by L. R. Olson
“Your mum’s going to want to see you,” I hear Max say.
I don’t miss the glance Max slides my way as I start back toward the kitchen. He’s wondering if Christian is going to take me to meet his mom. Are we that serious? God no. That’s way too much pressure. His dad was enough. I sip my coffee pretending I don’t notice Max’s pointed look.
“I know.” Christian places his cup in the sink then smiles at me. “Come on. I’ll show you the upstairs.” He picks up the bags, his biceps flexing and I wonder if he’s trying to avoid Max’s unasked question.
We move up the narrow set of steps, the wood underneath creaking with age. Damn it all, I love it here. The history, the culture. I love the warmth of this little cottage where Christian’s grandparents lived. I love Max and Audrey, even though it’s obvious they’re suspicious about me.
We pause at the first door. “My other roommate is visiting his family in India, but doesn’t care if you sleep in his room. Or you can sleep in mine, and I’ll sleep here.”
He nudges open the door. The room has a queen bed and is clean, sparsely furnished. Christian sets my pack on the bed. I can’t help but wonder where his room is located. It smells like lemon cleaning products. Empty. It’s not as comfy as the rest of the house.
“He’s moving out in a month and has already taken some of his stuff home.”
I nod. “It’s really nice of you to let us stay here.”
He smiles. “Tour of the city, or you too tired?”
Things have been strange between us since last night. Not much touching. Not much kissing. There’s a sort of wall that is keeping us both at a safe distance. I don’t miss the fact that he keeps glancing at me as if trying to understand. I want things to be normal again, and he does as well.
“Definitely a tour. But you are going to show me your room first, right?”
He grins and pushes away from the wall. “This way.”
I follow him down the narrow hall. We pass another door. I can hear Audrey softly singing in French. It must be the room she shares with Max. I glance at Christian’s broad back, loving the way it tapers to his waist. The way his gray Henley shirt and dark jeans cling to his muscled form. “You can tell a lot about a person from their bedroom.”
“Can you?”
“Of course. It’s where we live, where we keep our secrets.”
He pauses at the door. “You’re scaring me.”
I laugh. I want things normal between us again. As normal as our two week relationship can be. I don’t want a week of awkwardness. “Come on then, unless you’ve got something to hide?”
I inch by him, wrap my hand around the door handle, and push it open. His scent assaults me. That warm and sexy and wonderful scent. Stepping into his room is like stepping into his arms. My gaze automatically goes to his queen bed. A shiver of heat whispers through my body, awakening that ache.
No. I won’t go there. I tear my attention from the bed and scan the room, taking in the fine details. Trying to understand Christian better. It’s clean. Tidy. It’s cozy. Although there are only a couple small windows, skylights allow light to pierce the gloom. The wooden floorboards are covered with a gray carpet.
Finally, I return my attention to the bed. The duvet is white, pristine, matching the walls. Around the room are photos of Christian with friends and family: smiling, on vacations, on yachts, in castles, sipping champagne. The pictures make me uneasy. He’s an extrovert and he’s rich. We are way too different to work. I’m glad this is just a fling. And it is just a fling.
He closes the door, secluding us from the rest of the house, and props his shoulder against the wall, watching me. “What can you tell about me?”
“Well, you value your friends. You’re clean, neat, but not obsessive. You like things in order.”
I move around the room, taking in the desk with the laptop, the one potted plant near the corner, the pullup bar in the closet doorway. I wouldn’t mind in the least watching him do pullups.
“You like to keep in shape. You vacation a lot.”
On his desk there’s a picture of him in some African village with a group of other teens. It looks like a volunteer project. “You’re caring.”
There are no pictures of him with his father.
“And you have family issues.”
“Obviously,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.
I force myself not to grin. Sore subject. I notice the piano music in the corner of the room. I’d seen the piano downstairs but hadn’t thought much about it. Surprised, I turn to face him. “You play the piano?”
He merely quirks a brow, but doesn’t answer. Is he annoyed, nervous, or impressed? I spot the chocolate bar on his dresser.
“And you like chocolate.”
His brows are drawn together. “Good god, you got all of that from my room?”
I shrug, finally allowing myself to grin. “What can I say, I’m good.”
He’s watching me almost warily now.
I pick up an award tucked in the back of a shelf, as if forgotten. I’m not sure what it’s for, as the writing is in Norwegian. Or maybe it’s Danish. I replace the statue. “My grandfather was a detective. He told me that the clues were there. Always.”
I’m also more observant since being ill. I have to be. Suddenly, Christian is at my side, his arms around my waist as he pulls me closer. And suddenly I’m aware that I’m in a guy’s bedroom, just the two of us.
“What would I find in your room?”
He settles on the bed, falling back and pulling me down with him. As I nestle against him, I think about his question. My bedroom…is forgotten. Stuck in the past. The rose bedspread, a porcelain doll on the chair. The walls are pink. Good god, I’m going to be remembered always as a child. I suddenly want to remodel my room when I never cared before.
“Nothing,” I say, realizing he’s waiting for an answer. “Just typical female stuff.”
“Typical female stuff? How intriguing.”
I roll atop him and press my mouth to his, mostly to change the subject. A quick kiss to divert his attention away from me. As I pull back he’s still got that look in his eyes as if he is trying to figure me out. It makes me nervous. I roll off him and fall onto my back. His bed isn’t too soft or firm. It’s perfect, just like this adorable little house. The duvet is fluffy, so damn comfortable. I could imagine cuddling in this room on a cold winter night. Cuddling with him.
“That’s okay, I don’t need to see your room. You,” he props himself upon his elbow and looks down at me. “Don’t care about material things or money.”
I laugh, even as my nerves jangle in warning. I don’t like this game so much when it’s directed at me. “How do you know that?”
“You weren’t impressed with the royal jewels at Rosenborg.” He trails his finger down the side of my face. “Plus, when you wear jewelry it’s always something small.”
I bite my lower lip. Okay, that was easy. There’s no reason to be nervous. He’s not going to uncover anything that I don’t want him to know. At least that’s what I tell myself.
He slides his fingers through the hair at my temple, playing with the strands. His gaze narrows on my face, as if he’s trying to read into my soul. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”
I quirk a brow, mirroring his expression earlier. Only him. Oddly enough. And the realization stuns as much as it frightens me. I suddenly want to bolt. “Why do you say that?”
“You haven’t traveled much, yet you came here alone. Another country where you’ve never visited. Don’t know anyone.”
I shift, the uneasy feeling grows. Maybe he knows me better than I thought. Or maybe it’s just stuff anyone would realize. Still, I want to push him away, insist we go site-seeing right now. But I can’t seem to move. I’m frozen in place.
His thumb brushes my lower lip, his gaze on my mouth. “You haven’t dated much. You say you had one serious relationship, but I don’t think it was that serious.”
“Because you were still a virgin. You’re not religious, so that wasn’t the reason why you didn’t sleep with your boyfriend. I have to assume it wasn’t serious enough. It also means you’re confident and know what you want. You weren’t pressured into sleeping with him even though you dated for some time. You know your own mind.”
His words startle me as much as they make me think. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I wasn’t ever truly in love with Matt. Maybe we’ve always been just friends. “Or,” I say tentatively. “Maybe Matt was just really nice and wasn’t ready to sleep with me.”
He smiles. “No guy is that nice.”
But he is. I clench my jaw to keep from saying the words. He doesn’t need to know how much I like him. How perfect I think he is. He doesn’t need to know that if I could have a boyfriend…I’d want that boyfriend to be exactly like him.
“And you, perhaps, feel slightly disconnected from this world.” He frowns. “As if you’re not really part of it.”
My heart jumps, startled, then starts pounding against my ribs as if it understands what I don’t. I frown. “What do you mean?”
He starts to unbutton my shirt, pressing kisses to my cleavage. “I mean there are things you haven’t done…like go dancing. I assume you like to stay at home. You also like to watch people, study them, but you don’t feel the need to interact.”
He makes me sound like a sociopath. His breath is warm against my belly as he travels down my body. It’s so damn hard to think when he’s kissing me. My brain has gone foggy with lust. “You got all that from being with me for two weeks?”
“I’m very observant.” He unbuttons my jeans. “And then there are the more obvious things.”
“Obvious?” My voice comes out breathless as he pulls my jeans slowly, slowly, slowly down my legs. I’m acutely aware of his every touch, his every breath. This is so happening. My fingers curl into the bedding. “What’s obvious?”
He crawls back up me and parts my shirt. “You love art, historical buildings.” He presses his lips to the valley between my breasts. “You are kind, brave, unpretentious and intriguing all at once. You’re also afraid of commitment.”
The words startle me from my hazy lust. Why would he think that? Am I? No, I’m just going to die soon, so what’s the point. “Am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He pulls his shirt over his head. A variety of feelings assault me at once. Too many feelings. So many feelings I don’t dare inspect them. Not now. Not here. He undresses, and I don’t care about my anxiety, my unease, my fear…I only want to touch him. Want him to touch me.
“And,” he says, prowling up my body. “I know that you think it was a bad idea to come here, with me, today.”
He tugs off my shirt and unhooks my bra so we’re both naked. The entire time on the airplane, in the taxi…he knew. How is it that this man I met only two weeks ago understands me so well? At any other moment it would have been unsettling. Here, now, all I can focus on are his lips trailing down my neck. I am helpless underneath him.
“I am, however,” He says, his breath warm. “Very, very glad you decided to come anyway.”
I am too. His mouth covers my nipple. My eyes close as excitement washes over me. We haven’t had sex since that night in Denmark. More than once I’ve wondered if it will be as good the second time.
“Your roommates…” I mutter.
“Audrey is gone, Max went back to sleep. He could sleep through a world war.”
It’s all I need to hear. He lowers atop me. My nipples harden as his chest brushes mine. I run my hands over his broad shoulders, up the back of his neck, into his hair, pulling at the strands. I can feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against my lower belly. God, I want him.
My body instantly reacts to his touch, as if it’s been waiting ever since that first night and is so damn relieved. Finally, it sighs. It’s come to life. Humming, buzzing under my skin. And now that we’re touching its fireworks, angels singing…heaven. Our connection is electric.
Do all Scandinavian guys know how to make a woman come so easily? Or maybe it’s all European men? Maybe they teach a class here.
“I so badly want you.”
His words make me shy, even as a shiver of delight races through my body, leaving me breathless. I can’t believe we’re doing this here…now. My prude, rational mind might be protesting, but my body sure as hell isn’t. That area between my legs has flared to life, aching, tightening, pulsing with a desperate need for release. And then his hand is sliding down my belly. I moan, lifting my knees and digging my toes into the blanket.
He kisses my neck. “I could get addicted to you.”
I try not to react to his honeyed words, after all, they’re just something said in the moment. But I can’t deny the blush of delight that overtakes me. I grip his shoulders, my nails biting his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.
His lips are on me again, catching my breathless gasp. As he kisses me, his hand cups the area between my legs, and before I can prepare his middle finger slides into me as his velvety tongue rubs against mine. I’m slick, wet, hot. A groan gets stuck in my throat.
I’m going to die. Die. Here and now. But oh what a way to go. I squirm underneath him, trying to ease the torment. His room smells like him, a warm, crisp and clean male scent that surrounds me, invades every cell of my being.
“You drive me insane,” I mutter.
His finger pulls out as his thumb rubs my clit. I jerk in response. It’s too much. Too much feeling. Too much sensation. Too much pleasure.
“Stay in my room,” he whispers against my lips. “With me.”
My hands are running down his back, I’m trying to touch every lovely part of him at once. I don’t have time to rationally think about my response and I know I’ll regret it later, but “yes” pops out before I can pull it back in.
He presses a quick kiss to my lips, then leaves the bed and grabs a condom from his dresser drawer. Surrounded by his scent, his very essence, makes me feel weak, drugged. He’s back before I have time to miss him, his hard erection brushing my thighs.
“These last couple days have been pure torture.” He braces on his elbows so he doesn’t crush me. “I can’t get that night out of my mind. It haunts me.”
His words please me when they shouldn’t. I want to leave behind my mark, even if it is just an emotional scar. Part of me wants him to remember me, mourn me. He nudges my thighs apart with his knee.
Yes. Yes. Yes. He’s going there.
I feel the tip of his erection slide between my folds, then press into my entrance. His arms are braced on either side of me, the muscles flexed tight. He doesn’t want to crush me. But I love the weight of his hard body. Bare skin to bare skin. I’ve been so numb, trying to ignore the aches and pains, but here, now, Christian brings me back to life. I lift my hips, whimpering. He enters me slowly, carefully. So carefully, that my body tenses, remembering that first night and how it stung.
“Are you alright?” he whispers against my lips.
“I will be, if you kiss me.”
He grins right before his lips mold to mine. My muscles relax, my body sinking into the bed. He takes advantage and slides in deep, thrusting into me fully, completely. The pain is only slight this time. I groan into his mouth, arching my hips to take him deeper. I want to be as close to him as possible. Need to feel that connection.
He pulls back and thrusts into me again. And again. Each surge feels deeper, touching a part of me that no one ever has. We find a natural rhythm that is all our own. As he rocks into me, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, mirroring the actions of his hips. It’s almost too much, being so connected to another.
Aching need flares inside me. My nails dig into his muscled back. God, he feels so damn good. Smells so good. He slides his hands under my ass and grips my bottom. As he thrusts forward, he lifts my hips, bringing me higher, sending him deeper, harder.
>
“Yes,” I whisper against his shoulder. “More.”
I’ve become wanton. Desperate. And I don’t care.
“What do you want, Hope?”
“You,” I gasp. “Just you.”
With one final thrust, every nerve-ending inside of me explodes. The pleasure pulses through my body leaving me breathless and groaning and floating on wave after wave of pure bliss. I feel him grow harder inside of me right before he surges forward one last time and comes.
Amazing. So wonderful. I float back down into my body, and a peaceful, relaxed buzz remains. He is hot and heavy atop me, but I don’t want him to leave. His weight anchors me.
“God, you’re going to kill me,” he mutters.
I feel his harsh breath right before he kisses me. A gentle kiss. A caring kiss. He pulls away and nuzzles his face against my neck, sucking on the delicate skin. Shivers race through my body, making my cells tremble.
“Is it always like this?” I manage to ask.
He releases a harsh, shaky laugh. “No.” Is he saying this is special? Unique? “Do we be lazy and stay in bed?”
I slide my fingers through his hair, playing with the strands and smiling. It would be so wonderful to remain in bed with him all day, touching, exploring. But his roommates would know, and I’m too new to sex to be comfortable with that. “No. I want to see your town.”
He sighs. “Alright. Get dressed then. If you don’t, we’ll never leave this bed.”
I giggle. Actually giggle for fuck’s sake.
With a grin, he rolls off me and heads to his attached bathroom. I’m a little slower to leave, as I pull on my clothing. Every piece of material feels oddly erotic as it whispers against my sensitive skin. He’s awoken something inside me I didn’t even realize was there. I can still smell him on me, feel his touch. I’ve just participated in a quickie, and am rather delighted. Something new to add to my growing bucket list.
He returns and presses a kiss to the back of my neck, before dressing. “How do you feel about going on a motorcycle?”
My mom forbid me years ago to ever ride on a motorcycle, but mom isn’t here. And that was before she knew I was going to die anyway. “Fine.”