8. Freya
“Rusinan I pylsuendanum,” I shout, forgetting to use English words.
“And what exactly does that mean?” Rory grins at me as he scrubs a hand across his mouth and jaw. It’s embarrassingly wet.
I laugh. “I’m not sure you’re going to like the literal English translation because it sounds a bit weird.”
“You forget I’m Scottish. We have our fair share of unusual sayings.”
“Okay. It means ‘the raisin at the end of the hot dog.’”
He roars with laughter. His forehead dropping down to rest on my thigh, inches from my bare, still-wet lady bits. Somewhere inside me, I feel like I should be more embarrassed by my nakedness in front of a guy I only met accidentally yesterday. But I’m not, and it’s surprising and freeing all at once.
Finally, he stops long enough to lift his head and say, “That is crazy. I give you an orgasm and you shout that.” His dark eyes still glitter with amusement as he stands. His large, thick shaft bobbing against his rock-hard abs. I know that because I made sure I ran my hands over every one of the ridges on my way down to give him a blow job.
I can’t help staring, and when I finally return my gaze to his face, he’s grinning broadly.
What was he saying? That’s right. “It’s a phrase used to describe something as surprising. A highlight or an amazing experience.”
“Aye, right. I agree.” Rory’s hooded eyes, as deep and rich as dark melted chocolate drizzling over my body, consume me. But I need more. I want to feel his thick length thrusting in me when I orgasm. I was denied his fingers, and I’m not going to be denied his impressive cock.
I sit up to wrap my arms around his neck and press my breasts into his chest. “I think you need to fuck me now.”
His large hands dig into my hips. I like the desperation behind his bruising hold.
I slip off the edge of the desk to stand. “Bed?”
He growls, and it’s a deep, low sound like I’ve only ever heard from a wild animal in a nature documentary. I want him to do it again.
“Turn around,” he demands. He doesn’t wait for me to respond but grips firmly on my hips and twists my body till I’m facing the wall.
He melds his body to my back and bends forward so my chest is pressed flush to the desktop. The smooth wood cool against my heated body.
His lips are close to my ear. “You want me to fuck you. Are you sure you can handle that?”
“Yes,” I shout so loudly his head jolts back and his palms dig deeper into my hips.
“Hold on to the desk,” he demands. I reach up to curl my fingers over the far edge of the hard surface, my hips pressing into the near edge.
“Spread your legs,” he commands, and I wriggle against his erection as I slowly inch my legs wider.
“Are you teasing me, Freya?”
He can’t see my smile as I coo, “Maybe. What are you going to do about it?” I’m deliberately provoking him.
A raspy laugh bursts from him. “I’m going to fuck you.” He reaches a hand between my open legs, trailing a finger through my dripping folds. “And it will be so good you won’t know whether to scream or cry.” His other hand closes around my hair, gently coaxing me to turn my head. He nips at the soft skin on my bared neck. “My preference would be you screaming my name.”
I’m so wet I can hear the sucking noise as he plunges two fingers inside me. An ache pulls on the inner walls of my pussy, and my thighs clench against his hand.
“Yes.” My voice is husky, coated with such an overwhelming need that my legs would collapse if I weren’t lying across the desk.
“Stay there.” His command is gruff before cool air hits my back and goose bumps pebble my skin.
Where is he going? With my cheek flat against the desk, I watch him move to the other side of the room where his bag is. I don’t dare shift positions for fear that he’ll deny me the promised pleasure. A foil packet crinkles, and the breath I’d been holding is released. I watch him roll the condom on, his dick standing proud and hard. My fingers itch to do it for him. Next time! I’ll insist he lets me do it.
Rory is bigger than any man I’ve been with before, and I squeeze my thighs in anticipation. He looks up and grins when he catches me watching him. I don’t care if he can see my desire. I want him to know how much I want him.
“You ready?” he asks, moving back to me. I twist my head around as he lines up behind me.
“So ready!”
But still, he makes me wait. Instead, his fingers plunge inside. Once. Twice. Three times, he pumps them in and out.
Frustration makes my jaw ache. “Rorrryyy,” I grind out.
His cock nudges my entrance before he leans over me. “Is this what you want?” He pushes in an inch, then another, and another.
My grip tightens on the desk, holding myself in place.
Excruciatingly slowly, he fills me. “Hradar. Hradar … Damn it, faster,” I demand, forgetting my English again.
And the breath whooshes from my lungs when he plunges balls deep into me in one powerful thrust.
I’ve never felt so stretched, so full. I gasp to fill my lungs with air, thinking I might pass out if I don’t catch a breath. My orgasm is just out of reach.
He withdraws a little before plunging deep again. My hips bang against the desk, but I feel no pain. The stretch is so exquisite, nothing else matters. Again and again, he retreats, then fills me.
My muscles clench, then release … until I’m spiraling out of control.
“Fjandanum,” I scream, and the Icelandic word for fuck reverberates around the room, only drowned out by Rory’s loud groan when he comes shortly after.
He collapses over me in a long exhale, and I savor his warm, all-encompassing embrace.
“Am I squashing you?” he asks, his breathing still labored.
“Not at all. But the bed might be more comfortable for both of us.”
He chuckles, and his breath tickles my ear. I want to cuddle closer to him, and I’m not normally a cuddler.
“Stay there,” he says, pulling away from me.
“Oh my God, you can’t be ready to go another round?” I ask, but again, I don’t move from the desk but watch him over my shoulder as he discards the condom. “Because I have to tell you, the two orgasms have totally wrecked me.”
His laugh is fully unleashed this time as he returns from the adjoining bathroom and strides across the room to scoop me into his arms like I weigh nothing more than an elf.
“You wrecked me too,” he says when I’m cradled against his chest.
He walks over to the bed, bends to pull back the covers, then rolls me onto it.
I ride the resulting wave of water. Giggling at the way it wobbles under me. “Imagine having sex on this.”
Suggestively, he raises his brows. “Maybe we won’t have to imagine it. Roll over so I can hop aboard.”
I do a complete turn, and before the water can settle, I’m rocked up and down as Rory plops himself down beside me. I let the waves throw us together.
“This bed is crazy but a lot of fun,” I pronounce happily when he reaches out to pull me into the circle of his arms.
“Certainly more fun with you in it.”
I hug him a little tighter, and soon, the gentle rocking has me slipping into an exhausted sleep.
***
I wake warm, contented, and aching in all the right places. My inner walls had a serious workout last night, and I feel fabulous. The way Rory devoured every inch of flesh from my clit to my channel, then stretched me around his thick cock, replays in my mind. I expect this won’t be the first or last time I remember those moments of ecstasy.
Who knew it was even possible to orgasm three times in one night? Not me, but I do now.
Sometime during the night, we came together again. That time it was slower and more heartbreakingly gentle but just as explosive. I’m realizing the benefits of taking a lover who is older and experienced rather than wasting my time with way-too-eager young lads. Maybe it’s just that Rory is especially skilled as a lover, exceptional among men of all ages. Whatever the reason, I don’t really care. Because all I can think of lying here rolled up close to the heat of his naked body is that I want a repeat. Each orgasm the man delivered last night was bigger and better than the one before, and I’m wondering how high we can go.
The bed shifts beneath me with a gentle swell of water, and seconds later, a large hand grips my hip and pulls me closer. His morning wood firm against my lower back is an obvious sign that he’s wide awake.
His palm is a heavy caress as he reaches around my body and between my legs. Oh yes, this is what I was imagining.
One finger trails along my damp seam on a voyage of discovery, teasing my thighs apart with each swipe before stopping at my clit. He rubs slow circles over it with his thumb.
“Morning, princess,” he murmurs into my ear. “Have you been having dirty thoughts without me?”
“Maybe. What do you plan to do about it?”
“Plenty,” he growls, then his mouth clamps down on the soft skin of my exposed neck, marking me. The stirrings of an orgasm intensify. My body seems to recognize his touch this morning.
His mouth, hand, and hard cock—now imprinting itself into my back.
He plunges two fingers into me, then three, and my walls clench greedily around them.
A whimpered, “Yes,” slips from my lips.
Damn, he’s good.
My hips rock, riding his hand as sensations I’ve never felt before skitter up my body, increasing in intensity, until with a whoosh, I explode, releasing pleasure that coats his fingers.
A shower of fiery sparks flashes behind my closed eyelids.
An audible groan is yanked from deep within my chest around the region of my heart.
Another orgasm later, and we finally crawl out of the bed and into the shower. It’s another hour before we’re dressed. I shrug my arms into my leather jacket, knowing I’ll need to go home to change before going to the hospital to visit my mother. The questions she’d grill me with if I turned up in my gold dress from last night don’t bear thinking about. I’m not ready to share my thoughts about Rory with anyone, mainly because they confuse me.
It was only one night, but the sexual chemistry between us was something I’d never experienced before. I don’t understand how that depth of connection is even possible after only a couple of days.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I run my fingers through my hair before pulling it up into a messy bun on the top of my head. That will have to do until I can brush it at home. In the reflection, Rory appears behind me, his arms slipping around my waist. I place my hands on his forearms, my gaze focusing on the way the veins track down to his large hands. Every inch of his body looks and feels like perfection.
“I need to go visit my mother,” I murmur, hoping this moment isn’t the end of us but not knowing how we can be more.
“I know.”
“What are you planning to do today?” I hate how desperate the question sounds, so with a forced smile, I add, “More buildings to visit?”
“No.” He leans over my shoulder and places a trail of kisses on my neck, and I tilt my head to give him better access. When he reaches my ear, he whispers, “I was hoping we could spend more time together.” He drops another string of three kisses on my neck. My head falls back against his shoulder. “Maybe after you finish visiting your mother?”
Through hooded eyes, I watch his reflection in the mirror. I like how we look together. Like we belong.
“Do you want to come with me to see her?”
He lifts his head and stares back at me. “Meeting the parents already? I know I was good last night, but not that good,” he teases.
I lift my arm to hook my hand around his neck, and then it hits me. What did I just do? I drop my arm and pull my bottom lip between my teeth. He’s right; the idea of introducing him to my mother is ridiculous. It’s too soon. No, not too soon. More like completely out of character for me. This isn’t what I do when I sleep with a guy. When I date someone, I’m the one who is accused of being too casual, not wanting a relationship or commitment. I certainly never ask them to meet my mother.
He spins me around to face him, then runs his thumb along my bottom lip, freeing it from its restraint. “I’d like to meet your mother. If you’re sure?”
I blink several times. I’m not sure. But the fact that he is willing to meet her leaves me without words. Really, I’ve got no idea what prompted me to invite him to meet her when I’d just been thinking I didn’t want her quizzing me about him. Oh boy, is she going to have some questions when we’re alone. A kernel of worry takes root in my head; maybe she won’t wait and will ask me about him right then and there. I’ve no way of knowing because the last guy I introduced her to was my date for a dance when I was in upper secondary.
I reach to pull Rory’s head down to mine so I can seal my mouth to his. And when all doubts have been kissed right out of me, we leave.