22. Henry

22

Henry

M y fists still ached from pummeling Jensen last night, from using them for practice this morning. Freya's delicate hands had patched me up, but the rage simmered beneath the surface, an unrelenting fire. She was right beside me now, guiding me out of the west wing and up to our bedroom. I should've pulled away, left her to her own devices, but I couldn't. Not when she looked at me like that.

She stopped at the door, turning to face me. Her pale green eyes betrayed her nerves. Yet, beyond the fear, there was something else—determination. It gnawed at my insides, twisting them into knots. How could she be so stubborn?

"You can't keep doing this," she whispered.

My jaw tightened. "Doing what?"

"Trying to control everything."

"I have to."

"No," she said, her voice firmer now. "You don't."

Her defiance sent a surge of anger through me. I wanted to shout, to demand she understand why things had to be this way. But words failed me.

Freya stepped closer, placing a hand on my chest. Her touch was soft, but it felt like a brand against my skin. "Let it go," she pleaded.

"Let what go?"

"This anger." Her fingers traced the contours of my knuckles. "It's tearing you apart."

I looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "You don't understand."

"Then help me understand." Her grip tightened slightly as if willing me to open up.

I inhaled sharply, fighting the urge to pull her into a fierce embrace or push her away entirely. She was a puzzle I couldn't solve, a storm I couldn't calm.

"It's not that simple," I muttered.

"It is if you, let it be." She tilted her head slightly, searching my eyes for any sign of relentment.

I wanted to believe her words could fix things. But I knew better than to hope for miracles.

Her lips parted as if to say something more, but she hesitated, waiting for me to make the next move. In that moment of silence between us, all I could hear was the pounding of my own heart and the distant echoes of my rage.

Would she ever truly see? Would she ever know the depths of what kept me awake at night? The darkness that clung to my every thought?

But here she stood—brave and unwavering in front of a storm.

I reached out tentatively and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "You're infuriating," I whispered.

A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. "I know."

Freya's fingers were like whispers against my skin, unbuttoning my shirt with deliberate care. Each button released felt like an electric jolt, shooting warmth through my body. I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, watching her every move. Her touch was light, almost reverent, as she slipped the shirt off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

I reached for her, driven by a need I couldn't suppress, but she shook her head.

"You can't touch," she said in a low voice that sent shivers down my spine. "Remember? I get you in whatever way I want you."

"Freya," I growled, annoyance lacing my voice.

She met my gaze with a defiant glare that both infuriated and entranced me. "Henry," she replied firmly. "Please."

I clenched my teeth together, hating how those simple words from her could strip me of my defenses. I hated I couldn't say no to her. But there was something in her eyes, something that made me relent.

She continued her meticulous work, her hands sliding down to unbuckle my belt. My body heated under her touch, a fire spreading from where her fingers grazed my skin. She was so careful, so delicate in her movements that it almost drove me mad.

My breath hitched as she undid the zipper of my pants and eased them down over my hips. Her eyes never left mine, challenging me to break the silent agreement we had forged in this moment.

I wanted to touch her so badly it hurt, but the look in her eyes held me captive. She was in control now, and I had to let her have it.

As she continued to strip away the barriers between us piece by piece, I realized that this was more than just a physical act. It was a battle of wills, a test of who we were to each other.

And for now, I had to let her win.

When I was completely naked, Freya took all of me in. Her eyes traveled over every inch of my body, lingering on the scars and bruises from countless fights and workouts. She was thorough, methodical, like she was memorizing every line and curve.

"You're stunning," she told me, her voice barely above a whisper. "I hate it. But it's the truth."

The honesty in her words stung, but I couldn’t look away. She jerked her chin towards the bed. "Lie down."

I hesitated, the command grating against my instincts. But there was something about being bossed around by her I couldn't resist. It felt different, like giving up control in this moment was a small rebellion against everything else that had gone wrong.

I climbed onto the bed, stretching out on the cool sheets. The air prickled my skin as I watched her slowly strip off her own clothes.

Her fingers worked deftly at the buttons of her blouse, each one coming undone with an almost hypnotic rhythm. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing the smooth expanse of her collarbone and the delicate curve of her neck. Her skin glowed softly in the dim light, a stark contrast to the dark fabric of her bra.

She unhooked it with a flick of her wrist, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. My eyes followed every movement as she stepped out of her jeans and slid off her panties with an ease that made my breath catch in my throat.

Freya stood there for a moment, completely exposed and unapologetic. Her eyes roved over me again, this time with a hunger that sent shivers down my spine.

She was beautiful in a way that was both fierce and tender—an impossible combination that left me aching for more. Her hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, framing her face as she took a step closer to the bed.

My heart pounded as she climbed onto the mattress beside me, the warmth of her body radiating towards mine. Every inch of space between us seemed to hum with electricity.

And in that moment, I knew that whatever happened next would change everything between us.

Freya kept her eyes locked on mine as she moved down, her lips parting just before they met my cock. The sight of her like this, so bold and unyielding, sent a shudder through me. Her mouth enveloped me, warm and wet, and I couldn't hold back the moan that escaped my lips.

Instinctively, my hand shot to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. But as soon as I did, she pulled away, her eyes flashing with defiance.

"I said, you can't touch," she repeated.

I glared at her, frustration mingling with desire. My body screamed to defy her command, to take control. But the intensity in her gaze held me in place. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she returned to her position.

It took everything in me not to grab her again as she took me into her mouth once more. The pleasure was overwhelming, every movement of her tongue and lips sending waves of ecstasy through my body. She worked me with a precision that was maddeningly perfect—her tongue tracing patterns along the sensitive underside while her hand stroked the base in rhythm.

My breathing grew ragged as she found a rhythm that pushed me closer to the edge. Each flick of her tongue was a spark, igniting fires of pleasure that coursed through every nerve. The way she looked at me, eyes never wavering from mine, added an intensity that made my pulse race.

She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks and taking me deeper. I bit down on my lip to stifle another moan. Her free hand reached up to gently cup my balls, rolling them between her fingers with a touch that was both tender and electrifying.

The sensations built steadily, each stroke of her hand and twist of her tongue drawing me closer to release. It was unbearable in its perfection—pleasure teetering on the brink of pain.

I clenched my fists into the sheets beneath me, trying to anchor myself against the onslaught of sensation. She knew exactly what she was doing, driving me wild with need while maintaining complete control.

Her pace quickened slightly, just enough to push me closer but not enough to let me tip over the edge. She had me right where she wanted me—helpless under the spell of her mouth and hands.

Every nerve in my body hummed with pleasure as she continued to work me over with relentless skill. It was torture and bliss all at once—a torment I never wanted to end.

"Freya," I breathed out, my voice ragged. "Fuck, Freya, I'm going to?—"

She pulled away suddenly, leaving me gasping for air. Her smirk, so infuriatingly confident, sent a fresh wave of pleasure rippling through my body. The way she looked at me, like she knew exactly the power she held, made my blood boil with desire.

She moved over me with deliberate grace, straddling my hips. Her skin was warm against mine, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. She grabbed my cock with one hand, her touch firm and commanding. The sensation of her fingers wrapping around me sent a shiver down my spine.

Freya lined me up with her entrance, her eyes never leaving mine. There was a moment of stillness as she hovered above me, the heat between us palpable. Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—she began to slide onto me.

The feeling of being enveloped by her warmth was indescribable. Every inch that she took in felt like heaven and hell all at once. My hands gripped the sheets beneath us again as I fought to keep control, every muscle in my body tensing with the effort.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief second as she sank down fully onto me, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sound drove me wild; I wanted to hear more of it, to lose myself in the rhythm of our bodies moving together.

She moved, setting a pace that was torturously slow. Each rise and fall of her hips sent jolts of pleasure coursing through me. I could feel every movement she made—the way her muscles tightened around me, the friction that built with each thrust.

Freya's hands braced against my chest as she rode me, her fingers digging into my skin. Her breath came in short gasps, mingling with mine in the charged air between us. I reached up instinctively, desperate to touch her—to feel more of her—but she shot me a warning look that stopped me cold.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice husky with command.

I clenched my fists at my sides again, surrendering to her control even as it drove me mad with need. The intensity of our connection was overwhelming; every sensation amplified by the fact that I couldn't do anything but let her take what she wanted.

As Freya continued to move above me, I felt myself teetering on the edge once more—ready to fall into the abyss of pleasure that awaited us both.

Freya leaned back, her curves on full display, every inch of her body a testament to beauty and defiance. The sight was almost too much to bear. My hands itched to cup her breasts, to hold her hips, to bite her skin. But I held back, fists clenched at my sides.

Her pace quickened, the rhythm of her movements growing more frantic. I could tell she was getting close, the way her breath hitched, the way her muscles tensed around me. Her eyes were half-closed, lips parted in silent moans that drove me wild.

"Henry," she gasped, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Henry, please?—"

"Let me touch you," I begged, my voice raw with desperation. "Please, Freya."

She shook her head, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. "No," she whispered fiercely. "Not yet."

The refusal sent a fresh wave of frustration through me, but there was no denying the electric charge between us. Her movements grew even more erratic, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my body.

I could feel her teetering on the edge, so close to release that it was almost palpable. Her fingers dug into my chest as she rode me harder and faster, the sounds of our bodies moving together filling the room.

Just as I felt the first shudder of her climax ripple through her body, my own release overtook me by surprise. It hit like a tidal wave—sudden and all-consuming—my entire being caught in the throes of ecstasy.

Freya's cry mingled with my own as she came undone above me, every muscle in her body tightening around me in a vice-like grip. The intensity of our shared release was overwhelming, pleasure crashing over us in waves that left us both breathless and trembling.

In that moment, nothing else existed but the feeling of being utterly consumed by each other—a fleeting escape from everything that had come before and everything that lay ahead.

As the last tremors of our climax subsided, Freya collapsed onto my chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I wrapped my arms around her instinctively, holding her close despite everything that had happened between us.

For now, we were together in this moment—two souls caught in a storm of their own making—and I couldn't bring myself to let go.

I buried my face in Freya's hair, holding her tight. Her warmth seeped into me, calming the storm raging inside.

"It's okay not to be in control all the time," she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "You don't have to do this alone."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I hesitated, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

"My uncle almost ruined my sister and tried to take away her inheritance," I whispered, the memories still raw. "But now, with this… it's like everything my grandfather built is for nothing. I have to go to that meeting."

"Even if it means you miss your game?" she asked softly.

I remained silent; the conflict tearing me apart. The legacy my grandfather built was more than just a business; it was a testament to his hard work and determination. But Freya's words lingered, making me question everything.

"I get your grandfather built up the Mathers legacy from nothing," she said slowly. "And you want to make sure you keep it that way. But what about what you're building? Isn't that important too?"

Her question struck a chord deep within me. I didn't have an answer, at least not one that made sense in the chaos of my thoughts. I just held her tighter, seeking solace in her presence.

Freya's fingers continued their gentle dance across my skin, offering comfort in their simplicity. The tension in my muscles began to ease, replaced by a strange sense of calm.

"You don't have to decide right now," she murmured against my chest. "Just know that whatever you choose, you're not alone."

Her words were a balm to my troubled mind. In that moment, it felt like we were on the same side of this storm—a small island of calm amid the turmoil threatening to pull us under.

I exhaled slowly, letting some of the weight lift from my shoulders. Maybe she was right; maybe I didn't have to carry this burden by myself. For now, it was enough just to hold her and feel her heartbeat against mine.

The future loomed uncertain and daunting, but with Freya here in my arms, it felt a little less terrifying.