Page 18 of Odin
“I watch videos about it, but I don’t, sadly.”
This is a great excuse to prove that I’m okay, or that I will be. I know I’m deflecting and in the past, I couldn’t stand that. “Ever been to the renaissance festival things that they put on? With swords, and jousting, and turkey drums?”
“I’m sad to say I haven’t.”
“You should! You need to go! Tell me that you will!”
“I will.” He gives his promises, as solemn as any vow.
I nod, smiling for real as I picture him fisting two turkey drums. My brain has never been particularly imaginative. I’ve always been great at science and math, less so at writing and art. I think partly in pictures, but my brain is also super analytical. I don’t get the video playback that some people claim to see. My imagination isn’t great like that. I cling to logic where I can find it.
That said, my brain is sure great at feeding me pictures of what Odin would look like dressed in a suit of armor, wielding a sword, looking like he’s about to charge into bloody battle.
“If you’re absolutely sure you’re okay with me sleeping here, I promise I’m also absolutely sure that I’ll be okay.”
He nods immediately. “I’m more than sure.”
I’m more than sure that if he hasn’t washed that bed, sleeping surrounded by the scent of him will be both comfort and torture.
And where the hell is that coming from?
I’m not the kind of person who gets turned on by scent. I can barely fantasize about anything. When I said I’m basically unimaginative, I meant it. I went through years where I worked to the point of exhaustion. Sex was an afterthought at best. Even when I had time, less stress, and was in a committed relationship where I mostly felt loved, I never got those shivers.
So why the hell do I keep wondering what it would be like to be trapped beneath Odin’s muscular body, pinned to the bed while he rails me senseless, utterly dominated, taken, filled to the brim, edged past what I ever thought I could take or do, until I’m a limp, used up mess?
My science brain is freaking the fuck out because there areverygraphicimagescoming its way. No rationale. No math. No quantifying. Just raw, animal, messy, sweaty, amazingness.
I catch Odin studying me and immediately angle away. “Thank you again for everything. Tarynn already told me that she’d be here at eleven to pick me up to take me to her salon. You’ve done a crazy amount for me. Please don’t feel obligated to get up and see me off. She said she’ll meet me out front.”
He looks like he wants to say something. I can see the words burning through him as I study him through the slits in my fingers before I drop my hands. All he does is fall back on that quiet certainty he has. Like a rock in a strong current, but not because he’s a big man. That’s the size of his spirit.
“Have a good sleep. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to come and find me. I’ll leave the door open a crack.”
Thankfully, he leaves before his sweetness breaks me fully. He doesn’t have to see me brush away more tears.
After he’s gone, shutting the door tightly behind him, I slip over to his desk and sit down on the gaming style chair. It’s nice and feels expensive. It would have to sturdy not to buckle under Odin’s weight. I wheel it back a few inches, so I’m nowhere near the expensive equipment. I know the laptop brand, and it’s top of the line.
I’m just not ready to sit on his bed yet.
It’s invasive.
It’s comforting.
It’s different, yet somehow familiar.
And all of that makes no sense at all.
My poor brain can’t contend with all of this. Sleep is probably the best option.
I’m really considering putting on some classical music, having a hot shower and then crawling into bed to pick up that book, but before I can do anything, my phone dings. I’ve blocked both Preston and my mom’s numbers, as well as Preston’s parents’ numbers, and shut off my social media, and none of my friends would text at this hour. I cringe before I even look at the screen, expecting Preston to have whined until one of his friends allowed him to use his phone. Or got a new one with a new number.
It’s not Preston.
It’s Tarynn.
That actually makes me smile until I see what she wrote.
Tarynn: Tomorrow is Odin’s birthday. Crow just told me, or else I would have mentioned it earlier. I just wanted to let you know. Crow said that the club never makes a big deal about birthdays, he remembered Odin mentioning something in passing. He’s not sure that Odin’s ever done anything in his life for his birthday which is really sad. Anyway. Sorry. You’re probably asleep or trying to sleep. We can buy him a cake or something tomorrow.
