Page 53 of The Sun He Buried

I wrap both legs around him. He kisses me until our breathing gets too rough for it, then presses his forehead against mine. The bed gives one alarming creak.

We both stop.

I look toward the headboard.

Baldr looks too.

“The wood is rotten.”

I laugh so hard he slips halfway out of me.

“You said that about the bench.”

“It was true then.”

“You broke it.”

“The bench failed.”

“Under your bottom.”

“You were seven. Your memory is unreliable.”

I push at his chest.

He rolls onto his back and takes me with him.

Now I’m sitting over him, still laughing, with his hands warm on my hips and his cock inside me.

This is better.

I brace my palms on his chest and move.

Baldr’s head falls back against the pillow.

Oh, yes. Much better.

His hands guide me without taking over. I set the pace, slow until I work out the angle, then faster when his thumb finds me again.

“Sól.”

My name comes out rough.

I lean down and kiss him. His hips lift beneath mine. The bed creaks again, and neither of us stops this time.

Pleasure gathers low and tight. I sit upright to keep the pressure where I need it. Baldr watches me, both eyes fixed on my face.

He says my name. I come around him with his in my mouth.

He catches the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. Then he rolls us again, thrusts twice, and pulls free. Heat spills across my stomach as he groans into my shoulder.

For a while, neither of us moves.

Baldr is heavy across half of me. One of my legs is trapped beneath his. My hair is in both our mouths.

I can’t stop smiling. I don’t try to.

“Did we break the bed?” I ask.