Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Astrid
"You look different."
I glance up from the history textbook I'm helping Ingrid with, catching my sister staring at me instead of the chapter on World War II.
"I'm wearing the same thing I always wear," I say, gesturing to my jeans and simple black tank top. "What are you talking about?"
We're sprawled across Ingrid's bed at our parents’ house, surrounded by textbooks and notebooks.
I've been helping her with homework since dinner, trying to keep my mind off what happened at the spa yesterday with Geirolf.
Which was... nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Just a professional massage that got a little out of hand.
A momentary lapse in judgment that can never, ever happen again.
At least that's what I've been telling myself for the past twenty-four hours, even as my phone burns a hole in my pocket with the text I sent him an hour ago.
Ingrid rolls her eyes dramatically, the way only sixteen-year-olds can. "Not your clothes, dummy. Your vibe. You're all... I don't know, glowy or something."
"Glowy?" I snort, flipping a page in her textbook. "That's not a word."
"Is too. And you keep checking your phone every five seconds."
As if on cue, my phone vibrates against my thigh, and I have to physically restrain myself from grabbing it.
Ingrid notices, her sage green eyes—just like mine—narrowing suspiciously.
"See? You're doing it right now!" She sits up, crossing her legs and gives me her full attention. "Who is it? Please tell me you finally kicked Laken's pathetic ass to the curb for good."
"Language," I say automatically, though it's a lost cause.
Between Dad, Oskar, and Emil, Ingrid's vocabulary has been colorful since she could talk. "And Laken's been gone for months."
"Hmm." She's not buying it, studying me like I'm a particularly interesting science experiment. "So if it's not getting rid of the asshole, it must be someone new."
My cheeks burn traitorously, and I curse my fair skin and the way it always gives me away. "Focus on your homework, pest. You have a test tomorrow."
Instead, she snatches my phone from where it's peeking out of my pocket, dancing away from me as I lunge for it.
"Ingrid, I swear to all the gods—" I start, panic rising in my chest.
"Relax, it's locked," she says, tossing it back to me. "But your reaction tells me everything I needed to know." She flops back onto the bed, green eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're into someone, and you don't want anyone to know. So it's either someone totally inappropriate or someone Dad would hate."
I stare at her, momentarily stunned by her perceptiveness.
She gasps suddenly, sitting bolt upright. "Is it Geirolf? I saw how he looked at you at the clubhouse the other night, and then he just happened to show up at the spa for a massage yesterday? Come on."
My heart stops. "How did you?—"
"Mom told Dad at dinner," she says with a casual shrug. "Dad made some joke about Geirolf being too tough for a massage, and then he and Mom exchanged this weird look." She tilts her head, studying me. "Holy shit, it i s him! You're into Geirolf!"
"Keep your voice down!" I hiss, leaning over to close her bedroom door completely. "Are you trying to get me killed?"
She squeals, clasping her hands over her mouth. "It is him! Oh my God, Astrid, he's so hot! All broody and muscly with those eyes that look right through you."
"Jesus, Ingrid, he's twice your age," I say, though I can't deny the accuracy of her description.
Hell, the man is twelve years older than me, too.
"I'm not the one who's into him," she points out, her expression getting serious. "But Dad really would kill him, you know that, right? He doesn’t want either of us with guys in the club."
I drag a hand through my hair, suddenly exhausted. "I know. Trust me, I know. It's not... we're not... it was just a moment, okay? Nothing's going to happen."
My phone vibrates again, and this time I can't stop myself from checking it.
Tonight. After closing. I'll be there.
Seven simple words that send fire racing through my veins.
"Your face right now!" Ingrid whispers, eyes wide. "Let me see!"
"No," I say firmly, tucking my phone away. "This isn't happening, and we are definitely not talking about it."
She falls back against her pillows with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I think it's kind of romantic in a Romeo and Juliet way. Star-crossed lovers and all that."
"They both died at the end of that play, Ingrid."
"Details," she waves dismissively. "But since we're sharing secrets..." She sits up, suddenly serious, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I slept with Bjorn."
The textbook slips from my fingers. "You did what ?"
"You heard me." Her chin juts out defensively, but there's uncertainty in her eyes, like she's looking for my approval.
"You can't!" I exclaim, struggling to keep my voice down. "You're just a teenager!"
She rolls her eyes again. "Half the girls I went to school with lost their v-card when they were fourteen. At least I waited until I was sixteen."
"Oh my God, stop talking. I don't want to know anymore." I cover my ears childishly, as if that could erase what I've just heard.
My baby sister…with Bjorn.
Kraken's son Bjorn, who's been running around the clubhouse his entire life.
I've known him since he was in diapers, for fuck's sake.
"Please tell me you’re at least using protection?"
She nods. "I'm not stupid, Astrid."
It feels odd to ask this, but I need to know. "And he was... good to you?"
A soft smile crosses her face. "Yeah. Really good to me. Not pushy or anything. We've been together for a few months now."
I let out a long breath. "Dad's going to lose his mind."
"Which is why he's not finding out," she says emphatically. "See? Now we both have something to keep quiet about."
I study her face—the set of her jaw so like our father's, the intelligence in her eyes, the confidence she carries that I never had at her age.
"You're growing up too fast," I say softly.
"Says the woman who's making eyes at a full-patch member." She laughs. "So are you going to see him tonight?"
I hesitate, torn between denying everything and trusting my sister with the truth.
"Maybe," I admit finally. "I told him I'd be at the spa late doing inventory."
She nods approvingly. "Good excuse. Dad hates financial stuff—he'd never question that."
"You can't tell a soul, Ingrid. Not your friends, not Bjorn, not anyone. Promise me."
She meets my gaze steadily. "I swear on Mom, Astrid. Not a word to anyone, especially Dad."
"Same goes for you and Bjorn," I say. "I'll keep your secret if you keep mine."
"Deal." She holds out her pinky, and even though this is pretty serious, I can't help but smile as we link fingers in the same way we did since she was a little girl.
"Now," I say, pulling the textbook back toward us, "let's actually get some studying done before Dad comes to check on us."
As we return to the history chapter, I can't help but feel excited for the evening to pass.
Every minute that ticks by is a minute I’ll be closer to seeing Geirolf.
A couple of hours later I’m at the spa, reveling in how silent it is.
My hands shake slightly as I count the cash drawer, triple-checking the numbers because I can't seem to focus.
I need to drop this off at the bank in the morning—it’s one of the many tasks I do for Mom and Fern.
But, I’m so distracted… he'll be here soon and then I won’t be able to focus on anything except the two of us.
I've changed out of my work uniform into jeans and a soft green sweater that Mom always says brings out my eyes.
A cold front came through, oddly enough.
My hair is down around my shoulders instead of in its usual work bun.
I even reapplied my makeup after I got here.
Pathetic. I'm pathetic.
This is such a monumentally bad idea, and I know I keep thinking it, but it is. It’s a horrible idea!
If Dad found out... if anyone found out...
The soft knock at the back door sends my heart into my throat.
For a moment I consider not answering, pretending I'm not here.
I could text him, say something came up, I had to leave.
Instead, I find myself moving toward the door like I'm being pulled by an invisible string.
Geirolf stands on the other side, his large frame filling the doorway.
His dark hair is slightly damp, like he showered before coming over.
"Hey," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
"Hey yourself, princess." His ice-blue eyes rake over me, and I feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch. "You gonna let me in, or are we doing this in the alley?"
I step back, allowing him inside, then quickly lock the door behind him.
The click of the deadbolt seems to echo in the quiet space.
"You sure Charm won't be coming back tonight?" he asks, glancing around the darkened reception area.
"Positive. She and Dad have that dinner thing with Runes and Fern tonight." I wring my hands nervously before forcing them to my sides. "Do you want something to drink? We have water, tea?—"
"Astrid." He steps closer, into my space. "I didn't come here for the damn tea."
My mouth goes dry at the intensity in his gaze. "Why did you come here?"
"You know why." His voice is a low rumble that I feel in my chest. "Same reason you asked me to come."
We stand there for a long moment, the air between us thicker than ever.
Part of me is screaming to step back, to put distance between us, to remember all the reasons this can't happen.
But a stronger part, a hungrier part, keeps me rooted to the spot as Geirolf raises a hand to my face, his calloused fingertips gentle as they trace my cheekbone.
"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he admits, the words rough, like they're being pulled from somewhere deep. "About yesterday. About that kiss."
I swallow hard. "Me either."
His thumb brushes my lower lip, sending sparks racing down my spine. "Tell me to go right now, and I will."
It's the same thing he said yesterday, offering me the chance to stop this before it starts.
The responsible thing would be to take it, to end whatever this is before it can go any further.
Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch. "I don't want you to go."
Something dangerous and beautiful flashes in his eyes. "What do you want, Astrid?"
"You," I whisper, finally admitting it out loud. "I want you."
That's all it takes.
His mouth crashes down on mine, hot and demanding, his arms wrapping around me to pull me flush against his body.
I gasp against his lips, the solid warmth of him overwhelming my senses.
He tastes like cinnamon gum and desire, his beard rasping deliciously against my skin as the kiss deepens.
My hands slide up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers threading.
Geirolf walks me backward until I hit the wall, his body pinning me in place.
One of his hands slides down to grip my hip while the other cradles the back of my head, protecting me even as he devours me.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Should we..." I gesture vaguely toward the back of the spa, where the treatment rooms are.
He shakes his head. "You got an office? More private."
I do, but it’s nothing special.
My office is small but comfortable, with a desk, two chairs, and a small couch I sometimes nap on during long shifts.
I lead him there, hyper aware of his presence behind me, the heat of his body like a physical force at my back.
Once inside, I close the door and turn to face him, suddenly nervous.
This is really happening. I'm really about to cross a line that can't be uncrossed.
"We can just talk," Geirolf says, surprising me. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."
The fact that he's giving me an out only makes me want him more.
"I didn't ask you here to talk," I say, finding courage I didn't know I had. "But there's something I should tell you first."
He leans against my desk, giving me space. "I'm listening."
I take a deep breath. "I haven't been with anyone since Laken. And even with him, it wasn't... good. He made me feel... less than."
Anger flashes across Geirolf's face. "That piece of shit."
"The point is," I continue, needing to get this out, "I'm not very experienced, and I'm not... confident about my body. So if you're expecting some wild night with a woman who knows what she's doing?—"
"Astrid." He crosses the space between us in two strides, his hands coming up to frame my face. "I don't have any expectations except being with you. However you want, whatever you're comfortable with."
The sincerity in his eyes makes my chest tight.
"And as for your body," he continues, his voice dropping to a growl, "I meant what I said yesterday. You're fuckin’ perfect."
To emphasize his point, his hands slide down to my waist, then around to cup my ass, squeezing appreciatively. "These curves drive me crazy, Princess. Have since the first time I really looked at you."
Heat floods my cheeks. "You don't have to say that."
"I don't say shit I don't mean," he says firmly. "And I'm gonna spend tonight showing you exactly how beautiful I think you are."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, the kiss is slower this time but no less intense.
His hands roam my body, obviously appreciating me.
He strokes up my sides, over my hips, squeezes my thighs.
Each touch feels like he's making a map out of me, learning every curve and dip.
When his fingers find the hem of my sweater, he pauses, eyes questioning me.
I nod, and he pulls it over my head, leaving me in my simple black bra.
The way he sucks in his breath sharply gives me the boost of confidence I need.
"Christ, look at you," he murmurs, eyes darkening as they travel over my exposed skin. " S? vakker. "
"What does that mean?" I ask, my voice small.
"So beautiful," he translates, hands spanning my waist. "In the old language."
His palms slide up, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, sending shivers racing across my skin.
"Can I see all of you?" he asks, and the need in his voice makes it impossible to feel self-conscious.
I nod, reaching behind me to unhook my bra.
The straps slide down my arms, and then I'm bare from the waist up, exposed to his hungry gaze.
"Perfect," he says again, and the way he's looking at me—like I'm something precious, something to be worshipped—makes me believe him. "Absolutely fuckin’ perfect."
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they harden into tight peaks.
I can't hold back a small moan, which seems to trigger something primal in him.
With a growl, he lifts me easily, carrying me to the couch and laying me down gently.
He hovers over me, his body a wall of solid muscle, before lowering his head to my breast.
The first touch of his mouth sends waves shooting straight to my core.
"Geirolf," I gasp, arching into him.
"I've got you, princess," he murmurs against my skin. "Just enjoy this."
And I do.
I feel everything—the scrape of his beard against my skin, the hot suction of his mouth, the gentle pressure of his hands as they explore my body.
He throws attention on my breasts until I'm squirming beneath him, desperate for more.
When his hands move to the button of my jeans, I lift my hips, urging him on.
He slides them down my legs, along with my underwear, until I'm completely naked beneath him.
He sits back on his heels, eyes roaming over me with such need that I fight the urge to cover myself.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he asks, his voice rough. "How many times I've dreamed about you like this?"
I shake my head, unable to speak as his hands start a slow journey up my legs, from ankles to calves to thighs, spreading them gently as he goes.
"I'm going to show you," he promises, settling between my legs. "Going to make you feel so good, minn ."
The first touch of his mouth against my pussy has me crying out, hands flying to grip the back of his head.
He doesn't rush, starting with gentle, exploratory licks that quickly build as he learns what makes me gasp and moan.
I've never experienced anything like it—the skilled precision of his tongue, the way he seems to know exactly where and how to touch me.
It's not long before I'm trembling on the edge, my hips moving restlessly against his mouth.
"That's it," he encourages, his breath hot against me. "Let go for me, beautiful. Let me see you come apart."
When he slides a thick finger inside me at the same time his tongue flicks over my clit, I shatter, my body convulsing as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks ripple through me.
When I finally come back to myself, he's looking up at me from between my thighs with a pleased smirk that should be illegal.
"You are so fuckin’ gorgeous when you come," he says, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh.
I tug at his cut, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. "Too many clothes," I manage to spit out, still breathless.
He chuckles, sitting up to take off his cut and pull his henley over his head, revealing his hard, tattooed chest.
The skull design is almost alive in the dim light of my office, the inked flowers twining around it like they're growing before my eyes.
"You can touch me," he says, catching my hesitant hand and pressing it firmly against his chest. "I want you to."
I explore him the way he explored me, tracing scars and tattoos, learning the contours of his body.
When my fingers reach the waistband of his jeans, I feel him tense slightly. "You don't have to," he starts, but I silence him with a look.
"I want to," I say, echoing his words back to him.
His eyes darken as I unbutton his jeans, helping him slide them down his powerful thighs along with his boxer briefs.
And then he's naked before me, every inch of him hard and ready.
"Jesus," I breathe, taking in the size of him. "Will that even...?"
He laughs softly, leaning down to kiss me. "We'll go slow, princess. I'd never hurt you."
I believe him, I realize.
Despite his size, and his reputation in the club as someone not to be fucked with, I feel completely safe with him.
"Let me get a condom," he says, reaching for his jeans.
Once he slides it on, he settles over me again, supporting his weight on his forearms. "Last chance to change your mind," he says seriously.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I want this. I want you."
The first press of him against me has me tensing instinctively, but he's patient, dropping kisses along my jaw, my neck, my collarbone as he eases forward inch by inch.
"Breathe for me," he murmurs against my ear. "You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."
His praise washes over me, relaxing me enough that he can push all the way in, filling me completely.
The stretch is intense but not painful, my body accommodating him better than I expected.
"Fuck," he groans, forehead pressed against mine as he holds still, letting me adjust. "You feel amazing, Astrid. So tight, so perfect around me."
When he starts to move, it's with shallow, careful thrusts that soon have me gasping for more.
I dig my nails into his back, urging him deeper, faster. "Please," I whimper. "More."
"Anything you want," he promises, picking up the pace. "Everything you need."
He shifts slightly, changing the angle until he's hitting a spot inside me that has my back arching off the couch.
"There," I gasp. "Right there."
"I've got you, sváss ," he groans, driving into me with more force now. "Take what you need from me."
The change in pace, the new angle, the weight of him above me—it's all too much and not enough at the same time.
I feel myself climbing toward another peak, faster and more intense than the first.
"Geirolf," I pant, clinging to his shoulders. "I'm going to?—"
"That's it," he encourages, his rhythm never faltering. "Come for me, minn. Let me feel you."
His words push me over the edge, and I come with a cry that he captures with his mouth, kissing me deeply as I pulse around him.
A few more powerful thrusts and he follows, burying his face in my neck with a groan as his body lays against mine.
For a few moments, we stayed like that, connected, breathing hard, my hands stroking lazily up and down his sweat-slicked back.
When he finally pulls away, it's only to discard the condom and then gather me against his chest, arranging us so we're both lying on the narrow couch, my body draped half on top of his.
"You okay?" he asks, brushing hair away from my face with a gentleness that makes my heart ache.
"Better than okay," I admit, feeling strangely shy considering what we just did. "That was..."
"Yeah," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "It was."
We lie there in silence for a few minutes, his hand tracing patterns on my bare back while I listen to the steady thump of his heart beneath my ear.
"Don't you get it?" I say eventually, voicing the fear that's been lurking beneath the surface. "You need to stay away from me. My dad will kill you if he finds out about us."
Geirolf's chest rises and falls with a deep breath. "I know the risks, Astrid."
I push up onto my elbow to look at him directly. "I'm serious. He'd lose his mind if he knew what just happened."
Something fierce and possessive flashes in Geirolf's eyes. "Let him try to keep me away from you."
That should have scared me, this willingness to go against my father, but when it comes to Geirolf, the rules suddenly don’t matter anymore.
"This is dangerous," I say, though I make no move to leave the comfort of his arms.
"Life's dangerous, princess." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Question is whether you think this is worth the risk."
"And you? Do you think it's worth it?"
His answer is immediate and certain. "Absolutely."
The certainty in his voice settles something in me, even as it raises a thousand new questions.
What are we doing? What is this between us? How long before someone figures it out?
But as Geirolf pulls me in for another kiss, slow and deep and full of promise, I decide those questions can wait.
For now, I just want to be here, in this moment, feeling wanted and desired and, for the first time in longer than I can remember, absolutely perfect.