Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams (14 page)

I, however, did not laugh with him. I was
still too pissed.

He eventually stopped laughing (though, I
will note, he took his sweet time doing it) and returned his
attention to me.

And when he did, his eyes roamed my face
before he said quietly, “When my wife gets vexed, her cheeks get
pink.”

I fought the urge to struggle out of his
lap
and
the urge to
cover my cheeks. Instead, I simply continued to glare.

“I like it,” he went on talking quietly.

“Can I get up now?” I asked snappishly.

He didn’t answer nor did he let me up.
Instead he remarked, still quietly, “I’m intrigued about these
wedding undergarments I missed.”

“Sorry, Frey, that was a onetime deal. I was
all decked out in my wedding finery and you took off. You missed
that boat, totally.”

He grinned again then whispered, “More fool
me.”

“Uh… hello?” I called then requested, “Can I
get up now?”

One of his big hands drifted up my back and
he said softly, “I must tell you, Finnie, I like you here. You fit
well in my lap.”

Uh-oh.

“Does it matter that I don’t like being
here?” I asked.

“Indeed it does, wife, let’s get you
somewhere where you’re more comfortable. I’m thinking the
loft.”

Uh-oh again.

“Frey, I think I told you, the deal is
off.”

He grinned and shook his head. “You know, my
Winter Princess, you never renege on a deal with a Raider.”

I blinked.

Oh shit. I’d read that in
both
of those books. You made a deal
with a Raider, you went back on it, you regretted it.

Big time.

Shit!

His hand was now wrapped around the back of
my neck and he held me still while he leaned into me.

Once there and he had captured my gaze, he
said quietly, “You have ten minutes to prepare yourself and meet me
up there. We will see how it goes as to whether we guard against
conceiving or, perhaps, forget.”

Ho boy. I knew what that meant because I
figured that meant the same thing on
both
worlds.

“You haven’t had pie,” I pointed out in an
attempt to stall.

“We’ll have it later…” he paused and
grinned. “Maybe. We might be too busy; we might need sustenance to
keep going.”

Ho boy!

“Frey –” I whispered.

He cut me off. “You now have nine minutes,
Finnie.”

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“That wasn’t a minute,” I argued.

He pressed his lips together but I knew what
it meant this time because his eyes were so close, I saw them
dancing.

Then he warned softly and effectively with
one word, “Finnie.”

I stared into his eyes.

Then I saw there a clear indication that
there was no way I could delay.

This was happening and it was my choice
whether it happened in the loft or on the farm table. Since that
was my only choice, I definitely needed the loft.

So that was why I muttered, “Oh, all
right.”

That got me another grin. It also loosened
his arms. And this meant I scrambled off his lap and hurried out of
the room trying not to look like I was hurrying. I hit the trunks,
found what I was looking for and went to the bathroom space not
bothering with the lock on the door because he could easily break
it down if he had a mind to.

Only then did I start hyperventilating.

Elves

I stood in the bathroom space thinking that
I really needed fifteen meals.

Maybe twenty-one.

Or, perhaps ninety.

I was
so
not ready for this.

And I had been in the bathroom
way
longer than nine minutes. I was
pretty certain Frey was going to bust down the door any
second.

I totally shouldn’t have lost it at dinner
and thus made Frey skip pie.

I needed pie.

I needed to think!

How to get out of this?

I stared at myself in the mirror.

For reasons unknown to me, probably nervous
energy, I had decided to arrange my hair loosely at the top of my
head with one of the scads of ice blue ribbons that had been packed
in my beautification trunk. I didn’t know what I was going for,
sultry vixen or innocent virgin (probably the latter in hopes that
Frey would take it slow and be gentle) and to get this to look even
slightly good, it took what had to be nineteen minutes, not
nine.

I had also changed into the nightgown I was
pretty sure Sjofn was supposed to wear on her wedding night. This
was because you didn’t sleep in this nightie. This nightie was an
occasion nightie, it was meant to be seen and it was way too
delicate to sleep in.

It was beautiful, elaborate winter white
lace over ice blue satin. The thin straps were ice blue satin too.
It had an empire waist and showed serious cleavage and leg. This
last was because the skirt only fell low enough to cover my
rear…barely. It was mostly simple but that made it elegant, the
lace made it extraordinary and the ice blue satin made it beautiful
(not to mention it felt great against my skin).

But I thought, at that moment, it was too
short, too suggestive and way too sexy.

Not that I had to suggest anything and
everything was sexy when you were essentially a sure thing.

But it had been purchased for Frey. And
for some crazy, stupid reason (even though he could be a very
big
jerk
), when I’d
been considering what would happen that night, I decided to wear
it. And I did this because I thought even men should have what they
looked forward to on their wedding nights. Like women, they only
got one and it should be a good one.

So he messed up his first shot. But before
my nerves overwhelmed me, I felt some weird drive to give it to him
just the same.

And he sure wasn’t going to get anything
like it when Sjofn came back.

So I’d picked that nightgown.

Shit.

I stared at my reflection, my mind
whirling.

Then I realized I had no choice. I made the
deal, I had to do it. I couldn’t go running into the night, Frey
would find me and anyway, I’d freeze to death. I had to go to the
loft and when I got there, maybe I could talk him into taking it
slow, as in, making out tonight for awhile, getting the hang of
each other and then seeing what tomorrow brings.

I could do that, I could make out with
him. I already knew he was a good kisser. That would be nice, hell,
that would be
great.

Then my mind came back to reality with
a,
Fat
chance of convincing him of that, Finnie.

I stared at my face in the mirror.

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. That
was what Dad (and a bunch of other people) always said.

I blew out the candles in the bathroom space
and walked out to the living room.

All was dark except the fireplaces that had
been fed and were blazing big and bright. The curtains had been
pulled by me, way earlier, to shut out the draft after the sun went
down. I’d learned that early, as in, after the first night I slept
there when I woke up on the couch with a stiff neck.

The curtain at the railing at the loft was
mostly closed, light was coming through where it was opened at the
end.

By the ladder.

Eek!

I tried to remember if Penelope was in or
out when I saw her rise to all fours where she was curled on one of
the fluffy throws on an armchair. She stretched her back, sat on
her ass and blinked through the firelight at me. Then she looked up
at the loft like she knew what was about to happen there. Then she
looked back at me and blinked. Then she jumped off the armchair,
landing with a fat kitty thump and waddled into the kitchen.

Well, guess she wasn’t going up there with
me to assist me in talking Frey into a make out session.

With no choice, I went to the ladder and
climbed up.

When I got up, I didn’t look. I entered the
space bent double (because I had to, though this was not good
considering my major cleavage and the fact that it made the nightie
ride up my ass) and turned to shut the curtain. Then I sucked in a
deep breath while hiding sucking in a deep breath and let it out
while turning back.

I had put three candleholders in each corner
to light the space. When I read at night, I moved six of them
beside the bed but I kept them in the corners normally to keep them
away from the bedclothes.

All of them were lit, the fire in the grate
was blazing, the space seemed warm and cozy and Frey was wearing
nothing but breeches and crouched before the fire.

He looked hot. His muscled shoulders looked
broad. His defined lats looked powerful. And his eyes were on me.
Or, more accurately, they were on my nightie.

Ho boy.

I should have crouched, though that wouldn’t
have been much better.

“Uh… hi,” I whispered.

At the sound of my voice, Frey blinked then
he moved. Slowly, his big body shifted then he crawled on all fours
into the bed as I stood still and watched without blinking.

There was something animal about that, the
way he moved, the unhurried way he did it, his muscles bunching,
the fact that he didn’t tear his eyes from my face.

It
was
animal, graceful, predatory…
fascinating.

My mouth went dry and I totally forgot about
talking him into just making out.

He dropped to a hip and said gently, “Come
here, Finnie.”

For some reason, without hesitation, I went
there. Falling to my knees when my toes hit bedclothes, I moved
across the space, stopped two feet away and put my rump to my
calves. Then my body stilled when his hand came up. It went to my
hair and with a gentle tug, the ribbon was gone and my hair tumbled
down.

Well, so much for that effort.

His hand curled warm around my neck.

“I wish to feel it all over me, wife,” he
whispered.

Hmm.

I liked that.

“Okay,” I whispered back.

When I spoke, his eyes did what they did in
the market that day, they got lazy and they smiled.

My belly dropped.

Wow.

His hand at my neck curled around to the
back and his other hand came to my waist, fingertips only, gliding
in, sliding back then I felt his whole hand then, pressing at the
small of my back, he pulled me toward him slowly.

I kept my eyes glued to his as my breath
started coming faster and my body started trembling – from fear,
definitely, anxiety, you bet, and something else, absolutely.

As he pulled me closer, his hand at the
small of my back wrapped around my waist, tugging me gently so I
fell from my calves to my hip and thigh. Then I was pulled closer…
my head tipping back… closer… his head dipping down… closer… then
my eyes dropped to his mouth right before they drifted closed and
he touched his lips to mine.

That was it. A gentle touch then he used his
hands and his torso to push me until my back was to the bed, my
head to the pillows and he settled at my side on his forearm, the
hand that was at my neck sliding down my shoulder, my arm, in, over
the lace and satin at my ribs, down, over my belly, curling at my
waist, down, over my hip, all of this slow, all of this taking his
time, all of this while his eyes watched.

That felt nice, even relaxing, but I was in
no state to relax. The heat in his eyes and the expression on his
face were both communicating to me in a way that made my skin heat.
And his chest was right there, all of it, there was a lot of it, it
was fantastic and I wanted to touch.

But I was terrified at the same time.

Still, he was touching me so I should get to
touch him. And I wanted it so I lifted my hand and slowly moved it
toward his chest as his hand slid back up to my belly then suddenly
my hand was arrested in mid-air because his fingers had curled
around my wrist.

My eyes went to his to see his on my
hand.

Then they came to mine as he pulled my hand
to the warm, sleek skin of his chest, pressing it flat as he leaned
closer to me.

With his face a couple inches from mine, my
hand pressed to his skin, he asked softly, “Why do you tremble,
wife?”

I licked my lips. Then I whispered my
admission, “I’m nervous, Frey.”

His lazy, heated eyes got lazier and more
heated as he slid my hand up his chest, over his shoulder and
around his neck, gently pulling my torso up with it then he left my
hand there and his arm curved around my waist. He dropped down
fully to his side in the bed as he turned me into his arms and his
mouth came to within a breath of mine.

“I’ll be gentle, Finnie,” he whispered.

“Promise?” I asked.

His hand slid warm up my spine to tangle in
my hair, making me tremble anew, and not with nerves, as it
travelled along its path and he pressed into me.

“I would not hurt you, my winter bride.” He
slid his nose along mine and I liked that, it was sweet, it was
hot, it felt nice and my body softened under his. “Ever,” he
growled to finish and that was when he finally kissed me.

There it was. His tongue in my mouth, that
skill I remembered, it was all there but this time he was giving it
to me, not using it to take from me. It was slow, it was about
discovery, exploration, showing, telling, rewarding and I softened
more, pressing closer as his hand moved light over my nightie,
warm, not invasive, soothing at the same time heating.

And I was heating, slowly, very slowly,
because that was all he did, building the warmth, stoking the fire.
He had time and he was going to take it, so he did.