7. Roman
7
ROMAN
“I love these woods,” Freya says, sighing happily as we drive through the swirling fall colors. “They’re so pretty!”
I’m starting to realize that Freya loves most things. She’s full of excitement, easily swept up by it, and it’s sweet as hell to see her chocolate-brown eyes light up like candles. I’m still not sure how I convinced this young beauty to come out with me, but I never want today to end. I haven’t had a single flashback all morning, and my bad memories are being held back, drowned out by Freya’s sweet voice. I love listening to her talk.
When she hugged me, I nearly lost it. My cock is still throbbing beneath my boxers, hard as rock from the memory of her curves pressing against me. I want Freya more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want to make her mine in every way. But in the back of my mind is a niggling reminder that I’m just a grumpy old man full of baggage and trauma, while Freya is young and sweet as pumpkin pie. The thought hangs over me like a dark cloud, but I do my best to ignore it.
When we pull up outside my cabin a few minutes later, Freya gasps with delight, and I follow her gaze, trying to see my home through her eyes. It’s a modest-sized log cabin with a gable roof and smoke puffing from the chimney. Sugar Creek runs alongside it, filling the clearing with the sound of rushing water. Trees surround my home on all sides, their fiery leaves shaking in the breeze as the scent of wood smoke drifts through the air.
“This is home,” I say, carrying the pumpkins as I lead Freya to the front door.
“It’s incredible!” Her eyes are wide as she takes it all in before eagerly following me into the living room. The fire I lit this morning is still blazing in the hearth, and stepping into the cabin feels like sinking into a warm bath.
Chloe helped me decorate the place, filling it with overstuffed furniture and plush rugs. It’s rustic but comfortable, with views of the forest and the creek.
“I’ve never seen such a beautiful place,” Freya says, her mouth hanging open. “It’s so cozy.”
“Glad you like it.”
“It must be so peaceful out here.” She looks at me curiously as I gesture for her to take a seat. “How do you like living in the woods?”
“It’s a big change from Phoenix.” I set the pumpkins on the table and join Freya on the couch, reaching out to warm my hands by the fire.
“A good change?”
I don’t answer right away. I consider her question as I stare into the crackling flames, finally saying, “Some days, yes. Other days…” I shrug. “I get a lot of time to think out here. Maybe too much.”
The fire spits, embers burning bright orange, and I feel my mind shift before I can stop it.
Flames billowing from an apartment block, ripping through the building. Thick smoke filling my lungs, fire fighters shouting, people screaming, boots thudding as I charge inside to help. My eyes are burning. Can’t breathe. Too many people to save, not enough time to get them all…not enough air…
“Roman?”
The sound of my name jerks me back to reality, and I see Freya’s sweet face swimming before me, her brow furrowed in concern. Her hand is touching my arm, the soft skin of her fingers gripping me tight, keeping me grounded.
“Sorry,” I say, shaking off the memories and trying to look casual.
“Don’t be sorry.” She smiles reassuringly, squeezing my arm. “Were you having a flashback?”
Her words surprise me.
Was it really that obvious?
She seems to recognize my surprise and says, “My mom had PTSD a few years ago. She dealt with a lot of flashbacks. Her eyes would go blank, and she would zone out, but it didn’t look like a daydream…it was more intense.” Freya frowns like she’s remembering. “She’d get this scared look on her face and her body would tense up. Then eventually she’d sort of just…come back to herself, if that makes sense.”
I swallow hard, my skin prickling when she says PTSD. It’s something I’ve been pushing to the back of my mind, trying not to confront head on. Admitting I have a problem feels like cowardice. Weakness. It feels almost like I’m admitting I wasn’t up to the job. But I push those thoughts aside as I process what Freya just said.
“I’m sorry your mom dealt with that,” I tell her, feeling a twinge of sympathy in my gut. “What happened, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“It’s okay, you can ask.” Freya pulls her knees up onto the couch, hugging them to her chest. “She was in an accident. A kid ran out into the road and she hit him with her car.”
My stomach drops. “Shit.”
“He was okay,” she adds quickly. “His arm was broken, but they fixed it up in the hospital and he was totally fine. It really shook my mom up, though. It affected her for a long time, but she’s doing much better now. No more flashbacks to the accident.” She smiles at me, her soft hand still touching my arm. Her eyes are glowing in the firelight, and I feel like she’s looking straight through me, seeing deep into my soul.
“Your mom…” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral, “how did she get better?”
“She started talking to somebody. It helped her a lot. She was able to work through all her emotions about what happened.” Her face falls as she adds, “You must have seen a lot of scary things when you were a cop. I can’t even imagine.”
I nod. “It was a tough job. You work as a cop for long enough, and you end up seeing at least one thing that fucks you up.” There’s so much more I could say, but I’m not about to unload all my problems onto this sweet angel. I don’t need to burden her with any of my crap.
“Anyway,” I say, rolling up my sleeves, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to bake some pie.”
Freya lets me change the subject without comment. With a smile, she jumps up from the couch. “Let’s do it!”
We get busy scooping out the pumpkins before baking and pureeing them. I instruct Freya how to make the filling, and she looks adorably nervous as she cracks eggs into the mixture.
“Shoot,” she mutters, fishing out a big chunk of shell. “I should warn you now, I’m not much of a baker.”
“You’re doing great.”
I hold back a chuckle when she accidentally dumps double the amount of cinnamon we need into the mixture, and I reach around her to scoop it out, my heart thudding as my front brushes the warmth of her back. If she moves even an inch, she’ll feel the raging hard on that’s straining against my boxers.
“Sorry!” she says for the hundredth time once I’m finished scooping out as much cinnamon as possible. “I’m a walking baking disaster.” There’s still a trace of cinnamon swirling in the air, and Freya turns away to sneeze before looking back at me with a smile of determination. “Okay, now what?”
I show her how to whisk the filling together, adding plenty of cream and sugar, along with all the other ingredients we need. Freya’s movements are more confident now, and as I remove the partially warm pie crust from the oven, she doesn’t hesitate to pour in the filling, smoothing it out with a grin.
“Perfect,” I tell her. “Now we just need to put it back in the oven. Want to do the honors?”
She nods eagerly, sliding the pie onto the top shelf before giving me a satisfied smile. “I have a good feeling about this. This could be the best pumpkin pie that anybody has ever made.”
She looks so fucking cute standing in my kitchen, a streak of cinnamon on her cheek. I reach out to brush it away, not missing the way she shivers slightly beneath my touch.
God, the things I want to do…
Freya’s cheeks pinken as she looks at me, and she swallows hard. The air between us feels charged, buzzing with tension, and I force myself to tear my eyes from her pretty face.
“So…how did you learn to bake pumpkin pie?” Freya asks breathlessly, like she’s desperate to fill the silence.
“My mom taught me.” I lean back against the counter. “It was Chloe’s favorite treat growing up, so I wanted to know how to make it from scratch.”
Freya makes an appreciative noise. “You sound like a great dad.”
“I try my best. I’m not perfect, but I love my daughter, and she knows that.”
Something flickers in Freya’s eyes, a shadow passing over her face as she says, “That’s all a daughter needs—to know she’s loved.”
Her expression makes my stomach drop. I’ve never seen Freya look unhappy, and even now, she’s trying to hide it. But the sadness in her eyes is unmistakable.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
She nods, pressing her lips together. “Yes.”
“You can tell me anything, Freya.”
With a sigh, she shrugs like it’s no big deal and says, “I never had a dad. He left us to start a new family when I was still a baby.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, anger sparking inside me as I think of Freya being abandoned by a man who should have loved her unconditionally.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “That fucking sucks. You deserved better.”
She blinks, then forces a smile and says in her chirpiest voice, “I’m better off without him! It’s a good thing that he left. My mom is all I need, anyway.”
I recognize the way she pushes down her negative emotions. It’s something I’ve gotten all too used to doing.
“It’s okay to be sad about it, Freya,” I tell her, moving closer and wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “Some things just suck, and it’s okay to be mad or upset. You don’t need to put on a brave face all the time.”
She smiles at me sadly. “Isn’t that what you do?”
I make a noise deep in my throat. “Touche.”
With a sigh, Freya rests her head against me, and my heart squeezes tight.
“Thank you, Roman,” she says. “You’re right. I guess I’m just so used to hiding behind a smile.” Her voice is soft and quiet. “I’m happy most of the time. But I’m still learning how to let myself be sad too. Pushing all those negative emotions down isn’t healthy.”
“You’re right. It’s not. I’m starting to learn that the hard way.”
We stay like that for a few minutes, both of us lost in our own thoughts, until Freya takes a deep breath and asks, “Is the pie nearly ready?”
“Another fifty minutes, at least.”
“Fifty!” Her horrified exclamation tickles me, and I stifle a laugh.
“Then after that it has to cool,” I tell her. “That will take another few hours.”
Her pretty mouth falls open. “But it smells so good! Waiting is going to be torture.”
“We’ll have to find a way to take your mind off waiting.”
Freya catches my gaze, an eyebrow lifting. I didn’t mean for my words to sound so suggestive, but now they’re lingering in the air between us, mingling with the sweet scent of pumpkin pie. Freya’s curves are close enough to touch, her pretty face turned up to look at me. She nibbles her bottom lip nervously, and says, “Do…do you have something in mind?”
My body is like a coiled spring, every muscle tensing as I look down at this sweet girl, my heart hammering like a drum. My mind is wrestling with itself, the angel and the devil on either shoulder. She’s too young. Too innocent. Too damn sweet. But fuck, the devil is winning. This girl became my obsession the moment I set eyes on her, and I’m not strong enough to resist for a second longer.
“Yes,” I say hoarsely in response to her question. “I do.”
Then I tangle my hands through her glossy hair and lean down to kiss her hard. She gasps against my mouth, her body tensing for a moment before she melts against me, kissing me back. Her arms loop around my neck, and I groan as I claim her warm mouth. Everything falls away. There’s nothing but Freya’s pouty lips moving against mine, her soft curves pressing against me, her sweet moans against my mouth.
Heaven.
Without breaking our kiss, I scoop her into my arms and carry her into the living room, laying her on the couch. Red-hot desire buzzes through me, my mouth hungry as I slip my tongue between Freya’s soft lips. She tastes like cocoa and cinnamon, and I can’t get enough of her. My cock is swelling, getting bigger and harder as I rub my hands over Freya’s curvy body, desperate to feel every inch of her.
The fire blazes beside us, bathing us in warmth as I pull off Freya’s sweater, but there are no bad memories lurking in the flames now. With desperate hands, I reach for her bra next, tossing it aside until her plump breasts are exposed, bathed in the warm orange glow of the firelight. Her pretty pink nipples are puckered and hard, and I eagerly suck one into my mouth. Freya moans softly, and the sound turns me feral.
My girl.
My obsession.
I’m going to make her come so hard she can’t breathe. I’m going to devour her sweet pussy and get drunk on her taste, savoring every drop of her cream. She has no fucking idea how much I want her, but she’s about to find out.