Page 26 of Valkyrie Confused

Could he see her?

No.

It was a—

A knock steals the next word from my fingers.

Hey, when did it get dark out?

My stomach growls, as if it was waiting its cue.

Instead of telling Panos to come in, I get out of bed and go get the door.

My apartment is warm, but the chill that pours in makes me shiver. Or that’s my body’s response to the look Panos gives me. It’s not a cold look. Just the opposite. It’s the kind of piercing gaze that makes my belly tighten and my nipples tingle.

It’s the allure of the forbidden. He’s not available, and therefore I can safely project my desires onto him.

“Brought you dinner,” he says.

“Thank you, but I said I’m not hungry.” Yet I reach for the tray he’s holding. A platter of mini-sandwiches, a cup of fruit salad, and a red rose.Sigh.He’s good.

“That was three hours ago.” He traps his bottom lip between his teeth. “Sorry if we made you feel uncomfortable.” He would look utterly contrite if his eyes weren’t sparkling with mirth.

I hold the tray between us, feeling way too exposed for someone wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have barged in.”

“But you didn’t.”

That’s right. He invited me in.

Because he wanted me to see them naked in bed together?

I can’t keep guessing at Panos’s intentions. I have a book to finish. “Yeah, well, thanks again.” I back away and toe the door shut before he can say anything else.

I eat in my room and leave the tray at the doorstep before writing some more. Then I write another thousand words that feel forced and wrong. I can’t focus on Malia and Pan and Drolk, when my thoughts keep returning to what I saw this afternoon and the red rose I’ve put in a glass of water on my dresser.

This time, when I reach for mytoys,I don’t change my mind. Buzzing plastic is a poor substitute for a warm male body—let alone two—but I know how to work it to get results within minutes. It doesn’t hurt that I’m thinking of the men touching me like I wish to be touched, while I’m trapped between their long, perfect bodies.

I’m still sore from my earlier masturbation session—that one fueled by Panos and Arnlaug’s almost kissing—and this climax is almost painful in its intensity, but when I come down from it and the endorphins fade, I don’t feel satisfied.

Damn it.

Too tired and sore for a do-over, I take a hot shower and go to bed.

* * *

Breakfast and lunch are all kinds of yummy, and there are more roses, and I don’t even remember seeing any rose bushes in the vicinity, and if there were any, they wouldn’t have flowers this time of year. I definitely didn’t see a florist. Despite Panos’s being his usual charming self, however, our exchanges feel stilted.

Perhaps because I can’t stop thinking of him naked.

I try to write, but the surge of creativity I’ve had the past month has evaporated due to my self-enforced solitary confinement. I use my laptop to watch a show instead, but I can’t enjoy more than a few minutes of an episode before my mind wanders.

What if Ihadasked Arnlaug and Pan to pose naked for me yesterday? What if I asked them to touch each other while I watched?

Asked them to touch me?

That way lies badness, so I put on a trashy reality show and steer my attention toward the semi-naked men on the screen, spending their days oiling up chiseled abs and trying to get laid.

But thathotisn’t myhot. Not anymore. Not since I’ve seen Panos and Arnlaug naked.

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