Even with adela tea.
I moved my h*ps with his, slid my thumb back over his lip and held his eyes as I whispered a thought that came out of my mouth straight from my heart, “God, you’re beautiful.”
At my words, Frey groaned so deep, I felt it straight up to my throat starting at my sex. He dipped his head, his thrusts going off rhythm, pounding deeper, moving faster, his big hand spanning my hip, manipulating its movements to take him, meet each stroke.
I circled his shoulders, pressed hard against him, wrapped a calf around his thigh and I felt it in his frame, in his flesh, he was there, I was there and we were going there together.
And that was when I turned my head and whispered, “I love you, Frey Drakkar.”
He buried himself to the root inside me, let go and I let go, my back arching, my neck arching, my moan deep and low. His strong teeth sunk into the flesh where my neck met my shoulder, his rumbling growl sounding through his teeth, pounding against my skin and my moan turned to a whimper as his arm wrapped around me and closed so tight, he squeezed the breath out of my lungs.
Yes, cl**axing with Frey was better than anything, even the adela tea. Perfection.
As I came down I held onto him, fighting for breath but, unusually, Frey’s arm didn’t loosen.
“Frey –” I breathed.
“Say it again,” he growled against my skin, so fierce, my body trembled but his arm, so tense, stiffened further until it almost caused pain. “Say it again,” he repeated, his voice now harsh.
“I love you,” I whispered, breathless but his arm only got tighter, his c**k still planted deep, his h*ps bucked, thrusting it deeper and my body jolted as a residual wave of heat burned through me.
“Again.” His voice was now beyond harsh, this demand was abrasive.
“Baby.”
Another squeeze, another buck of his h*ps and I whimpered.
“Say it, Finnie,” he grated.
I closed my eyes tight, fought for air and pushed out, “I love you, Frey. I’m in love with you. So in love, I’ll never stop loving you. Not ever. You, everything about you is beyond my wildest dreams.”
He pushed his face into my neck as his arm squeezed me even tighter for a second then it released and his h*ps pressed mine to the bed as he lifted up on both forearms so his big hands could frame my face on either side. His head came up and he looked down at me, face soft, beloved brown-green eyes active, stare intense.
And he did this for awhile. A long time, actually, what felt like years and he did it without speaking or moving. He just lay with his large body covering and connected to mine and he stared at me.
Um… I wasn’t certain that was good.
“Do you…” I pulled in a breath and with it courage, “uh… do you… um, feel the same… uh, I mean,” I rushed to finish, “like, not the same, the same but… um, even a little bit?” I asked.
He stared at me another second that led to two which led to three which led to four (I counted) before he asked, “Are you mad?”
I didn’t know how to take that answer.
“Um… no?” I asked back because now he was looking at me like he was convinced I was and his conviction made me question mine.
Then his face dipped close, his hands put gentle pressure on my head and he whispered, “Finnie Drakkar, I fell in love with you when you told me you had a rule about dead game on the kitchen table.”
I blinked and my body jolted with surprise.
He couldn’t…
Could he?
Seriously?
“Seriously?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer my question, instead, he stated, “No, it was before that, when I walked into the cabin to see my wife in a pink gown with a pink ribbon in her hair looking more beautiful simply stirring batter in a bowl than most women do after their maidservants spend five hours on their appearance.”