“Maybe we still put them on later,” I suggest, reaching for the button on her jeans instead. My hands busy with her jeans, I lean in and kiss her hard, feeling her hands slide up my chest and into my hair. Suddenly I can’t get her jeans off her hips fast enough, I want her skin under my fingers, I want her moaning under my touch. Shoving her jeans to the floor, I feel her kick them off. I reach down, grabbing her thighs and lifting, her legs wrapping around my waist. Turning, I set her back against the wall, loving the little gasp she makes as she rolls her hips, grinding against me.
I feel her set her teeth in my shoulder and my hips jerk, aching to drive into her, but I want to take it slow this time, build her up and send her over the brink screaming. I kiss her neck, working my way back to her lips, kissing her deeply, nipping at her jaw, giving her tiny licks that bring moans of pleasure from her lips.
Finally I turn, carrying her to the sleeping bag and lowering her to the floor, her blonde hair fanning out over the pillow and her lips plump and red from kissing. As I lean in to kiss her again, she puts her hands on my chest and pushes me over onto my back. Her fingers make quick work of the button of my jeans and I raise my hips, shoving them off and kicking them off my feet. Freya’s hair tickles my stomach as she presses kisses to my chest and her fingers trace the lines of my muscles.
I feel her breath and then her lips, hot and wet and I’m lost in the sensations. She teases me with the lightest flicks of her tongue until my hips are twitching, wanting to thrust into her and then she crawls up my body and straddles my thighs. Reaching under one of the pillows, clever girl, she pulls a condom out of the packet and my eyes roll back in my head as I feel her hands rolling it on. Teasing me with her rolling hips, she rears up and brings our bodies together, moaning as I plunge deep.
“Oh, yes,” she whispers, holding still for just a moment before her eyes open and find mine and her hips start rolling in rhythm.
“Baby, you’re perfect,” I grit out, gripping her hips in my hands as she picks up speed. I can feel the heavy weight building in my gut and I let her ride, holding out as long as I can until I feel her legs stiffen around me. Her head falls back as she screams her pleasure and I let go.
We talk and cuddle all night, watching the fire and staring up at the tree lights above our heads. At some point we fall asleep, Freya’s head on my shoulder, her legs tangled with mine.
13
Freya
Christmas day dawns bright and cold, a fresh layer of snow on the ground and everything sparkling white. When I wake up, Ricky is gone, but I can hear him out in the kitchen trying to quietly get a pot of coffee started. I smile when I turn to the pajamas, because only mine are sitting on the floor by our bed. He’s wearing Christmas pj’s!!
Slipping mine on, I pad quietly out to the kitchen on bare feet. He sees me and smiles, quickly striking a pose so that I can see the full effect. Green and red plaid flannel bottoms and a white t-shirt that says ‘naughty but nice’ in red. So deliciously naughty. My insides clench as I think of his body covering mine.
“Merry Christmas, you look fantastic,” I giggle, doing a little spin so that he can see mine. It’s a short nightgown in red with green polka dots that says ‘nice but naughty’. He reads the nightgown and laughs.
“Just the right kind of naughty,” he murmurs, echoing my thoughts as he walks around the counter and pulls me to him for a thorough kiss, “and Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“I have a present for you,” I’m nervous now, I hope he remembers the conversation we had, otherwise this is going to be a bust.
“I have a present for you too,” he kisses me quickly, “I left it on your porch to keep cool, I’ll be right back.” I pour us each a cup of coffee and head for the living room, settling on the couch with a flat, square package on my lap.
“I’m out here,” I call, when I hear him back in the kitchen. I hear the clink of something glass being set on the counter and other movement before he returns to the living room, a broad smile on his face. He’s holding a plate and when he gets closer, he sets it on the coffee table in front of me and I give an embarrassing little squeal of surprise and happiness.
“Oh, you remembered!”
“Of course I did,” Ricky nods, laughing. “I thought it was probably important that we establish exactly how nutty a fruitcake truly is, you know, just to set the standard.” He sits on the couch, smiling broadly as I stare at the most perfect fruitcake I’ve ever seen.
“I’m going to be honest, that looks amazing. I think fruitcakes get such an awful rap, but that’s just those brick-like confections you get in a tin every year. This is a masterpiece.” I stare at it a moment longer, horrified to feel tears pricking at my eyelashes. He baked me a fruitcake, that is the sweetest damn thing anyone has ever done for me.
“I have to be honest that Maggie did some of the heavy lifting on this one,” Ricky admits, grinning, “I’m not much of a baker, but she put me through my paces. Also, this is my grandma’s recipe, even though I’ve renamed it, ‘Freya Will You Be My Girl? Fruitcake’,” his eyes search mine.
“With a dowry like this, I’d be a fool not to accept that offer,” I giggle, reaching for him and tangling my fingers in his hair. “Yes, I’ll be yours,” I whisper, kissing him until we’re both panting.
“Here, open yours,” I hand him the package, practically vibrating with excitement. He carefully tears off the paper and stares at the black frame inside. His lips move as he silently reads the words I carefully wrote in sweeping calligraphy on heavy white paper. The first letter of each line is fancifully illuminated like an old text and the varying colors of the ink shimmer in the light.
“I figured out how to ask,” I bump my shoulder into his and he looks up at me, questioning. I read the words aloud.
Quiero todos tus besos.
Ég vil fá alla kossana þína.
“The translation is, ‘I want all of your kisses’,” I point at the lines. “The first one is clearly Spanish, the second one is Icelandic...the closest thing I could find to Viking.”
“Muchas smoochas,” he breathes, smiling broadly as he reaches for me. Cupping my face in his hands, he peppers me with kisses and I squeal with laughter.
* * *
THE END
Also by Halo Roberts
The Finding series
they stand alone but are best enjoyed in order:
* * *
Finding My Night
Finding My One
Finding My Safe
Finding My Sun
Finding My Cards - coming soon
The Storybook Pub : A Contemporary Romance Collection
Featuring my short rom-com Lonely Hearts
About Halo Roberts
Halo Roberts is a writer of steamy rom-coms, lover of coffee and dark beer, and spoiler of two fat cats affectionately known as the Bitchy Betas. She's living happily ever after in Iowa with her very own hunky farm boy, and a small herd of stubborn mules that look a lot like children.