Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 711(@200wpm)___ 569(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
“Baby arms?” Wren wasn’t sure her friend’s visuals were helping to calm her nerves.
“Yeah, my readers like ‘em big and veiny.”
Wren’s eyes widened. “Greyson’s pretty big. Do you think it’s going to hurt?”
“Even if it doesn’t, act like it does. Men like to think they’re giants. I’d definitely throw out some oohs and ahhs to play it up right.”
“Joce, I don’t want it to hurt!”
“Then you shouldn’t have waited this long, toots. Your shit’s probably atrophied.”
She planted her face in her hands and groaned. “Why did I come here?”
“Relax. You came here because I’m the most unfiltered friend you have, and you know I’m going to give it to you straight.”
“I think you mean unhinged.”
“Unfiltered, unhinged. Tomato, tow-mah-tow. The point is, once he’s in there, you’re going to ride that man like he’s the last warhorse out of Valhalla.”
Wren choked on her prosecco.
“I’m serious. You summon your inner shieldmaiden, and you plunder that man’s soul. Leave him so dazed he forgets his name but remembers yours for the rest of his life.”
“Jocelyn!”
“Don’t you dare go in there shy, Wren. Be the Viking princess I know you are.”
“My family’s from Boston.”
“Well, Bostonians are a little nuts. Channel your inner Viking and don’t ask for permission—just conquer. Storm the fjord. A true heroine doesn’t tiptoe into a love scene—she raids it.”
Wren blinked. “What does that even mean?”
“Flip him. Mount him. Ravish him like it’s Midsummer and there’s a fertility festival on the line. Make your ancestors proud.”
“I’m pretty sure my ancestors included English Puritans.”
“Then make his proud. Moan like a war horn. Scratch his back like you’re climbing a glacier to save your life. And for the love of Freyja, move your hips like the fertility goddess you are. A true Viking wench never lies still.”
“Okay, okay! I get it.”
“No, you don’t. But you will.” Jocelyn tipped the bottle to refill her glass.
Wren put a hand over the rim. “I have to drive.”
“Oh. Right. You want the bottle? It might help.”
“No, that’s okay. I probably shouldn’t drink.”
“Why?” Jocelyn scrunched up her nose.
“I want to be fully aware.”
“Oh. Smart. Especially if it hurts.”
On second thought, Wren grabbed the bottle by the neck. “Maybe I’ll use it to ice my crotch afterwards.”
“Atta girl! Now, you’re thinking. And one more thing…”
“Yeah?”
“Trust your body. It knows what it wants, even if your brain’s overthinking everything. Let instinct take over.”
“Thanks for the advice.” She slid off the barstool.
“Any time.”
Bottle in hand, Wren exited the kitchen with a slightly haunted expression. “Sorry, I disrupted your sex scene.”
“It’s okay. This actually helped.” She followed her to the door and yelled, “Go forth, my Valkyrie! And remember, if he’s not limping by morning, you probably will be.”
Wren drove home through the darkening harbor streets, Jocelyn’s outrageous advice echoing in her mind as anticipation and nerves warred in her belly.
When she pulled into her driveway, Greyson’s truck already waited in the shadows, headlights cutting through the evening like predatory eyes. Her pulse hammered against her throat as she spotted his silhouette in the driver’s seat, broad shoulders unmistakable even in the dim light.
The engine shut off.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the steering wheel, watching him emerge from the truck with that confident, purposeful stride that had always made her stomach flutter. Tonight, that flutter had transformed into something deeper, more primal.
Tonight, everything would change.
CHAPTER 23
“From Your Lips, She Drew the Hallelujah”
Short-lived flurries danced around Greyson as he stepped out of his truck and waited. He tracked her every movement, his predatory attention to detail making her hesitate. Finally, she shut off the car and opened the door.
He crossed his arms over his chest, as if giving her a chance to change her mind. “Having second thoughts?”
She laughed nervously. “No.”
“You sure?” His gaze dropped to the half-empty bottle of prosecco clutched in her white knuckles. “Tough afternoon?”
“I stopped by Jocelyn’s.”
“Ah.” He drew in a slow breath, never taking his gaze off of her. The scent of cedar and winter air clung to his jacket, mixing with something uniquely masculine that made her pulse quicken. “Do me a favor. Whatever advice she gave you, leave it alone.”
Wren laughed, thinking of some of the more colorful tactics Jocelyn had explained to her over the years. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Okay.” She stepped over Figgy to walk up the steps. “But she told me to ride you like the last warhorse out of Valhalla.” She glanced back at Greyson and laughed at his blank expression.
He climbed the steps and mumbled, “What the hell did you tell her?”
Wren unlocked the door, her hands trembling slightly as the key turned. “That’s sacred information kept strictly between me and my best friend. Do you want some wine?”
“No thanks.”
“Do you mind if I have some?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” When she pulled a glass down from the cabinet, she confessed, “I’m a little nervous.”