13. Rory
Idon’t want to move. And this time, it’s not because I don’t want to set off another wave of water sloshing underneath me. But because I don’t want to let go of Freya. Her naked body is curled around mine. A hand rests in the center of my chest. Her head pillowed on my shoulder. I glance down, and above the white sheet, I can see her breasts squished against my chest wall, one pert dusky nipple just visible, the other hidden. I want to rub my thumb over it, but she’s sleeping peacefully, so I restrain myself.
I don’t remember the last time I smiled just for the heck of it—just because a pretty Icelandic girl is in my bed.
She’s feisty and adventurous in the bedroom. The half-English, half-Icelandic words coming from her mouth last night, like the one before, sounded fucking hot. Our bodies coming together this weekend was not with the awkwardness of first-time lovers but with the innate knowledge of exactly what buttons to push to eke out maximum pleasure. We seem to instinctively fit like we’d lived an earlier life together, maybe back in the times of Vikings. The thought stirs a smile.
I read in one of the museums that Freyja in Norse mythology is the goddess of love, beauty, and sex. And the modern version tucked into my arms is the embodiment of all three. The Norse gods would be proud of Freya’s efforts to live up to her name.
She’s fucking amazing, and based on our conversation last night, this weekend cannot be the end of us.
Freya stirs in my arms, and the slight movement sets off a ripple beneath our bodies. For once, the gentle rocking doesn’t have me cursing the fucking waterbed. Instead, my fingers dance up and down her spine.
“Mmm, that feels good,” she murmurs in her husky morning voice. It’s sexy as hell, and I want to hear more.
“How are you this morning? Sore? Hungry?” I ask, bringing my other hand across to brush the curtain of gold back off her face.
She blinks several times before green eyes lock on mine like magnets. “Hungry. Definitely hungry. But not for food.”
A grin nearly splits my cheeks apart. That’s my girl, insatiable. But then the thought hits me. Is she really my girl? We haven’t made definite plans yet. My mouth twists back into a straight line at the thought that this may be all we have, unless I come up with a plan to meet up again.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, lifting her head to look at me more closely.
I force a smile back in place. “Nothing. I’m just trying to work out how best to feed your hunger.”
The wrinkle between her brows smooths, though I can tell she’s not completely convinced. “I can think of a few ways.”
My mouth ticks up at the corners more naturally this time. “I bet you can, but first let me try”—my hand dives under the sheet, tilting her hips back and reaching between her thighs—“this.”
***
Reluctantly, I flip my phone over to check the time. It’s bad news, and I slam it face down on the table with a bang. We need to leave for the airport. Freya has offered to drive me, and any additional time with her is a bonus, so I agreed.
Picking up my spoon, I swirl it around and around through the bowl of skyr sitting on the table in front of me. It’s a traditional Icelandic cultured dairy product that’s popular for breakfast. And while the thick, creamy yogurt-like substance is good, especially with fresh berries, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to swallow. The invisible weight of my departure clamps around my chest.
I wish I didn’t have to leave. Finally, I’m understanding what Drew meant when he told me Katie was his everything. It’s too early to say that Freya and I could have something like that but given how far we’ve come in such a short time, there’s every possibility that we could make this work. And thinking about Drew gives me an idea.
My spoon clanks against the porcelain edge of the bowl, like a bell tolling its final ring. “Freya, I know last night we said we could meet again. Well, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to my brother’s wedding next month.” I suck a breath in and hold it.
Her eyes pop wide. My words seem to surprise her almost as much as the thought does me. But I’ve never felt so sure about wanting to spend more time with a woman.
“What? Really?” She blinks at me several times, a smile transforming her features.
“Aye, really, princess. I can book you a flight to Edinburgh when I get home and send you all the details.”
“Yes. A thousand times yes. I would like that.”
She’s glowing, and it feels fucking fantastic knowing that it’s me who made that happen.
I never expected that I would find my perfect woman in Iceland. But Freya fits me like we belong. Like she’s mine.
And now that she’s agreed to come to my brother’s wedding as my partner, it feels like I’m one step closer to making her mine, for a lot more than one weekend.