“No talking. No more worrying.”
I didn’t argue this time. He held my hand and didn’t let go till the wheels touched down.
The cabin was kind of…cute. It was a yellow shingle house with a white porch and pansies hanging in baskets from the eaves. It was probably built in the 1960s as a summer house for a small family. Emphasis on small. Viggo had to duck his head to get through the front door.
I dumped my bag on the shag carpet in the living room and scanned the interior. It was a little dated, but it smelled like freshly-squeezed lemons and literally every surface—from the Formica table for two in the kitchenette to the coffee table stacked with boardgames and the mirror over the brick fireplace—gleamed.
“Not bad,” I commented.
Viggo grunted and skirted around me to check out the bedroom. “Small bed.”
“It said it was a queen online.”
“Looks like a double.”
He was right.
I made a face. “We’re going to be cozy.”
“I hope you don’t snore too much.” He sighed, perching on the mattress and kicking off his shoes.
“Hmph.” I glanced at my watch. “Are you hungry? There’s a store up the road. I’m not sure how late it’s open, so—what are you doing?”
Viggo stripped to his boxers, folded the covers back, and lay with his hands behind his head in an uber relaxed pose. “I’m going to take a nap. You should join me.”
My gaze roamed his big body and just like that, I forgot that this weekend was a family matter and that Viggo was here as a liaison to Freya and—okay, that last part wasn’t true. It was the story my mother would understand and approve of, but truthfully, he’d come for me—and fish and sex. And while the weekend might suck for me, I wanted it to be good for Viggo.
“Uh…okay.” I yanked my sweater over my head, toed off my shoes, then collapsed on the mattress, rolling sideways to face him. I palmed his cock through the cotton barrier and kissed his biceps, his chest, his left nipple. I hooked my thumb under the elastic band and?—
Viggo grabbed my wrist and gently pushed me onto my pillow. He stripped my jeans off with perfunctory swiftness, pulled up the covers, and set a finger on my lips. “Rest.”
I snorted. “You’re turning down a blowjob?”
“For now…yes. We can think about food in an hour. And we need to rent a boat, but we have time. Close your eyes,” he cajoled, massaging my eyelids with the pads of his thumbs.
“I don’t nap. If I do, I’ll be awake all night, and the last thing I need is to be staring at this ugly ceiling at three a.m. with a head full of ‘what-ifs,’ so I’ll go to the store while you sleep and when you’re awake, we’ll get you a boat. How does that sound?”
Viggo curled a finger and patted the mattress. “Humor me. Thirty minutes. That’s all.”
“Thirty minutes? Are you joking? That’s torture.”
“Fifteen minutes, then. Please.”
I sighed heavily. “Fine.”
An hour later, I woke with a start, bolting upright with my heart pounding. Viggo was next to me, calmly scrolling through messages on his cell.
“Ah, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”
I furrowed my brow and shoved a hand through my hair. “What time is it? We have a lot to do. Food first. We have to figure out how to work the grill and if you want a boat, one of us will have to run it here. I’m familiar with the lake, so it should probably be me.”
Viggo dropped his phone on the nightstand and pushed me onto the mattress, straddling my thighs. He rocked his hips in invitation and whispered in my ear.
“I think I’ll take that blowjob now.”
I snorted and tried to wiggle out from under him, but it was a weak protest at best.
Forty-five minutes later, we were on a two-lane road thick with trees. The market was located one town over and, according to their website, had everything we needed for a couple of days on the lake.
