Chapter 51

**Freya's pov.**

We returned to my home in silence, but not the uncomfortable kind. It was thick with tension—*that* kind. The kind that sat low in the belly, thrumming in the blood.

Tiberius held my hand as we walked, his fingers wrapped tightly around mine, like if he let go, something might break. His thumb traced small, slow circles against my skin. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes never left me. He was waiting. Waiting for *me*—for what I’d say, or do, or ask next.

I looked at him, taking in the lines of his face, the quiet storm behind his eyes, and I realized something: I didn’t want him to leave.

I didn’t want space, or logic, or time to think. I wanted *him*. I wanted his hands on me, his presence grounding me, anchoring me in a world that never stopped spinning. For once, I didn’t want to think of the consequences, responsibilities. For once, I wanted to be reckless. To simply be a *woman*—no expectations, no burdens. Just desire, just instinct.

And maybe, just maybe, my hunter’s side agreed with me—because the voices in my head had grown quiet. Almost... soft. Like they, too, were lulled by his nearness. Or maybe they were simply satisfied. Tiberius had that effect.

I stopped in front of the door and turned to him. I didn’t speak right away—I just let my eyes wander over him, slow and deliberate. His breath caught. Good.

“Come inside,” I said softly, my voice lower than usual, intimate.

His brows lifted just slightly. “Freya... are you sure?”

I stepped closer, letting my fingers trail up the center of his chest. “You said it yourself,” I murmured. “You’d rather sleep in my bed than your own.”

That pulled a smile from him with danger in his eyes and desire on his lips.

He followed me in.

Inside, the air felt warmer, heavier with everything left unsaid. I kicked off my boots and turned to him, teasing, “I’m going to shower. Try not to miss me too much.”

He smirked but said nothing.

Steam curled through the doorway as I stepped from the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a towel. His eyes met mine instantly—and stayed there. I could feel the heat behind them. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched.

Good. Let him watch.

I walked slowly across the room, letting the towel slip a little lower on my chest, letting it cling to my still-damp skin. His eyes tracked every movement like a predator holding back with everything he had.

But then, he grew still—too still.

“Freya,” he said slowly, his voice gravel and restraint. “Are we sure this is a good idea, don’t get me wrong—I want you. Fuck, I want you so badly. But do you really want this?"

I stopped in front of him, so close I could feel the tension rolling off his skin. I reached for his hand and placed it flat against my waist.

“Tonight, we’re just Freya and just Tiberius,” I whispered. “No titles, no responsibilities. Just us.”

His jaw clenched, and after a long moment, he nodded once.

“Then come here,” I said.

He did.

The kiss started soft, reverent. My hands cupped his jaw, tracing the scruff of his beard, memorizing the curve of his lips. He let me take control at first, let me guide the pace. My fingers slid beneath his shirt, tracing muscle and warmth, pulling the fabric over his head.

I kissed down the center of his chest, slow and lingering. Every inch of him felt carved by war and hardened by duty, but here, in this moment, he trembled under *me*. I pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him, letting my towel fall loose.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening with pure want, but he didn’t reach for me yet. He just

*looke*. Like he couldn’t believe I was real.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Gods, Freya...”

I leaned down to kiss him again, slower this time, deeper. Our bodies moved together like we already knew every rhythm. My hands slid along his sides, down his abdomen, and then boldly further. I let my fingers trail over the hardened bulge beneath his pants, teasing him through the fabric. He groaned, hips twitching beneath my touch.

"Freya," he gasped, his hands gripping my thighs tightly. But I wasn't done yet. I undid the button and slid my hand beneath the waistband, wrapping my fingers around him. Hot, thick, and pulsing with need—he was perfect. I stroked him slowly, watching his jaw clench, his eyes flutter shut.

His control snapped.

With a low growl, Tiberius flipped me onto my back. "My turn," he muttered darkly, claiming my lips with fierce hunger. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand while the other explored every inch of me with intoxicating dominance.

His mouth followed, trailing heat down my neck, between my breasts, over my stomach, until I was arching, writhing beneath him.

He didn’t just take me—he *devoured* me, body and soul.

His lips traveled lower, trailing slow, wet kisses along the inside of my thigh. I gasped, arching into him as he teased the sensitive skin there, deliberately avoiding where I needed him most. His breath fanned against my core, and then finally, his mouth found me.

I cried out, hips lifting from the bed as his mouth worked magic between my legs. His tongue flicked over my clit in soft, agonizing circles, then firm, deep strokes that sent sharp pleasure tearing through my spine. My thighs trembled, my fingers twisted in the sheets, and I moaned his name, breathless and filthy.

"God, Tiberius..." I gasped, grinding against his face, shameless now. His hands held my thighs apart, strong and unyielding, keeping me wide open for him.

He groaned into my pussy, the vibration shooting straight through me, and I nearly lost it when his tongue dipped lower, teasing, then circling again. I was dripping, soaked for him, completely undone. He ate me like a man starved, and I wanted him to never stop.

When he pulled away, his lips were glistening. He looked up at me, eyes dark with hunger. His fingers slid down between my thighs, stroking gently through my slick folds.

"God," he groaned, voice thick with need. "You’re more than ready for me."

He pushed two fingers inside me, slow and deep. I moaned, my back arching, clutching at the sheets.

“Tiberius,” I gasped. “I want you. Now. Please... I want you *here* and *now*.”

He didn’t hesitate.

In one fluid motion, he lined himself up and entered me, filling me completely. We both groaned at the sensation. He paused for a heartbeat, eyes locked with mine, and then began to move.

Each thrust was deliberate—slow, deep, purposeful. He gripped my hips as he pushed deeper, watching the way my body responded to him. My hands found his back, then his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he quickened his pace.

The rhythm built—harder, faster, more urgent. He kissed me through every moan, every cry, like he needed to taste every sound I made. His dominance surged through every motion, but he never let me feel anything but *wanted*.

*Worshipped.*

We moved together in perfect sync, like we were made for this moment. And maybe, in some twisted, fated way—we were.

“You feel like fire,” he whispered against my throat.

When we finally collapsed, breathless and trembling, his forehead pressed to mine.

“Just Freya,” he whispered.

“Just Tiberius,” I breathed back.

And in that moment, for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel hunted.

I felt *home*.