He felt like his skull was about to implode. He had not spoken to so many people in all of his life, let alone in the compressed space of a few hours. And yet there was more. Touching her for hours had left him on edge. For a man who had spent so much of his life in relative silence. Isolated. In the woods, it was an overload to his senses. And what she was offering was a chance to take that energy at the center of his guts, and pour it all out.
He had been so en garde about her manipulating him. But she was a goddess. He had that realization when he had seen her tonight.
He did not often think of Freya. He had let go of the idea of deities so long ago.
And yet he could remember a story. Whispered to him before he fell asleep at night.
He couldn’t remember who had told him. His mother, a nanny? But when Fern had come in wearing that gold gown, he had thought of Freya.
That soft voice inside of him whispering about the promise of Freya’s afterlife.
It is one thing to die in battle. It is another to die for those you love. And any soldier who goes to battle with love in his heart is dying for that love. Freya weeps for her husband. Because she separated from him. She understands the pain of love being lost. And that is why her field is reserved for those who wish to meet again with their heart’s desire after death.
Such a strange thing. The memory had been so strong. It was still.
And it made him want to draw closer to Fern.
It certainly made him feel as if he didn’t want to resist.
No. He had no desire to resist.
He also couldn’t wait. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pressed her body up to his.
It was familiar now. And yet gloriously undiscovered.
He lowered his head and kissed her. The taste of her mouth better than the cake. And he had decided he very much liked cake.
He kissed her. Deep and hard, and with a ferocity he had never before given to a lover. Because he had never felt such an intense, specific need before. It had to be her. It had to be.
He held her face as he kissed her. As he tasted her, his tongue sliding against hers.
And then when they parted, she looked up at him, those green eyes clear. “Yes. Take me to bed.”
“I have questions for you first,” he said, a strange sensation gripping his stomach. Concern. For her. He no longer felt that he was in danger of being manipulated by her. Because this was not manipulation. It was far too honest. But he required things to also be clear.
“Yes?” She looked uncertain.
“Why is it that you’ve decided you want me?”
“I don’t know that I decided that I wanted you. I simply do.”
“You know that I’m not staking a claim on your body by keeping you here as my wife. You are not obligated to give yourself to me.”
“I know that.”
“You have told me that no one in your life has ever cared for your choices. You told me that you felt like all these men madea claim on your sexuality, me included. I didn’t even think of it that way. I…”
She touched his face. “I believe you. I know that you were practically raised by wolves. And I know that…I wasn’t a person to you. I was an ideal. A goal. And I would be more offended by that except I also understand that you even see yourself as a person. As a man. You see yourself as a symbol of revolution. As a king, but not as a man.”
“True,” he said, the words rising rough in his throat. “All true.”
“But I see you as a man. And I want for you to feel like a man tonight. I want you to let go of everything. Of your idea of duty, and honor. Take what you want. And I’ll take what I want.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There is nothing to understand. I spent the last three years in a convent, and even I know that.”
“Sex isn’t confusing. Need isn’t confusing. It’s simply an appetite.”
