Placing a soft kiss on her forehead, I whisper, “Good. That was my intention.”
Kicking off my shoes and pulling off my coat, I stare down at her before climbing into the bed at her side. She rests on my bad shoulder, but I don’t say a word. In fact, it almost feels better with her head there.
“Is this because I made out with Julian?” I ask, turning my head toward her.
“You mean me feeling like I won’t fit in?”
“Yes.”
“No. It’s nothing like that. I often feel like I don’t fit in.”
I briefly remember her talking so vulnerably in the elevator about her family and upbringing. That protective side flares up in response.
“Well, you do. I hope you know that.”
She smiles sadly through the darkness. “I wish I didn’t doubt myself so much. There’s just this little voice in my head alwaystelling me that I’m overreacting or that I worry too much or that I’m not good enough. I can never seem to quiet it.”
“Can I try?” I ask, touching her chin and tilting her face up toward me.
She smirks as her head shifts in a subtle nod. Then I bring my mouth closer to hers, and she doesn’t shy away from the swollen, bruised state of my face. She doesn’t even flinch at the feel of my broken lips as they press gently against hers.
I lick a slow, deliberate line across the seam of her mouth, and I revel in the soft warmth of her body. When her lips part and our tongues meet, I let out a low, rumbling sound that makes her giggle.
My sore and tired body suddenly can’t remember the fight or the pain. It only feels her soft body in this cozy bed.
Shifting her beneath me, I hover over her, ignoring the scream in my shoulder as I kiss her and subtly grind my hips between her sweet thighs. This won’t go anywhere—we both know that. We’ve all somehow subscribed to this unspoken rule about hitting relationship milestones as a group, and dry humping to completion feels like one of those milestones.
Kissing on the other hand… Kissing is the exception.
So just like with Julian, I revel in the unhurried moments with Freya, just kissing to kiss. She is not a rough, biting kisser. Instead, her movements are slow and measured, as if she is savoring the taste of my lips and the friction of my tongue. It drives me wild.
When the kiss comes to a natural end, I tuck her gently against my side. I consider that there might be more on her mind, more things she wants to express, but all I can do is open myself up to her and wait for her to say them. I want to be an open vessel for this woman. The way Freya opens up with her fears and insecurities is so admirable it’s sexy as fuck.
But I wish she’d let me carry some of this load, especially when it feels like my arms are so empty and hers are so full.
As she slowly falls asleep in my arms, suddenly more at ease than she was earlier, I realize that just a few hours ago, I was so in my head and worried about the future and my place in the world. Now it feels as if I’m on the brink of something huge. Something that might actually fall into place. Something that gives me the purpose I’ve been waiting for.
Rule #15: If you don’t understand it, let him demonstrate it.
Freya
I’m just pulling the lamb out of the oven when the doorbuzzes.
“Shit.” Wiping off my greasy fingers on my caked apron, I jog to the front door and open it to find both Julian and Archer standing in the hallway. Archer is in front, wearing a burgundy sweater under the same black wool jacket we used as a blanket in the elevator. He smiles down at me with a bottle of what looks like red wine in his hand.
At the sight of his swollen lip and bluish-purple rimmed eyes, I wince, but I don’t say anything. I get the feeling Archer is tired of hearing us complain about his extracurricular activities. I do think it’s stupid that he fights with strangers in completely unregulated matches with absolutely no medical team nearby, but he’s a grown man, and I can’t tell him what to do.
“Come in,” I say with a smile, moving aside to let them both walk through the doorway.
Julian walks behind Archer, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. His hair is styled to the side, not a single strand out ofplace. And when he shoots me a wicked, flirtatious grin, my insides turn to goo.
“Thanks for having us,” he says before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.
Useless, pitiful goo.
“You can hang your coats on the hook,” I say, scrambling around to stir the sauce and check on the meat. “Make yourselves comfortable. I’m almost finished with dinner.”
My entire apartment is minuscule. Nothing like Julian’s grand penthouse. My kitchen is actually quite impressive compared to the rest of my flat. It has a long counter that is currently covered in dirty dishes and things I haven’t yet put away. My dad helped me put together this makeshift kitchen island that doubles as a dining room table.
