He shifted, easing her back against the pillows, moving over her with a graceful, controlled strength. He settled between her thighs, the hard length of him pressing against her core, a promise of the pleasure to come. He nudged the gown higher, baring her to his gaze.
He started to rub his hard erection slowly against her pussy through the thin fabric of her underwear, creating friction that made her moan.
His control snapped.
he hooked his fingers in the sides of her underwear and dragged them down her legs. He then positioned himself at her entrance, his crimson eyes burning into hers.
Then, he entered her in one long, slow, deliberate thrust.
Freya cried out, her head falling back against the pillows. He filled her completely, stretching her, claiming her, the ache a beautiful, exquisite pain that was pure pleasure. He paused, buried deep within her, allowing her body to adjust to his size.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his burning crimson gaze. He held her there, captive, as he began to move.
He started with a slow, deep rhythm, each stroke a deliberate, possessive act. He watched her face, watched the pleasure build there, her lips parting on a silent gasp, her eyes darkening with need.
"Soren," she whimpered,
her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.
He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pleasure. He loved hearing his name on her lips, loved the desperation, the need.
He increased his pace, driving into her harder, faster, pushing them both towards the edge.
He shifted, changing the angle of his thrusts, and he hit that secret spot deep within her. A cry tore from her throat.
"That's it, my wife," he growled, his voice rough with desire.
"Let go. Give me everything."
His words were her undoing. The tight coil of pleasure in her core snapped, and she shattered. A tidal wave of pleasure engulfed her. Her body convulsed around him, her mind going blank, her senses overwhelmed.
He followed her over the edge with a guttural roar, his own release tearing through him. He spilled himself inside her, a hot, possessive flood that was the final, ultimate claim.
He collapsed on top of her, his body a heavy, comforting weight that pinned her to the bed. They lay there for a long moment, their bodies slick with sweat, their breathing ragged, their hearts beating in a frantic, unsteady rhythm.
He was careful of her ankle, as he turned her on her side, wrapping her in his arms. He held her close, his face buried in her hair, his breathing slowly returning to normal.
Freya was limp in his arms, her body sated, her mind reeling.
The world slowly came back into focus.
And with it came the realization of a terrifying, undeniable truth that she had not wanted him to stop.
She drifted off to sleep in his arms.
***
Freya slept deeply.
Not the restless kind she had grown used to—
but something heavier.
The kind that came after exhaustion… and something more complicated she didn't quite have a name for yet.
When she stirred again, it was slow.
Her body protested first.
A dull ache lingering in her muscles, her ankle still sore beneath the wrap.
And then—
the warmth.
Still there.
Still him.
Soren hadn't moved far.
She felt it immediately.
The steady rise and fall of his chest behind her, one arm still wrapped around her waist, holding her in place even in sleep.
Freya's eyes opened slightly.
Just enough to see the dim light of the room.
Morning, maybe.
Or close to it.
She didn't move.
Because the moment she did—
everything would settle.
And she wasn't ready for that yet.
Her thoughts came back slowly.
Fragments at first.
And with them—
that realization again.
She hadn't wanted him to stop.
Freya's fingers tightened slightly in the sheets.
"…That's a problem," she whispered under her breath.
"Is it?"
She froze.
Of course he was awake.
Freya shut her eyes briefly.
"…You're not supposed to answer that."
Soren's voice was quieter this time.
"Then don't say it out loud."
She turned her head slightly, just enough to glance back at him.
His eyes were already open.
Freya looked away first.
"…You're staring again."
"I am."
She exhaled slowly.
"…You're going to keep doing that, aren't you?"
"Yes."
Then—
"How is your ankle?"
Freya blinked.
That again caught her off guard.
She shifted slightly—carefully this time.
"…Still sore," she admitted.
Soren's gaze dropped briefly, assessing.
Then returned to her face.
Then—
"I'll reapply it."
Freya froze.
Immediately.
"…No."
The answer came fast.
Soren's brow lifted slightly.
"No?"
Freya turned her head just enough to look at him.
"…No."
Then, more firmly:
"You are not doing that."
Soren studied her for a second—
and then, instead of pushing—
his mouth curved.
"…You refused very quickly," he added.
"That doesn't mean anything."
"It usually does."
Freya huffed and pulled the blanket higher.
"I just don't need your help."
"Mm."
That sound again.
Freya narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…What does that mean?"
Soren didn't answer right away.
Then—
quietly:
"…I think it means you remember exactly how it felt."
Freya froze.
"…That's not—"
His voice dropped just slightly.
"Because I do."
Her breath caught.
She hated that.
Hated that he could do that so easily.
"I was applying salve," he continued calmly, "and you were very still for someone who claims it meant nothing."
Freya turned fully now, glaring at him.
"That is not what happened."
"Isn't it?"
"No."
Soren's mouth curved faintly.
"…So if I tried again, you wouldn't react at all?"
Freya's face burned.
"I said no."
"That wasn't my question."
She opened her mouth—
then stopped.
Because he was absolutely doing this on purpose.
"…You're impossible," she muttered.
"And you're avoiding answering."
"I don't have to answer that."
"No," he agreed easily.
"You don't."
A pause.
Then, softer—
"But it's still true."
Freya looked away quickly.
"I'm applying it myself."
"Of course you are," Soren said easily.
"And you're not helping."
"I'm aware."
A pause.
Freya exhaled, thinking that was the end of it—
Then—
"Then I suppose," he added lightly, "I'll just enjoy watching you do it."
Freya froze.
Slowly—
she turned her head.
"…You're what?"
Soren's expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
"If you insist on doing it yourself," he continued, completely unbothered, "it would be a waste not to observe."
Freya stared at him.
"You're not serious."
"I am."
Her face heated instantly.
"You are not watching me apply salve to my ankle."
"Why not?" he asked, almost lazily.
"Because it's weird."
"It's practical."
"It is not practical."
"It is," he said calmly. "I'll be able to confirm you're doing it correctly."
Freya narrowed her eyes.
"That is not why you want to watch."
Soren's mouth curved faintly.
"No," he admitted.
At least he was honest.
Freya grabbed a pillow and shoved it into his chest.
"You're insufferable."
He caught it easily.
"I've been told."
She crossed her arms, still flushed.
"You're not watching."
Soren leaned back slightly, completely at ease.
"We'll see."
Freya groaned and dropped her face into the pillow.
A knock sounded at the door.
Freya didn't move.
"…Saved," she muttered into the pillow.
Soren's quiet chuckle followed.
"Enter."
The door opened carefully.
Clara stepped inside—
then paused just slightly, taking in the scene.
Freya immediately buried half her face deeper into the pillow.
"Don't look at me."
Clara's lips twitched.
"My lady," she said gently.
Soren sat up, his demeanor shifting with ease—composed, controlled—but the faint amusement hadn't left his expression.
"What is it?" he asked.
Clara stepped forward.
"I came to help Lady Freya get cleaned up," she said. "And to inform you—the physician has arrived."
Freya froze.
Then slowly lifted her head.
"…Already?"
Clara nodded.
"He is waiting, my lady."
Freya groaned softly and dropped her head back down.
"Of course he is."
Soren glanced down at her.
"That would be because I asked him to come."
Freya shot him a look.
"I gathered."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
"I'm sure you did."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"Immensely."
Freya dragged a hand over her face.
"…I need a different king."
"No," Soren said calmly. "You don't."
Clara cleared her throat softly, stepping closer to the bed.
"My lady, if you'd like, I can assist you before he comes in."
Freya sighed.
"…Yes. Please."
Soren rose from the bed in one smooth motion.
Freya watched him for a second—
then immediately looked away again.
Still too aware.
"I won't be staying," Soren said, adjusting his cuffs slightly.
Freya blinked.
"…You're leaving?"
"For now."
A pause.
"I have work that won't wait."
Freya studied him for a second.
"…Important work?"
"All of it is," he replied calmly.
Then, after a beat—
"I'll return later."
Something in his tone made that sound less like a possibility—
and more like a certainty.
Freya huffed softly.
"I'm sure you will."
Soren's gaze lingered on her a moment longer.
Then—
"I expect to hear what he says about your ankle."
Freya rolled her eyes.
"I'm sure you will."
"And," he added lightly,
"I expect you to actually apply the salve."
Freya narrowed her eyes.
"I said I would."
"Mm."
He still didn't sound convinced.
Freya grabbed the nearest pillow and tossed it at him.
"Go."
He caught it easily.
"Careful," he said mildly. "You're injured."
"I will injure you."
"That would be impressive."
Clara very carefully did not react.
Soren set the pillow back down, then turned toward the door.
But before he left—
his gaze flicked back to Freya.
And then—
he was gone.
The door closed behind him.
Silence settled for half a second.
Then—
Freya dropped her face into her hands.
"…I cannot do this today."
Clara stepped closer, gentle but efficient.
"You can, my lady."
Freya groaned.
"I don't even know why I'm embarrassed."
Clara paused slightly.
"…You weren't before."
"I know."
Freya looked up, frustrated.
"It only happens with him."
Clara's expression softened just slightly.
"…That usually means something."
Freya immediately shook her head.
"No. No, it does not."
Clara said nothing.
Which somehow made it worse.
Freya exhaled.
"Help me up before I change my mind and refuse to see anyone."
Clara nodded and carefully helped her sit up, mindful of her ankle.
"We'll keep it simple," she said.
Freya nodded.
As Clara helped her prepare, Freya tried very hard to ignore the lingering warmth still in her chest—
and the very inconvenient thought
that Soren would be back later.
And somehow—
that felt like a promise she wasn't ready for.