At my words, his hand twisted and fisted in my hair. It didn’t hurt, a slight pull at my scalp, but he was a very big man with his very big fist in my hair so he had my attention.
“Say that again,” he repeated.
“Um… Frey,” I whispered.
Suddenly, he used my hair to pull me to him as he leaned close to me and when he had me an inch away, he growled, “Gods, that you’d say that, just like that, when you were full of me.”
At his words, I felt a little tingle in happy place.
Uh, what was that?
I put a hand to the massive wall of his (very hard, I noted on encountering it) chest, and put on gentle pressure, starting to suggest, “Maybe we should –”
“Tonight, we pretend,” he muttered, cutting me off.
Ho boy!
“I think –”
Before I could finish telling him what I thought, he let me go. Then he twisted, bent his torso and tugged his boots off. Then before I knew it, off went his sweater and I was treated to a view of a highly tanned, supremely muscled, obviously powerful back. I was still blinking as that vision burned into my brain (and I had to admit, it was pleasantly) when, still seated in the bed with me, off went his breeches.
Ho boy!
Now frantic, though unfortunately belatedly, I started to scoot back, saying, “Um… would you mind if –?” but I again didn’t finish.
This was because, without appearing to move, he was reclining in bed and I was reclining with him. He flicked the covers over us then both his powerful arms locked around me and yanked me to his side.
“Cradle my thigh,” he growled and I blinked at his chest, pushing lightly against it, registering it was as powerfully muscled as his back and so wide it seemed to go on forever.
“Wha… what?”
“As you did the quilt,” he stated then got impatient. His hand, starting at my hip, moved swiftly down my thigh, his torso (and me, I might add, since his other arm was still locked around me) lifting in order to reach, then his fingers hooked the back of my knee and he yanked my leg up until I was doing what he asked, half straddling his thigh like I did the covers.
Then he settled back down in bed and kept firm hold on me.
“Well, uh… okay, uh… do you think –?” I started but he cut me off again.
“This is not the welcome home I’d like, wife, but it’ll do and you’ll sleep here, like this, until the morning. You don’t, I’ll take the welcome home from you I’d like and I won’t delay. Do you understand me?”
I understood him. I was totally okay with sleeping like this because I had a feeling I knew what kind of welcome home he’d like.
And incidentally, I was right about drunk guys not minding lesbians.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Now shut your mouth and sleep.”
I pressed my lips together in order not to inform him that he hadn’t actually let me open my mouth to say much of anything. I didn’t think he’d appreciate that reminder at that juncture.
What I did not do was sleep.
He was out in seconds.
I still did not sleep.
Penelope clawed her way back up the rope, curled at my one free foot and purred herself to slumber and I still did not sleep.
I knew that dawn had to have touched the sky (though I couldn’t see it with the curtains closed) and then, only then, did I find sleep.