It was the last few days before Christmas, and amazingly the catering business didn't have an event that evening. Grace Leanna insisted on babysitting Temperance Dawn, and all but shoved Kristoff and Anna out the door that morning after breakfast with a cheerful wave and a "see you tomorrow!" They stared at each other, then at the door, then back at each other, not quite sure what had happened. But then slow, goofy smiles spread across their faces, and the two of them bolted for his truck before anyone could catch them.
They spent some time at the mall, buying small presents for their family. Anna bought books and toys for the kids, and a sketchbook for Penny June. Kristoff managed to find a dozen different pairs of the most outrageously tacky holiday socks at the dollar store, enough for the whole family. Anna laughed, and surreptitiously grabbed the last pair with cartoon reindeer on them. Sized extra-large, of course, and she blushed when he asked what she got but managed to keep it a secret.
They walked around the park, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. No white Christmas in Arendelle, South Carolina this year, but they didn't seem to mind. Kristoff laced their fingers together as they walked and talked about everything and nothing at all.
Kristoff insisted on cooking dinner for them. At first Anna protested. They had an actual day off, he shouldn't have to cook. He just smiled and asked her if he could cook for her, giving her the most outrageous puppy-dog eyes. She laughed, so they stopped at the local market for fresh supplies before heading back to her cottage.
Anna insisted on helping with the dishes afterwards, and wouldn't take no for an answer. And he was glad for it. There was something about sharing in this mundane, everyday chore that stirred something in him. Like their day, it was simple and unexpected and filled with a blooming, timeless joy. He could see them sharing such moments day in and day out for the rest of their lives.
Kristoff couldn't help but admire her, letting his eyes slide over her subtle curves as she absently hummed while she washed their wine glasses in the soapy water. She used the back of her wrist to wipe her bangs out of her face, unwittingly leaving a drop of water behind. He watched, transfixed, as it wandered from her temple, past her ear, then under her jaw and down her slender neck. He wanted to follow the trail it blazed. He wanted to tug her cardigan back, see where else it would lead him. He wanted…
He tossed his dish towel onto the counter and stood behind her. He trailed his fingers up her arms and placed a lingering kiss on the crown of her head. He smiled as he felt her relax into him, hands still in the sink. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in her scent, a mixture of incense and summer berries that never failed to make his head swim. His hands ran down her arms, then back up. He could almost feel the gooseflesh stir under the soft knit of her sweater. He gathered her coppery hair in his hands, carding it in his fingers for a few moments before gently lifting it to one side. His breath caught when she set down the dishes and tilted her head to the side, opening her neck to him. He accepted her silent invitation and kissed her right below her ear, where that water drop disappeared under her jawline. His lips went searching for it, kissing their way down to the collar of her cardigan lying against her sloping shoulder. He rested his hands at her waist, rubbing slow circles on her hips as he pulled her in close against his chest, and slowly kissed his way back up the smooth column of her neck.
She placed her hands on his wrists as a low, breathless moan whispered out of her parted lips. He couldn't stop the deep, rumbling groan that growled out in response. He tightened his hold on her and nuzzled into her neck, his breath hot as it curled around her collarbone. He felt her tug on his wrists, so he let go enough for her to pull his hands up to cup her breasts.
Their last three months were filled with curious touches and gentle exploration as they slowly, carefully learned each other. It wasn't always smooth; she tended to jump in further than she was ready, and fretted when she had to pull back. But he was ever patient, loving, and understanding. He knew the demons she fought, and he walked the fine line of helping her without coddling her. He let her lead, and doted upon every inch she slowly revealed. He learned to not only read but anticipate her subtle cues, to know when she was getting close to her line almost before she herself did. It filled him with a sweet searing pride that he could help her discover and enjoy this new part of her, of them. But it also filled him with wonder and humility that she chose him, trusted him, to share this with. The time would come when she could freely share everything with him, and he longed for it with a passion that burned deep in his belly. But he could wait, he would wait, because when that moment came it would be magnificent. So he locked down his own need tight and let her set the pace, let her guide him along the planes and curves he so desperately wished to know.
So when she led his hands to her breasts they both gasped as he caressed her through the thin fabric of her top. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her hungrily as his hands kneaded her flesh. Her head tilted back against his shoulder as her hum of approval vibrated against his mouth. He let his hands wander, drifting down the smooth lines of her torso, over her hips and down her thighs, grabbing fistfuls of her skirt before letting go and drifting back up, under her camisole top to stroke the bare skin of her abdomen.
She turned in his arms, and before he could do more than think he may be moving too fast she grabbed him by the neck and pulled his mouth down to hers, kissing him deeply. He melted into her, savoring the lingering hints of merlot on her lips which did nothing to hide the sweetness that was all her, the softness that was more intoxicating than the wine. He pressed his hands against the bare skin of her back, pressed her more closely to him. Her low back wasn't nearly as scarred as her shoulders, but he could still feel the soft lines and ridges of her past. It helped him keep himself in control when he so desperately wanted to sink into her. And then she nipped at his bottom lip, something she learned early on drove him to distraction. He parted his lips and greeted her eager tongue with his own. He wasn't sure who moaned first, but it raced through them like lightning. He looped his hands under her thighs and lifted her into his arms, then turned and set her on the counter. He started to pull away, but her grip on his neck tightened and she hooked her ankles behind his knees and pulled him in closer. He kissed her harder, hungrier, his hands running up and down her tights-clad legs.
Her hands circled around to cup his jaw, the pads of her fingers catching on the days' worth of stubble before drifting down the corded length of his neck to splay across his chest. He came up for air only to breathe her name across her lips. She reached up and nudged the collar of his flannel aside and, heeding her request, he reached back and all but ripped his own shirt off. The simple cotton tank he wore under it did nothing to hide the broad expanse of his chest, and she leaned in to pepper kisses along its hemline as her hands gripped his biceps. He caught the dizzying scent of her hair again, and his arms flexed under her fingers when he brought his hands up to her shoulders, his thumbs ghosting along her collarbones before sliding under the collar of her own sweater. "Please," he murmured.
She leaned back to gaze into his face, his eyes dark and filled with nothing but love and longing. She smiled and, with a shrug, the cardigan slipped off her shoulders and down her arms.
Kristoff couldn't help but stare at her, amazed. Usually Anna only exposed her scars reluctantly, head dipped and turned away almost in shame. But this time she smiled. At him. She was smiling at him and he couldn't be more proud. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, relishing the explosion of pride and love in his chest that stole his breath. Her hands were kneading the muscles of his low back, and he couldn't help but purr. She kissed her way up his neck and nibbled on his earlobe before whispering, "want to go someplace more comfortable?"
She didn't have to ask him twice. He kissed her and scooped her up again by the thighs, and moaned into her mouth when she wrapped her legs around his waist. He stopped, leaned against the door frame, lost in the movements of her mouth and the warmth of her center pressed against him. He wanted, god how he wanted to take her to her bed. To explore every luscious stretch of her skin, to delve into her until he forgot his own name, only to be reminded every time she cried it out.
But he knew she wasn't ready for that, and he knew he'd have one hell of a time containing himself if they went there. So he pushed away from the door, still kissing her hungrily, and carried her over to the couch. He shifted her legs as he sat down, and the groan of the couch springs was lost beneath the sounds rumbling out of his chest as she straddled his lap. He couldn't stop his hips from thrusting up to her, couldn't stop his mouth from devouring the surprised moan that slipped from her lips, couldn't stop his breath from hitching when he felt her roll her hips against him in response.
He broke their kiss and rested is forehead against hers, panting, desperate for control. He grasped her shoulders and gently pushed her back until she was resting on her haunches on his lap. He let his hands fall down her arms until they rested lightly on her thighs. They both were breathing fast and shallow, eyes searching the other's face. He leaned back into the couch and smiled, shoulders relaxed, letting her know she was in control. She understood, and the slow, confident smile that lit up her face was more precious to him than a winning lottery ticket.
She crossed her arms in front of her and slowly pulled her camisole top off over her head. His jaw went slack with awe. He'd seen her like this before, but it never ceased to steal his breath. Her freckles were fireworks of ginger across the creamy skin of her chest, spiraling down her sides like sparklers. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured. He placed trembling hands on her narrow waist, his fingers almost meeting at her spine as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles over her belly, slowly inching up to whisper across her breasts, her nipples hardening beneath her simple cotton bra. She sighed and pressed into his touch, and he responded in kind. She reached back to unclasp her bra, and he gently slid it off of her. He shuddered, aching to touch her but waiting for her permission, and she grabbed his wrists and brought his hands back up to her breasts. He eagerly cupped her warm flesh in his calloused palms, kneading and stroking and pinching ever so gently. She keened, losing herself to his always gentle, always loving touch. He never took, he always offered, and he never gave what she wouldn't allow. His every kiss and touch was to give her pleasure, not take his own. She was slowing beginning to understand that real pleasure was shared, given and accepted, not taken and used. And that understanding made her eager to give and give and give.
She leaned up, hooked a hand behind his neck and pulled him down to her breast. He lovingly kissed her there, wending his way around before taking her nipple into his mouth. His long, trembling moan against her skin was very satisfying. His hands circled around to her back and pressed her closer to his eager mouth. Her head lolled back, electric shocks storming where he suckled at one breast, and then the other, pulsing along every nerve. He let go with a soft, wet pop and rested his forehead against her sternum, panting her name before latching onto her neck with a muffled groan.
"Kristoff," her voice hummed under his lips. He kissed along her neck until he found her pulse point hammering under his tongue. "Kristoff…" she implored. It was a struggle, but he pulled back and looked into her heavily-lidded eyes. The way she folded her kiss-stung bottom lip between her teeth was almost as distracting as the curious fingers she dragged down his torso. "I want to touch you," she whispered.
He cocked his head to the side, curious, not quite understanding what she meant. But her intent became more than clear when her fingers wandered back up his chest then dragged back down, nails digging in through his tank before hooking on the waist of his pants. His gut clenched, hard, "A-Are you sure?" he asked, searching her face for any signs of reluctance.
"Yes," she murmured, sliding her fingers over the tented fabric of his pants. "Please, Kristoff?"
He gulped and nodded, almost comically. She could've asked him to cut his own leg off at that moment, and he would have gleefully fetched a hacksaw. And when her palm curved over his length, all rational thought fled his mind and it was all her could do not to thrust up into her eager hand.
She slowly stroked up and down his length, amazed at his reaction to so simple a caress. He collapsed back against the couch, eyes closed, head thrown back, hands lightly gripping her calves. He looked so open and vulnerable. She felt the unfamiliar but very satisfying burn that her touch did this to him. That he felt this way because of her. That she could give him such pleasure, and that he wanted her and only her to give it to him. Emboldened, she popped the button and unzipped his pants, pushing them down out of her way. She wrapped her fingers around him, and could feel the heat of him through his boxers. He trembled beneath her hands, and raised his hips imploringly. She heeded his request and quickly slid his pants and boxers down, fully exposing him. He looked up at her with glassy eyes, watched her stare with rapt attention at his fully erect manhood. She caught her lip between her teeth again as she gripped his throbbing length. "Is this ok?" she breathed.
"Yessss," his head fell back against the couch as her curious fingers cupped and stroked him. "Oh god, Anna," her fingers grew more bold, stroking and pumping him with a rhythm that sent fire coursing through his veins, a smoldering inferno that her touch both soothed and stoked. His entire universe centered on her hands on his cock, her fingers dancing around the tip before sliding down his length, then back up to circle around him again and again. With each pass over him his breathing grew ragged, his heart pounding in his throat, his hands gripped her legs tighter. He felt her eyes on him so he looked up. She gazed at him, looking for something in his eyes. Her name tumbled from his lips in a breathless, desperate moan as he thrust up into her eager hands. She pumped him mercilessly, then leaned forward to capture his lips with her own. What little control he had left fled and with a strangled cry he arched back and came in her hands, his orgasm spiraling and crashing through him in a blinding, white-hot rush.
He shuddered and slumped back against the couch, floating in a haze of the most brilliant euphoria he'd ever experienced in his life. He felt her shift on his lap, felt the soft fabric of her cardigan cleaning up the mess he made before she snuggled down into his side. "Good?" she asked, somewhat timidly.
"Oh good lord, Anna, yes!" he somehow found the strength to wrap his arms around her and cradle her close. He kissed her forehead, then murmured, "What about you?"
"I… yeah, I'm good. I like touching you, seeing you like that. It…," she ducked her head into the crook of his neck. "I liked it a lot."
"I'm glad, and believe me, I liked it a lot too. Loved it, a lot. More than a lot. You're," he paused, stroking his fingers up and down her spine. "You're amazing, Anna. You really are. But that wasn't what I was talking about."
"What do you mean?"
"I meant what about you," he asked, his voice low and warm, the hand caressing her spine drifting down over her skirt to gently grasp her bottom.
"Wait, what?" she squeaked, shifting so she sat across his lap again. "You want… with me…"
"Oh Anna," he kissed her deeply, softly, "I love you so much, and right now there is nothing I'd rather do than give you pleasure."
She blinked at him and blushed.
"I know you're not ready for more, and I'm not asking for that," he reassured her, kissing her nose before nuzzling it with his own. "I just want to touch you, like you touched me. Please, I want," he kissed her chin, trailing his lips up her jaw to her ear lobe. "I want to taste you, if you'll let me." He placed a long, lingering kiss to the tender spot just below her jaw, then leaned back to wait. He would never pressure or coerce her into anything she didn't want or wasn't ready to try.
Anna watched him, considering. Her blood still thundered in her ears, her body still thrummed and ached for his touch. He'd touched her before, but not like this. Not this open, exposed, and vulnerable. She was hesitant, but she wanted… "You'll stop if it's too much?"
"Always,"
"And you won't get mad?"
"Never, Anna."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, an act that looked enticingly different in her current state of undress, but he kept his eyes on her face, eager yet patient.
"Okay," she said.
"Really?"
"Yes," she smiled, tentative yet warm. "Touch me, Kristoff, please."
The look she gave him made him glad he already had his release, because he felt every nerve in his body catch fire. "God, I love you Anna," he groaned before pulling her down to his chest and sealing his mouth over hers.
He flattened his palms over her shoulder blades, massaging her scars with gentle fingers. She sighed into his mouth as his fingers drifted lower. He paused at her waist, fingers hovering over the zipper at the back of her skirt. "Please," he whispered against her lips. She nodded, and he slowly unzipped her skirt. He held her close and stood up, letting her feet fall to the ground. The skirt pooled at her ankles, and she kicked it out of the way. He dug his fingers into her lower back, pulling her close, losing himself in her kiss. She pressed eagerly into him, her hands drinking up the smooth planes of his chest. He slid his hands softly along her waist, dipping his fingers in and once she nodded again he slid her tights down her legs. He knelt as he went, kissing her all the way down.
He sat back on his heels and drank in the beauty before him. His Anna, wearing nothing but her freckles. "Beautiful," he whispered hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry as dust. She shifted, uncomfortably exposed, but calmed when he placed a warm palm on her calf. It felt right that he was on his knees, because he felt as if he knelt before a goddess. "You are so beautiful, Anna."
She blushed, and he was so enamored with the rosy flush spreading down her neck he almost missed her covering a jagged scar on her outer thigh. He nudged her hand aside and pressed his lips onto the scar. "Beautiful," he murmured, catching her hand and kissing the ridged scars along her wrist. Her breath caught, and her fingers cupped his cheek and pulled ever so gently, and he stood. He had grabbed his boxers on the way up, and her brows furrowed in confusion. "I, uh, figured you might be more comfortable if I put these back on," he explained.
"I don't mind," she smiled up at him in gratitude. "In fact," she placed a slim hand on his sternum. "I wouldn't mind if you took this off either."
He grabbed the shirt from behind his neck and pulled it up and off, and then he too wore nothing but his skin. Her eyes darkened and glazed as they traveled over the muscled expanse of his shoulders, his chest, his torso. She placed her hand back on his sternum, feeling his heart beat beneath her splayed fingers. He placed his huge hand over her tiny one, cupped her cheek with his other hand, and dipped down to gently capture her lips once more. She looped her hands around his waist and pulled him close, and they both moaned at the contact. So much skin, so close together, was electrifying. Her kiss went deeper, grew hungrier, as she pressed closer to him.
He scooped up her legs and lifted her into his arms. He briefly considered her bedroom again, but he had a promise to keep. So he set her down on the corner of the couch and knelt before her. His eyes slid deliciously over her, bare and open and so beautiful. She placed her hand over the surgical scar low on her abdomen, but he nudged her hand aside again and kissed it. She gasped and cried out at the contact, his warmth touching her in ways she'd never felt before. She felt him caress her hips, her thighs, her calves, his fingers leaving fiery trails of sensation up and down her trembling body. "Still okay?" he murmured against her skin. She whimpered out a breathless, "Yes!" as he planted gentle kisses up and down the entire length of her scar. He leaned back, lifted one leg, and planted a kiss on her ankle, then nibbled his way up her calf. She squirmed and moaned at the sensation, and it looked incredible. He placed kiss after open-mouthed kiss along her inner thigh, inching so close to her center her could feel her heat radiating on his cheek. But he smiled into her leg and leaned back again to kiss her other knee.
She huffed in frustration, and he grinned. He knew now that she wanted this from him, and by god he was going to do right by her. He caught her eye, and then kissed his way up her other thigh, slower this time. His hands gently parted her legs wider, his thumbs caressing the crease of her hips. "Kristoff! Please!" she panted, aching for his touch. He couldn't tease her anymore, couldn't hold himself back from her any longer. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he gave in and buried his mouth in her core. She arched her back and wailed, and he delved deeper, lapping at her folds. He nuzzled his nose against her clit as his tongue slid lovingly up and down her center, her raw scent and fiery sweetness overwhelming his senses. She buried her hands in his hair when he swirled his tongue around her clit, thrusting her hips to deepen the sensation, crying out when he moaned into her and gave her more. His hands circled round to cup her backside, and he lifted her hips and kissed and suckled her clit even more, her cries spurring him on. He could feel her whole body shudder and clench around him, so hot and wet and taut until it snapped and she shrieked, her orgasm ripping through her with wave after wave of soul-bending bliss. He reveled in her ecstasy, lapping up her release, helping her ride out her pleasure as long as she possibly could. Eventually her shudders and cries of pleasure subsided and she collapsed bonelessly against the back of the couch.
He crawled up beside her and gathered her into his arms, holding her close. He would've thought her asleep, her body was so limp in the cradle of his arms, only her rapid breathing to say otherwise. He brushed her sweat-dampened bangs out of her face and kissed her temple, nuzzling her hair. "Still ok?"
She tried to cling to him, but her arms had no strength. She took one last shuddering breath and sighed out, "Yes."
He chuckled and held her even more tightly, his heart fit to burst with pride and love for her. His Anna. His everything. He stood and carried her back to the kitchen, setting her carefully back down on the counter. She wobbled, but she stayed upright enough for him to fetch her a glass of water. He handed it to her and she gratefully sipped, the water soothing her ravaged throat. He grabbed his flannel and wrapped it around her, and she watched as his tired fingers slowly fastened the buttons. His hands stilled when she placed her own on top, and he looked questioningly into her eyes. "I love you, Kristoff," she said simply. He smiled that goofy, lopsided smile of his she adored and wrapped her up in his arms. "I love you too, Anna," he whispered.
He picked her up and, finally, carried her to her bedroom. He gently placed her on her bed and tucked her in, warm and safe. He gave her one last tender kiss, but her hand caught him as he started to pull away. "Please stay," she whispered. He smiled and nodded, kissing her one more time. He went around and checked to make sure her door and all of her windows were locked, just as she does. He snagged his boxers and slipped them on, then finished off her water before returning to the bedroom. He slid under the covers and pulled her close. She rested her head on his arm, one hand around his waist while the other rested over his heart. Even after all they shared that day, all she trusted him with, there was something about sleeping together, just sleeping, that was profoundly more intimate. It was like a promise; her promising to be there with him always, and him promising to protect and keep her safe, always. She drifted off first, and before sleep claimed him too he thought of how much he wanted always to be forever. He thought of the slim silver band he hoped to offer her soon. And he hoped with all of his heart she would accept.