Page 92 of The Sun He Buried

His lips touch my knee while I remember how my legs work.

“You kept your record.”

“Barely.”

“Should I stop?”

I pull him up by the hair. “No.”

He comes over me, smiling, and I kiss the smile away.

His weight settles across my body. My legs lock at his waist, and he’s hard against me.

“Now,” I whisper.

Baldr guides himself inside.

There’s no first-time sting tonight. Only the slow stretch, the heat of him, and his breath leaving against my cheek when I take all of him.

We stay quiet for one breath.

Then I move.

He makes a rough sound.

“The wall,” I tell him.

“Your fault.”

“You’re inside me.”

“Your fault.”

I laugh against his mouth.

He pulls back and pushes in deep enough to end the laugh. My nails drag over his shoulders. His hand slides beneath my hip, lifting me into the next stroke.

We find the rhythm faster this time. I know where to put my legs. He knows where to touch me.

Baldr kisses my throat and chin until we’re breathing too hard for it. I hold him close until slow stops being enough.

“Faster.”

He gives me faster.

The headboard taps the wall once.

We freeze.

From the other side, Asta knocks twice.

I press my face into Baldr’s shoulder.

His whole body shakes.

“Don’t laugh.”

That makes it worse.