Page 47 of The Sun He Buried

“It won’t.”

“Tell me anyway.”

I turn. “I will.”

He waits.

“Baldr.”

“Yes?”

“Take it off.”

His grin reaches both eyes. He pushes the dress from my shoulders.

It falls around my boots, which I’m still wearing.

Of course.

I step out of the dress, catch the heel, and pitch into him. Baldr catches me beneath the arms and lifts me over the entire pile.

“That was the dress.”

“The ground has allies.”

He sets me on the edge of the bed. Then he kneels and pulls off one boot, then the other. His hands close around my ankles. He kisses the inside of my left knee.

I stop being embarrassed about the boots.

Baldr looks up at me. Amber and pale green. His hair falls loose around his face, and his mouth is wet from mine.

I put my fingers into his hair. “Come here.”

He does.

The laces at his trousers are easier than Asta’s buttons. This would be useful if my hands were working properly. They aren’t. Baldr covers them with his own, pulls the knot loose, and lets me push the fabric down.

I look.

Oh.

Asta is going to ask me about this.

I need a smaller answer.

“That seems excessive.”

Baldr glances down. “You asked me to take it off.”

“I didn’t know you were hiding that.”

“It wasn’t a secret.”

“Your trousers disagreed.”

He laughs, low and warm, and I pull him between my knees.

His mouth finds mine again. One hand slides under the thin linen covering my breasts. His thumb passes over my nipple, and my legs close around his hips.