‘Now you’re just showing off,’ she said against his lips, laughter in her voice and on the tongue that played with his when she’d finished taunting him and he thanked whatever deity was out there.
Her hurt, the fear that haunted her, had undone him. He couldn’t stand to see her in so much pain. If he could have taken it from her, he would have. In a heartbeat. But he couldn’t. So he’d do this instead. He’d distract her with pleasure and tease her with desire. And if a part of him called him a coward for hiding in that same pleasure, then he’d own it. There was a time and a place for his story, but now wasn’t it.
‘You wound me. That is hardly showing off. I could bench press you,’ he said in between kisses.
She pulled back to stare at him.
‘Really, I could absolutely—’
She scrambled down his body before he could show her and he held back the laugh bubbling in his chest. How they could go from tearing strips off each other to tearing off clothes in just a matter of minutes was incredible to him.
But not as incredible as the sight of Freya standing there before him, unashamed of the body that had caused her so much hurt. He couldn’t look at her enough, his eyes running over every inch of her, committing her to memory.
The finest merino wool clung to her legs, displaying the powerful curves of her thighs, and he wanted to turn her around so that he could see how it sculpted her backside. He cursed. He was getting hard just looking at her. A blush rose to her cheeks as if she could see.
‘Take it off,’ he said, his tone guttural even to his own ears.
She looked for a moment as if she might argue, but then those incredible amber eyes melted to lava and instead she hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly,tooslowly, peeled it down from her hips, her thighs and to her ankles before stepping out of it and throwing it aside.
He was about to speak when she beat him to it, with a wryly raised eyebrow, her thumbs catching on the thin lace of her panties and lowering barely an inch before pausing in this new game that had sprung between them. His heart pounded in his chest, on the knife-edge of a pleasure just within reach. He’d never stopped wanting her. Not once.
‘Your turn,’ she said, nodding to the top he’d worn for training. She’d barely finished her sentence before he practically tore it from his body. She was doing a terrible job of hiding her amusement, but when her eyes refocused on his chest the laughter died on her lips. Her gaze scoured him. He wondered what changes she’d see in his body after eight years apart. It hadn’t taken him long in the army to fill out to a breadth that was as impressive as his height and without an ounce of pride he knew he was very different to the boy she must remember.
‘You want me?’ she asked, as if afraid that he might say no.
‘I’ve never wanted anyone else.’ The truth flying from his lips as if it had always belonged to her.
‘Yes, but there were others,’ she stated, trying so hard to hide the bite of jealousy that was easy for him to read. She was so sure.
‘No.’
Her eyes flew to his in shock. ‘What? Never?’
‘It has only been you,’ he growled.
It will only ever be you.The words cried out silently in his soul.
She took a step towards him, the finest tremor to her legs as if she was as affected by his confession as he’d been making it. He fisted his hands to stop himself from reaching for her. This had to be for her. She had to take what she needed and wanted.
She drew to a stop, barely an inch from his body, the heat from her skin washing against him like a tide, pulling him towards her against his will.
Her hand raised and swept a lock of hair from his forehead, her fingers shockingly cool against his face. Her hand trailed downwards, across his jaw, his neck and coming to a rest over his heart.
‘Me too,’ she said and, before he could process the hint of sadness there, she kissed him so passionately he couldn’t hold back any more.
He swept her up into his embrace and knelt, placing her on the furs to satiate the incessant need that had thrown images of her just like this into his mind again and again and again. The fire blazed in the wood burner, casting flickering shadows over her deliciously warm skin. Outside, snowflakes were swirling and falling in a moving curtain, letting through the dusk, and welcoming the oncoming dark of night. But the strange haunting white glow reflecting from the snow made it feel as if they were in a magical land—one stolen from time, a precious second chance that seemed as impossible and fleeting as it was real.
Freya stared up at him from the furs, her earthy skin perfect against the deep russet and browns surrounding her. She reached for him and he couldn’t deny her. He came over her in a kiss that stole his breath and his heart, only to find himself smiling barely a second later as she pushed impatiently at the waistband of his trousers. He was naked by his second breath and pure male pride burst to life when he saw the glare of desire flare in her whisky-coloured eyes at the sight of him.
Pulling him into yet another kiss, her body came to life beneath his, her legs parting to welcome him between them, her thighs shifting beneath his hips, and he couldn’t help but run his hand between them to cup her wet heat. Her head drifted back, exposing her neck to his lips as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to her skin and pressed his thumb to the delicate flesh that sent Freya wild. He circled her clitoris before sweeping towards her entrance, gently teasing the heated dampness until she punished him with a bite to his bottom lip.
He smiled into her kiss as he gently drew himself down her body, settling between her thighs, where he could die a very happy man. Her hips twisted under his focus, drawing his gaze to where Freya watched him, pink-cheeked and breathless.
As his tongue swept out and she shuddered from the sensual kiss, he knew he’d never seen anyone or anything more beautiful in his life than Freya. He would have spent every day of it worshipping her, if he’d been able. But a relationship between them would never be allowed. He wasn’t stupid, even this was a stolen moment. The truth was, a Svardian soldier could never marry his princess.
But she doesn’t want to be a princess any more.
She did, though. She loved doing what she did and he knew it. And she would realise that eventually. But until then...