Page 90 of The Sun He Buried

Baldr’s hands slide up my back. He finds the top button of my dress and stops.

“How many?”

“Eleven.”

“Asta’s getting careless.”

“The other dress is at Sólvik.”

“Twenty-three.”

“You remember.”

“I had reason.”

He turns me around and opens the first one. Then he kisses the back of my neck.

By the fifth button, I’m holding my hair over one shoulder and trying not to make enough noise for Asta to hear through the thin wall.

Baldr gets to the last one. The dress loosens.

I turn and pull his tunic over his head.

His hair catches in the collar. I free it, run both hands through the light-brown strands, and push them back from his face.

Baldr looks down at me.

He cups my cheek. “Tired?”

“I was.”

His eyes move over me.

“And now?”

I push the dress from my shoulders. “Less.”

His laugh stays quiet against my mouth.

We get the rest of our clothes off without falling, which may be the most impressive thing I’ve done today.

Baldr lays me back across the bed.

The mattress sinks beneath his knee. The frame doesn’t creak.

“Good wood,” he whispers.

I cover my mouth before the laugh escapes.

He kisses my fingers, my wrist, then the inside of my elbow. His mouth moves down my chest. When it closes over my nipple, I stop laughing.

“Baldr.”

He takes his time.

I pull at his shoulders. “You’re very far away.”

“Am I?”