Was it?
“Frey,” I said quietly, lifting a hand as if to fend him off and stepping back only to hit bed.
I no sooner hit the bed when Frey’s body hit mine.
Then we were down on the bed with him on top of me and his fingers in my gown, pulling it up.
Ho boy.
Maybe I read him wrong.
“If needs be,” he growled, “you’ll go to the Gales with wet hair.”
Ho boy!
He lifted his h*ps to move his weight from me, yanked the dress up to my waist then he arched his back and yanked the dress off, forcing my arms up with it.
Ho boy!
“Frey,” I whispered as one of his hands trailed down my side then in and swiftly up to slide over my breast, up my neck to cup my jaw.
And now his eyes weren’t blank. They were fiery and that fire was in no way bad.
Okay, I read him wrong. He definitely liked it.
“No one,” he was still growling, his chest rumbling with it, a rumble so deep, it shook mine and there was a fierce expression on his face, a face that dipped to within an inch of mine, “no one, since my grandmother died when I was aged thirteen, has bought me a present. Not one gods damned person has, since her death, given one single thing to me.”
Oh my God.
That couldn’t be true. Please God, don’t let that be true.
“Honey,” I breathed, wrapping an arm around him as my other hand came up to hold him tight at his neck and I thought we really needed to stop having (fabulous) sex and start to talk, or, more to the point, he needed to stop listening to me jabbering on about everything under the sun when we weren’t ha**ng s*x and I needed to start drawing things out of my husband.
“And never have I received anything so exquisite,” he went on, “save the wedding kiss you bestowed on me.”
Oh my God.
He said that, I didn’t miss it, he actually said that.
Shit, he was going to make me cry again.
“Frey,” I whispered, fighting back the tears.
His hand moved from my jaw, around my back and down over my ass where it pulled me up so my soft h*ps were snug to his hard ones.
Then he declared in a thick voice, “I’m bloody well taking my time thanking my wife and your maids will have to wait.”
Yes, he liked it.
“Okay,” I breathed.
He studied me, his gaze intense, as if he was memorizing ever centimeter of my face.
Then his head slanted and he kissed me.
Then he took his time thanking his wife.
And when Frey Drakkar took his time, he did it right.