Then she gave him her neck as her head arched back, her fingers fisted in his hair, her other arm clutched him tight and she rammed herself down on his shaft as she climaxed.
Frey spun her to her back, her long hair splashed across their bed, her four limbs held tight even as she continued gasping through her orgasm and his hips pumped between her legs.
He fought the climax that threatened to explode so he could take in her beautiful face awash with pleasure, the vision of her hair all over the sheets, the feel of her arms and legs gripping him tight, the brilliant torture of her sex spasming around his driving cock then he couldn’t fight it anymore and through five, deep, hard strokes he poured his seed inside his wife.
Frey dropped his forehead to the bed beside her and focused on her soft body under him, her wet tightness enveloping his cock, her hands drifting light along his back, the smell of her skin and he rethought their plans to leave Hawkvale on the morrow to return to Lunwyn.
He liked right where he was.
“Are you sure you want to go home, wife?”
“No,” she whispered and he lifted further up on his forearm to look down at her, his other hand moving to cup the side of her head, his thumb drawing circles at her temple. “But there are places to go, people to meet, things to do,” she finished on an appealing, sated grin.
That was his Finnie. Her feet itched.
“This bed is very comfortable,” he observed but made his point by shifting his hips between her legs then he watched with satisfaction as her eyelids lowered and her lips parted.
Then she lifted her head to touch her lips to his throat and dropped it back.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “It is. But so is your bed on your ship.” She grinned again. “I like the velvet blankets.” Her four limbs gave him a squeeze as did her sex and a short, low rumble slid up his throat which caused her to smile a very appealing, very sated smile. “And it’s narrow so we have to cuddle,” she concluded.
“We cuddle even in this big bed,” Frey pointed out.
“Indeed,” she whispered, her eyes growing soft and moving over his face before she said quietly, “If you wish to stay, husband, I’m good with staying.”
“And if you wish to go, wife, I’m good with going,” he replied and she smiled again.
“Then we’ll go,” she decided, Frey smiled back and dropped his head to touch his lips to hers.
“Yes, my wee one,” he said softly after he lifted his head, “we’ll go.”
Her hand drifted up his spine and into his hair as her eyes drifted to his mouth.
She touched her lips to his and repeated quietly, “We’ll go.”
Then she kissed him, unhooked a leg from his hip, planted her foot in the bed and bucked to roll him to his back.
He allowed this because she went with him.
Then he allowed his wife to make best use of their big, soft bed.
Again.
* * * * *
Frey moved through the bedroom to get his gloves. After her archery lesson with Annar, he was taking her riding through his estate and the village one last time before they left early the next morning.
Absently, his eyes moved through the room which had been the setting for some very happy memories since they arrived nearly six weeks ago after docking the ship in Bellebryn, staying in that small city state for a week because Finnie was enthralled by its charm and then making their way into Hawkvale to his chateau.
Finnie had been even more Finnie as she discovered the appeal of Hawkvale (though she surprised him by telling him she favored Lunwyn, felt more at home there and preferred the clothing of Fyngaard). She’d delighted in every second they spent in Bellebryn, travelling to then being at his chateau and, as always with Finnie, she didn’t hide it.
And Frey delighted in giving it to her.
Even so, without Finnie in his arms and Frey in her, he had to admit he was ready to move on. He could not remember the last time he’d stayed in one place for so long and as enjoyable as it was with Finnie, he was keen to take her on her next adventure.
His step slowed and his brows drew together as he saw one of Finnie’s small trunks open on the dresser. Jewelry and hair bobs spilled out and poking out of the top was the edge of a small envelope used by herbalists to hold tinctures or powders to prepare draughts.
Frey moved to it automatically, feeling mild surprise. Except for the falsehood she told of being unwell when they argued about Viola, Finnie had not ever complained of feeling sick and he knew the adela tree bark used for tea was always ritually held in a purple pouch as a nod to the goddess, not to mention, she’d told him she only had enough for that one cup.
When he arrived at the dresser, he saw there was more than one of these small envelopes in her trunk. In fact, there were several. He lifted one out, folded open the top, put it to his nose and he smelled a hint of citrus, rosemary, ginger all of it nearly overwhelmed by the aroma of mint.
His body froze but even so heat burned from his gut upwards, setting fire to his chest.
He knew that smell.
Pennyrium.
Pennyrium.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, that whisper shaking with fury.
His wife was dosing with gods damned pennyrium to guard against conceiving his gods damned child.
Without his knowledge.
And without, except for a brief conversation a long bloody time ago that by no means had ended in a definite bloody decision, without discussion.
And further, without his permission.
He pulled in a deep breath to calm the fire in his chest.
This did not work.
Then he reminded himself his wife was of another world. Perhaps, in her world, females did this regularly.
But he could not fathom that. He could not fathom any world where such an integral discussion between any wife and her husband, especially considering the bloody conception of a gods damned child meant the continued peaceful rule of an entire, bloody kingdom, for the gods sakes, would not only happen between that wife and her gods damned husband but would be crucial.
And further, she was the one who introduced the subject in the first damned place. Clearly, in her world, this was discussed amongst partners and decisions made prior to any action.
He stared at the packet in his hand.
Pennyrium. Taken daily it very rarely failed to prevent a woman getting with child. And the longer it was utilized, the longer it took for its effects to clear after it was ceased. In some instances, when women had recklessly used it for years, it had made them infertile.
She could have chosen differently but then again, if she had, it would mean contacting a witch to cast a spell or speaking with him to convince him to wear a sheath something, admittedly, he had no bloody intention of doing with his damned wife especially since that wife was Finnie and he was not about to shield his sex from hers and thus have a bloody, gods damned barrier between them not to mention diminish the pleasure she gave him.
So she had decided on pennyrium.
Bloody hell.
Frey folded over the envelope and tucked it back in her trunk. Then he found his gloves and exited the room.
He did not, however, go outside to watch Finnie finish working with Annar and her bow.
No, he found the first of his men he could find, which was Oleg, then he ordered tersely, “Find Ruben and send him to me in my study immediately.”
Oleg grunted, jerked up his chin and moved away.
Frey went to his study which had a window that faced the back garden where Finnie, looking too tempting by half in her tight breeches with her skin now honeyed by the kiss of Hawkvale’s bright sun, was at the bow, her
