barely breathe—there was only her, only this moment, only the fire that burned between them and that would continue to burn for the rest of their lives.
The End?