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He hesitated. Flora knew that she was asking a lot of him. Just take me. Make me come. Maybe that was too much weight of expectation to put on any man.
But she knew that he wanted to. She wriggled out of his arms, moving away from him. Bound now only by gaze.
‘Don’t you want me?’
‘Are you crazy, Flora? You’re everything any man could want, and far more than I have a right to take...’
‘But I’m asking you to do it anyway.’
For one moment, she thought he’d turn away from her. And then he moved, so quickly that he’d caught her up and pinned her down on the bed before she knew quite what was happening. His eyes were dark, tender and fierce all at the same time.
‘Take my hand.’ His elbows were planted on either side of her, and she reached up, feeling his fingers curl around hers in what seemed a lot like a promise. Whatever happened next, he’d be right there with her.
* * *
They’d faced passion together, and then faced disappointment. The kind of disappointment that a man—Aksel, anyway—found difficult to forget. If Flora hadn’t already given him a good talking to about the nature of guilt, he’d be feeling far too responsible, and much too guilty to do this.
But when he’d tipped her onto her back, she’d gasped with delight, smiling up at him and putting her hand in his when he asked her. Trapped in her gaze, entering her for the second time was even better than the first. Better than anything he’d ever done, and it felt liable to overshadow anything he ever would do again.
She wrapped her legs around his back, and he felt her skin against his, warm and welcoming. He began to move, and her eyes darkened as her pupils dilated. Her body responded to his, a thin sheen of perspiration forming on her brow.
Aksel watched her carefully, revelling in all the little signs of her arousal. Suddenly she gasped, her whole body quivering for a moment in anticipation and her hand gripping his tightly. And then that sweet, sweet feeling as Flora clung to him, choking out his name.
It broke him. His own orgasm tore through him, leaving him breathless, his heart hammering in his chest. When he was able to focus his eyes again, the one thing he’d most wanted was right in front of him.
‘You’re smiling.’
Flora reached up, her fingertips caressing the side of his face. ‘So are you.’
‘Yes.’ Aksel had the feeling that it was one of those big, stupid after-sex smiles. One that nothing in this world could wipe from his face. ‘I’m not even going to ask. I know you weren’t faking that.’
The thought seemed to please her. As if she’d wanted him to feel the force of her orgasm, without having to be told.
‘I loved it. Every moment.’
‘I loved it too.’
Her hand was still in his, and he raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers. Easing away from her for a moment, he arranged the pillows and she snuggled against him, laying her head on his chest, so soft and warm in his arms. Aksel let out a sigh of absolute contentment.
* * *
Flora had slept soundly, and she woke before dawn. The clock on the bedside table glowed the numbers six and twelve in the darkness. Twelve minutes past six was more Aksel’s wake-up call than it was hers.
But he was still as
leep. And she felt wide awake and more ready to meet the day than she usually did at this time in the morning.
She moved, stretching her limbs, and his eyelids fluttered open. Those blue eyes, the ones that had taken her to a place she’d been afraid to go last night.
Afraid... The clarity of early morning thoughts wondered whether it might just be the case that she’d been afraid all these years. Afraid to give herself to a man who didn’t trust her enough for her to trust him back.
But she’d given herself to Aksel. In one overwhelming burst of passion that really should have been accompanied by booming cannons, waving flags, and perhaps a small earthquake. And she couldn’t help smiling every time she thought about it.
He stretched, and she felt the smooth ripple of muscle. Then he reached for her hand, the way he had last night. He was still here, with her. Still protecting her from the doubts and fears.
‘God morgen.’ He leaned over, kissing her brow.
He’d lapsed into Norwegian a few times last night as they’d lain curled together in the darkness. It was as if his thoughts didn’t wait to be translated before they reached his tongue, and although Flora didn’t know what he’d said, the way he’d said it had left her in no doubt. They had been words of love, whispered in the quiet warmth of an embrace, and meant to be felt rather than heard.
