Page 49 of Odin
“I think about that afternoon. More than I should. I’ve tried to tell myself to stop.”
“There’s nothing wrong with keeping a memory.”
That’s not what I’m trying to tell him. I need to be clear. He deserves to know. “If it was only a memory, maybe that would be true, but it’s…. not. We talked through this once. I wanted you then. That hasn’t changed. Even if it was only supposed to be for a night. Our lives were supposed to be separate, but that didn’t work out, and now I’m here, and I haven’t stopped thinking about you once. It’s not some silly crush. It’s not an experiment or a daddy kink. You’re no rebound. If I asked you to kiss me, what would you do? Would that ruin everything?”
I can’t breathe. I’ve just asked the worst question, in the worst way possible. There’s no undoing it. No button where I can just pause and brain scrub.
Odin is so beautiful. His insides match his outsides. I might be freaking out, but I know that I can trust him. I know that he’ll never hurt me.
My heart speeds up, pounding in my throat. I can’t believe I said all of that, but only because it’s a minor miracle that I got the words out when I can barely gasp for air or process a single thought. It’s impossible when Odin’s looking at me like this.
Confused and heated. All his emotion in his eyes. No doubt. No anger. No real surprise. Just a deep honesty that I feel down to the marrow of my own bones. His truth. Mine. Are they the same?
His gaze drops to my mouth and remains there.
The bag drops from my hands and I step forward straight into his space, cupping his face. I tug, trying to pull him off balance, to trap myself between him and the wall so I have something to brace with when my whole world shifts.
He doesn’t budge. This isn’t going to be haphazard. It’s not an accident. There’s no rushing. Just his face so close to mine that we can breathe the same air, his lips hovering a few inches away. He doesn’t take a step until he’s good and ready and then he moves with me. Mine back, and his forward. He wraps an arm around my back and brackets my head with the other. When I meet the wall, it’s all him. I’m not trapped. I’m perfectly balanced.
My hands are both free. I fist one in the collar of his jacket and the other in his t-shirt. As I thought, the cotton is buttery soft under my fingertips. I press my hand firmly against his chest the way I imagined I would if I was behind him. I let all his warmth soak into me. I inhale that now familiar scent, the one I pegged exactly as I stood on the metal stairs outside and watched him drive up.
“Odin…”
“Is that anOdin, please kiss me,oran Odin, you should probably go before we do something that we’ll regret?”
“I won’t regret you. I don’t. Like I said before. The world can fuck right off with its preconceived notions and—”
His mouth meets mine, just like the first time. Gentle. Searching. His beard tickling my chin. When I respond, parting my lips and tugging him closer by his shirt, he devours me, groaning against my mouth as his devours mine. Just like the first time, that kiss is starving. Not just Odin. Me too. His tongue glides along my lower lip and I open for him.
This.
This is why I’m alive. This is where I’m meant to be. This is the man I’m meant to be with.
All my nerve endings fire on high alert. My body comes alive, aching for him. Needing him.
I reach for his hand and tangle his fingers in mine. His right stays trapped behind my head, keeping me perfectly protected as his lips drive me back and I surge forward, a perfect battle of wills that isn’t a battle at all. It’s a give and take born of sheer hunger.
I’m worried for a second that I’m hurting him. He’s still healing. I know that he’d say something if it was anything more than a twinge. He’d switch the position.
I guide his hand down, over my breasts, over my flat stomach, to the apex of my thighs. I curl his fingers in against me there, at the junction of my thigh and over my soaked panties. My dress is probably wet, and hot. So hot because I’m a pillar of fire.
I squirm against his hand and mine. I try to scrunch my dress up, balling it into my fist, trying to lift the fabric out of the way so I can feel his rough, callused palm against my skin again. The weeks I’ve spent longing to relive that exact sensation feel like lifetimes.
There is nothing wrong about his touch. About the heart beating in his chest that I long to map and trace. We’re here. I’m scared. He’s still the most beautiful experience, heart, soul, mind, and person I have ever known. I feel something with him that I’ve never felt with anyone. Beneath the desire. The thrill. The fear. The joy. The transcendence and the agony of coming back down to earth. He makes me feel at peace. Like all I have to do is take a breath and everything will be okay.
I guide his fingers straight to my soaked panties. I try to hold my dress and pull the wet, clinging fabric aside, but Odin tears his lips from mine and slowly drops to his knees. It’s the most dramatic fall. His mouth grazes my chin, my collarbones, my stomach before both hands push up the fabric of my dress. One large palm wraps around my hip, his fingers digging in lightly against my ass. The other smooths over my panties, fingers brushing against my seam over my underwear, and grazing my clit.
My hips writhe against the wall and buck straight into his face. He rests his forehead against my belly, bowing his head like he’s waiting to receive a benediction.
I keep my dress pulled up with one hand and dig the other into his soft hair. The silver strands catch the late evening sunlight, always so strong and bright as it descends down the autumn skies.
“I didn’t get to do this last time. I wanted to. I should have. I should have made it special for you.”
“Don’t you dare.” I tug on his hair to tilt his gaze up to me. “Don’t you dare say that. What we did was more than special. I’ve kept it with me, locked inside of me, afraid to go over and over the details, afraid to want more. Ihavetreasured it. I willalwayscherish those memories. But, if you want to do this now, then I’d… I’d really like you to do what you want to do to me.”
“Tell me.” It’s more a plea than a command, always so careful about my feelings and my consent. This isn’t a man who takes, not for a second.
“Odin. I want you to eat my pussy. Right the fuck now.”
