Page 90 of Golden Burn

I can barely breathe. The air can’t inflate inside my lungs because my dress is too tight. The veil is too heavy, and my heart is too frenzied.

My new husband takes my wrist—not my hand—and marches me back down the aisle. The tears that spill are real. And I don’t dare wipe them away. If it adds to the deception, if it convinces enough people to think I hate this, then so be it. But I can’t hold it forever.

Sensing this, Odin drags me out of the ceremony space and makes a beeline for a separate room away from prying eyes. It’s some sort of private dining suite. I don’t care what it is as long as it’s empty.

He locks the door, checking twice that it’s safe, and instantly, I’m upon him. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe, collapsing against him.

“No, Harriet,” he says as he catches me. “I deserved it. It made me fucking sick to do that.” He holds me upright and wipes away the stray tears.

It’s over. We did it. Now all I want is for Odin to take me away. “Is my mascara running?” I ask, sniffing away the sadness.

Odin’s voice is soft, his touch gentle. “No, sweetheart. It’s not.” Thank goodness we don’t have to act right now. I’m done with the all the fucking games.

My hands tug at the lapels of his suit, pulling him close to me. “You better kiss me properly.” His scent is heavenly, the most perfect blend of cologne and natural pheromones.

“Or what?” he mocks, his lips curling into that handsome smile I dream of often.

“Or I’ll stab you for real,” I tease, brushing my lips against his, sending sparks dancing down my spine.

Odin’s breath is hot and sweet as he whispers, “You already have.” He grabs my neck and holds me still. “You.You are fucking perfection.” His thumbs rub against my cheek, a soft sort of claiming. “My wife.”

I smile so big, so wide. If someone had told me a few weeks ago that I would be happy on this day. I would never have believed them.

But when Odin kisses me, Isoar.

34

Odin

‘So It Goes…’ - Taylor Swift

Etta doesn’t have a chance to breathe before I’m tilting her chin upright so our lips can meet. It’s the complete opposite of the kiss we shared not even a few minutes ago. It’s soft and passionate and full of everything we don’t think we can admit.

Etta’s lips mold to mine, opening and moving, tasting like tears and lipstick. Her tongue slides along my bottom lip. A tentative exploration.

Forcing her body backward onto the nearest table, I give her the access she seeks. I dance my tongue inside her mouth until she starts to moan and her hands start to shake. Pinning her in place with my hip bones, I claim her neck with both of my hands and run my thumbs along her jaw as she melts in my arms.

My skin is so sensitive, so receptive that I’m experiencing everything with a new level of hyper focus. I feel the flutter of her eyelashes againstmy own, thethump, thumpof her pulse under her jaw, her quick inhales of air and every aspect of her sweet, sweet mouth.

“I don’t know what to call you,” she breathes, snaking her fingers into my hair, clinging to my body. “Harvey? Odin?”

“Husband will do,” I reply and kiss her mouth with a force I didn’t know I possessed. I want to devour her—that’s what it feels like—to permanently fuse her skin to mine.

Etta grabs my face, pulling me back so she can press our foreheads together. “Odin,” she says confidently. We pant together, breathe in sync. “To Gen, you were Harvey, but to me, you are Odin. You are mine now.”

I smile as I kiss her, consume her, possess her.

I am yours. I am yours. I am yours.

Her floral perfume is so intoxicating, I can’t help sucking her skin, drinking her down, tasting her on the tip of my tongue. I shift so that my hands are stroking her sides, clutching at her hips, bunching up the material of her wedding dress.

This fucking dress.

Gen and I married at the local courthouse. Wearing the clothes we’d woken up in that morning. Etta is my bride in more ways than I’ve ever had. She’s an angel sent from heaven to rescue me. She’s fucking exquisite.

Heart exploding, I kiss her lips, tangling our tongues, infusing her scent with my own. I hold on to her so tightly I’m sure I’ll leave bruises. I fucking I hope I do.

But now, I’m satisfied with the way Etta completes me.

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