She came up to him and handed him one glass. Held hers up so they could clunk them in a toast.
“To freedom,” she said.
“To freedom,” he replied, although the words had a hollow ring to them now.
Taking a mouthful, he felt it sear to his stomach, warming him, thawing the chill he’d not been able to throw off since talking to Aidan.
They stood there, in the centre of the living room, inches apart, studying each other. Freya sipped her drink, glancing around the room, and he followed her gaze. It was around ten o’clock, and the sun had set hours ago. The only light filtered in through the window from the street lamp outside.
He looked back at Freya, speechless as he studied her face, the sharp angle of her jaw, the hollows beneath her high cheekbones that were filled with shadow. Her beauty made him catch his breath. She sipped her drink again, turning her gaze back up to him, her mismatched eyes different shades of grey in the dull light, but the emotion lying within them evident.
Desire.
Chapter Seventeen
He watched as she tipped back the tumbler, taking a piece of ice between her teeth. She circled it in her mouth, keeping her eyes on him while she did so, a slight smile beginning to curve her lips, and he found his own curved in response as she stepped nearer to him.
Reaching up on her toes, she pressed cold lips to his. He let her kiss him then felt her pass the ice into his mouth, accompanied by a brush of her tongue. Smiling, his blood starting to surge around his body, he sucked it, circled it and passed it back to her. They did this several times, each brush of her lips and tongue making him grow harder, and by the time the ice melted, he was ready for her, desperate to take her and love her until she came apart in his arms.
Taking his hand, she led him along the corridor to his bedroom, closing the door behind them. They placed their drinks on the bedside table and she stood in front of him, slid one hand up to the back of his neck, and kissed him. He let the kiss build slowly, enjoying the feel of her fingers in his hair as she pressed her lips to his gently, repeatedly. He ran his fingers lightly up her arms, sighing at her shiver, wrapping her in his embrace as their mouths opened and the kiss deepened. He tasted her, brushing into her mouth with his tongue, grazing his teeth on her full bottom lip, content to take it slowly and let the passion kindle between them, feeling the heat of it rise in his body.
She slid her hands to the buttons of his shirt and began to undo them, unhurried, slipping her fingers beneath the cotton to brush his skin, making him tingle all over. He loved this, the languid, lazy exploration of each other, the “it doesn’t matter if we take forever to get there, because we’ve got all night, and the experience of the journey’s as important as the destination”. She reached the bottom of his shirt and pulled back as she pushed the two sides open, moving them off his shoulders gradually until the shirt slipped from them to the floor. He watched her, glowing at the obvious admiration in her eyes as she placed her hands on his chest and brushed them up over his shoulders, feeling his muscles, studying his tattoo. He liked the way she looked at him, as if he were a model or a sports star, as if she’d never tire of looking at his body, and as if she wanted to cover him in melted chocolate and lick it all off, very, very slowly.
Her touch on his skin gave him goose bumps, and he wanted her to be as affected, so he grasped the bottom of her vest and fixed her with his gaze, and she raised her arms. He drew the silky top up and over her head, dropping it to the floor, loving the way her hair rose with the garment and tumbled around her shoulders as he released it. Naked from the waist up, she stood still under the weight of his gaze, her eyes lowered as he admired her. He studied the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts, her nipples tightening under his gaze, which made him smile. Sliding a hand under her chin, he lifted it, forcing her to look into his eyes. He adored the remnants of shyness that lingered in her even after all they’d done, and wished he had a camera to capture her as she was now, beautiful and bashful at the same time.
He kissed her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her tight against him, enjoying the softness of her breasts against his chest, his hands roaming down. Slowly, he pulled the soft skirt up with his fingers, eventually sliding his hand beneath to cup her butt. She wasn’t going commando, but there wasn’t an awful lot of material to her panties. Moving back, wanting to see them, he tugged at her skirt, and she slid it down her legs. “Mm,” he murmured, the first sound he’d made since they came into the house. A lacy white triangle barely covered the strip of hair between her legs, and thin white straps trailed over her hips.
She tucked her thumbs into the straps, intending to pull them down, but he moved them away, wanting her to keep them on. So instead, she began to unbutton his jeans, and he helped her out, divesting himself of the pants and boxers.
He went to move her to the bed, but to his surprise, she stopped him. Reaching up on tiptoes, she kissed him. Then she left his mouth and began to trail kisses along his jaw. Reaching his ear, she ran her tongue up it, nibbling the lobe, blowing gently and smiling as he sighed. She kissed his throat, scraping her lips on his stubble, then continued down his neck and chest, lingering over his nipples, brushing them with her tongue. Lower she went, placing warm lips to the line of hair running down from his stomach.
Then she sank to her knees before him.
“Oh,” he said, realising what she was about to do. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to…”
“I want to,” she said, giving him a look that raised his thermostat by several degrees, and then she took him in her hand and closed her mouth around him.
Nate’s breath left his lungs in a rush, and he watched her take his erection deep inside, the rough pad of her tongue brushing over the tip. She moved her mouth slowly up and down, and he buried a hand in her hair, so turned on by the sight of her worshipping him with her lips and tongue that he nearly came on the spot. He kept it together, though, for a while at least, wanting to make it last, to draw out the pleasure and record it in his mind to play back when times weren’t so good. He gave himself up to the physical sensations and emotions raging through him, placing one hand on her shoulder, one tenderly cupping her head, so full of love and lust for her at that moment that he wished the moment would last forever.
But she was too beautiful, and eventually the sensations she created overwhelmed him. He tightened his hand in her hair, trying to stop the automatic thrust of his hips, not wanting to hurt her. “Freya,” he gasped, wanting to warn her that he was close to coming. But in response she just took him deeper, and the sight of him disappearing into her mouth was too much. Heat surged through him, and as he let out a heartfelt groan, he felt her throat muscles contract as she swallowed everything he had to give.
Afterward, Freya watched as Nate flopped back onto the bed, giving her a hopeless look as she started laughing.
“What’s the matter?” she teased, climbing on the bed and leaning over him. “Cat got your tongue?”
“I love you,” he said, surprising her. Surprising himself too, judging by the look on his face.
“Oh.” She studied him for a moment. In the semi-darkness, his eyes were wide, open and honest. He had such a big heart, she thought. Which was why his father had hurt him so badly. What a mess they were in with their parents. They’d tried to push each other away while they settled their problems, but they kept gravitating back to each other, circling like binary suns.
“I love you too,” she whispered, lowering her lips to his.
He slid a hand in between their mouths, halting the kiss. “Not that much,” he said wryly. “You’ll have to clean your teeth first.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding me?”
“Absolutely not.”
She studied him, exasperated, but stood and went across the hall to the bathroom. “I didn’t make you do this last time I was here,” she called out, reaching for the mouthwash.
“That’s because you smell nice and I don’t.�
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Laughing, she rinsed, then went back in and flopped down beside him again, breathing on him. “Better?”
“Yes.” He propped his head on a hand to study her. “Why don’t you hate me?”
She frowned, stroking his cheek. “Why should I?”
“Because I’m mean and cruel. My father’s on his death bed and I’m refusing to go heal him.”
She tipped her head. “It’s not like you don’t have a reason.”
“Even so.”
“Nate…” She slid her fingers into his hair. “Your life is your own. I’m not here to tell you what you should or must or ought to do. You’ll figure it out in time. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you don’t, well, I’ll find something more interesting to do with my mouth.” She winked at him.
His dark eyes considered her as he began to trace his fingers up and down her body, bringing them up between her breasts, circling her nipples. “I think you’ve already done enough,” he said, amused. “My turn.”
He lowered his mouth to a nipple, and she caught her breath as he stroked the sensitive skin with his tongue, grazing his teeth on the hardening tip. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to his ministrations, sighing as he swapped to her other breast, then back again, alternatively licking and sucking the stiff peaks. She felt such a surge of tenderness as she slipped her fingers into his hair, watching him kissing her gently, wishing she could wave a wand and take away all his anguish and pain. But then maybe she was helping him more than she realised, she thought, seeing from the absence of a frown and the fact that he was obviously growing aroused again that he wasn’t thinking about anything except her. They’d got together initially for consolation, and even though he’d told her he loved her, his need for comfort was clearly still great. And that she could help with.
She scraped her nails gently through his hair and down the nape of his neck, noticing that he paused and shuddered. He lifted his head to kiss her again, his growing passion evident in the heat of his mouth, the way he swept his tongue against hers, and she arched toward him, wanting to fire him up, to drive him wild.
He moved his hand between her legs and began arousing her through the thin panties, and she squirmed, thrusting her hips against his fingers, enjoying the slight friction of the material against the hot, wet heart of her. He lifted his head again to watch her, his eyes dark with passion, rubbing the cotton gently against her swollen sex until she could feel it soaked and sticking to her skin. His fingers slipped and slid against her, and he pulled the cotton tight so it bit hard into her already aroused flesh.
She moaned, feeling her orgasm building, and then he stripped the panties off her, moved on top of her and slid inside her in one easy thrust of his hips, making her cry out as he stretched her, filling her to the brim.
Then he paused, however, looking down at her with an expression of such affection that she melted, wanting to cry at the thought that this strong, sensitive, powerful man loved her and found her beautiful. She lifted her arms above her head and let him study her, tingling at the mixture of fondness and desire in his eyes. Wrapping her legs around him, she tensed so she could feel him inside and relaxed to let him slide deeper, wanting to take him all.
He kissed her, soft butterfly kisses across her lips, cheeks and eyelids, supporting himself on strong arms above her, and then he began to move, slow, sweeping thrusts that made her sigh. He seemed to want to watch her, enjoying her pleasure, and she tried to forget her self-consciousness as involuntary gasps and moans escaped her lips, recognising that her arousal turned him on. As her orgasm built and everything began to tighten, she was aware of him watching her, and as her climax swept over her and she cried out, she felt his soft kisses on her cheeks and lips and knew he’d observed the height of her pleasure.
And now it was her turn to watch him as he moved inside her, and she slid one hand into his hair and held his hips with the other, meeting him thrust for thrust. And as his body tightened, she watched his face crease with a fierce frown of pleasure, waited for the wave to wash over him, and stroked him as he floated back to earth, sated and content.
“Now tell me we don’t make sense,” she said, breathless, kissing his face.
He gave a short laugh, returning her kisses for a while before finally withdrawing.
Afterward, they didn’t say much. He curled around her, pulling the duvet over them in spite of the warmth of the night, and she nestled into him, comfortable with his nearness, at ease in his arms.
Her mobile phone rang at just after seven the following morning.
It jolted her awake, and for a moment she lay there, confused and disorientated by the window being on the wrong side of the room and the curtains being blue instead of lilac. Then she felt Nate’s arm heavy on her waist and remembered.
Sliding out of bed as he stirred, she walked sleepily along the hallway to where she’d left her handbag. Taking the phone out, she checked the screen. It was her mother.
Dread sank deep into her stomach. Part of her was tempted to turn it off and thrust it back into her bag, but even as the thought entered her head, she knew she wouldn’t do it. She wasn’t that sort of person, and it was useless to pretend she was.
She opened the phone and put it up to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Freya? Where the hell are you?”
“At a friend’s.” She hadn’t told Sarah about Nate, and she wasn’t about to open up to her now. “What’s up?” She glanced over as Nate appeared in the bedroom doorway, naked, same as her, scratching his hair and wincing at the early morning sun streaming in through the living room window. He looked sleepy and ruffled and gorgeous, and she smiled at him, glowing as he smiled back and blew her a kiss before disappearing into the bathroom.
Sarah was quiet for a while. Then, eventually, she spoke, her voice little more than a whisper. “We’re in trouble.”
Freya wrapped her free arm around her waist and every muscle in her body tensed. “What’s happened?”
“Dad was out all night. He…he only came back an hour ago. He was angry—he smashed the house up.”
“Are you all right?” Freya asked, glancing up as Nate came out and leaned against the doorjamb, frowning at the look on her face.
“We had a terrible argument and…well, things got thrown and…anyway, that’s not important. I’m okay.”
“What happened? Why was he angry?”
“He played cards last night—he was on a good streak, and he got carried away. He thought he could get the money back, but it just got worse and worse…”
“How much did he lose, Mum?” She was only vaguely aware of Nate disappearing into the bedroom and reappearing with his shorts on, carrying a bathrobe that he held up for her to slip into.
“I…” Sarah burst into tears.
Freya clenched her fists. Nate took her hand and led her into the living room, pushing her into an armchair. She sat on the edge, watching him sit opposite her. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands linked, and waited.
She ran her hand through her hair. “Calm down,” she said irritably. “Tell me. How much?”
There was the sound of Sarah blowing her nose. Then, faintly, she said, “Almost eight thousand.”
“Eight thousand!” Freya stood up, rage flooding through her. “You’re fucking kidding me!”
Nate closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, they were full of pity.
“I’m sorry,” said Sarah.
“Mum, that’s more than I’ve got in the bank. That’s all my savings and most of this fortnight’s paycheck.”
“I know.”
Freya walked over to the window. She was surprised to find it sunny. She wanted thunder and lightning, torrential rain, floods and hurricanes. “Mum…I can’t keep doing this…” And yet I do, she thought miserably. Time and again.
She turned, surprised to see Nate standing behind her. “Tell her you’ll ring her back,” he said.
“Who’s that?” S
arah asked. “Was that a man? Are you with a man?”
“So what if I am?” Freya snapped, looking down.
“Nothing, honey, nothing. It’s good. I’m glad.”
Tears slid down Freya’s face. “No,” she said, “you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to be all motherly and affectionate and caring after you’ve just dumped that bombshell on me.”
“Freya…”
“I’ll be around later,” said Freya. “I’ll bring the money then.”
She hung up.
Nate put his hands on his hips.
“Don’t,” she said, walking past him to put her phone back into her bag.
He followed her, still in the same pose, waiting for her to turn around and face him. She did so, folding her arms, glaring at him. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I think we should talk.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I don’t want to talk.” She pushed past him to the bedroom, letting the bathrobe drop to the floor and starting to pull on her skirt.
“Freya, wait.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“Oh, so suddenly we’re bosom buddies?” She turned to face him, furious, not caring that she was still topless. “Only hours ago, I told you ‘If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you don’t…’” She didn’t finish the sentence. “I didn’t push you. Why do you think you have the right to push me?”
“I want to help.”
“I don’t want your help.” She picked up her vest and pulled it on.
“Freya.” His voice was gentle. “Let me help.”
Making Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 2 Page 16