Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Astrid
The smell of fresh paint and new leather fills the spa as I unlock the front door, flipping on the lights.
It's barely eight in the morning, but I couldn't sleep after what happened last night at the clubhouse.
All I kept seeing was my father's face when Emil outed us.
The fury in his eyes.
The way Geirolf just stood there and took the hits, not even trying to defend himself.
And me, standing between them like some romantic movie heroine, declaring my love in front of the entire club.
Gods, what was I thinking?
I head to the break room to start the coffee, my mind still spinning.
It’s all out there now, so there’s no taking it back.
Everyone knows about Geirolf and me.
The looks on their faces ranged from shock to anger to happiness. But the only happiness came from the old ladies.
The front door chimes, making me jump.
We're not open yet, but I forgot—today's furniture delivery day.
The club ordered new massage tables and waiting room chairs as part of their investment in making the spa a more profitable front.
Mom calls out. "Astrid, honey, you here?"
"In the break room!"
She appears in the doorway, Fern right behind her.
Both women are dressed in jeans and old t-shirts, ready to get sweaty.
Mom studies my face with those sharp eyes that see everything. "How are you doing?"
I lie straight through my teeth. "I'm fine."
Fern snorts. "Sure you are. That was quite the scene last night."
Before I can respond, more women arrive.
Starla, Gwen, Aziza, even Meghan, and Dasha—they're all here to help set up the new furniture, but I can tell from their expressions they're really here for me.
Meghan has two trays of coffees in her hands, while Dasha has a couple of boxes of something scrumptious from the shop.
"Coffee and food first." Fern laughs. "Then we talk."
Soon we're all gathered in the main treatment room, steaming mugs in hand, surrounded by boxes and plastic-wrapped furniture.
"So," Starla says, never one to beat around the bush. "You and Geirolf, that’s a shock."
I take a sip of too-hot coffee, buying time. "Yeah."
"How long?" Gwen asks gently.
"Not long. A couple of weeks." Feels like longer, though.
Feels like everything changed the moment he defended me in that parking lot.
Aziza cocks a brow. "A few weeks?”
I give a curt nod. "Yep."
The entire room is silent for a few moments. "I was friends with Aesir before we got together, kind of. I know how feelings can change, and how fast they can grow.”
"Your father will come around, you know," Mom says, but the way she says it doesn’t make me feel like he will. "He just needs time to process."
Meghan laughs, a warm sound that fills the room. "Men. They think they own us, want to control who we love. But the heart wants what it wants."
"Tell that to my dad," I mutter.
"He's protective," Fern says. "After what happened with Flora, he's terrified of losing anyone else close to the club, and you’re the closest thing to him besides your mother."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"But Geirolf could be," Starla points out. "Fenrir could push for his patch to be pulled, if he really wanted to."
The thought makes my stomach clench.
The club is everything to Geirolf.
It's the family he never had growing up. If he loses that because of me...
"Runes won't let that happen," Fern says firmly. "Geirolf's too valuable. Too loyal."
"My dad could argue he isn’t loyal, because he was sneaking around with me," I point out.
"Love makes fools of us all," Aziza says.
"The question is," Gwen says, setting down her mug, "what do you want? Not what your father wants, not what the club expects. What does Astrid want?"
It's a simple question with a complicated answer. "I want him," I admit.
"I want Geirolf. But I don't want to come between him and the club. I don't want to be the reason he loses everything."
"Maybe you're not taking something away," Meghan suggests. "Maybe you're adding something. A reason to fight harder, to be better."
"That's very poetic," I say with a small smile.
"And true," Mom adds. "Your father became a better man after he met me. More focused, more careful. Love doesn't weaken these men—it gives them something to protect."
"Ladies, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m not trying to be here all day. The girls have a sleepover, and Arik’s going to a friend’s place too. It’s date night for us, so I want to be back early, get showered, get cute," Fern says, standing up. "How about we get this furniture set up before the next delivery truck arrives. Work first, then we can shoot the shit a little more."
We spend the next two hours unpacking chairs, assembling table bases, and arranging the new equipment.
It feels good to keep busy, gives my mind something to focus on besides the mess my life has become.
As we work, the women share stories.
How Fern fell hard for Runes, how Ivar saved Starla from a horrible situation, and was a hora turned ol' lady.
It’s nice to hear how each of them found love with men in the club and made it work even though there were countless challenges.
"The key," Gwen says as we position a massage table, "is not trying to change them. Accept them for who they are, but expect them to be that man fully."
"Geirolf's already that man," I say without thinking. "He's loyal, protective, fierce when he needs to be, gentle and sweet when it matters."
"Sounds like you've got it bad," Meghan teases.
"Yeah," I admit. "I do."
We're just finishing up when I notice movement outside.
A car parked across the street, with someone sitting inside.
My blood runs cold for a moment, thinking of Laken, but then I remember—he's locked up at the clubhouse.
Still, something feels off.
Mom follows my gaze. "What is it?"
"That car. It's been there for a while."
Fern moves to the window, peering out carefully. "Blue sedan. Can't see the driver clearly."
"Maybe it's nothing," I say, but unease prickles at my spine.
"Eh, we don’t have the luxury of it ever being nothing," Starla says grimly.
Before anyone can respond, the front door chimes.
My heart jumps, then settles when I see who it is.
Geirolf fills the doorway, looking tired but otherwise unharmed.
His jaw sports a bruise from my father's fist, and there's a cut on his lip, but otherwise he’s okay.
I try to make a joke, hoping he’ll find it funny. "I’m surprised you're able to walk."
A wry smile tugs at his lips. "Yeah, slipped out before he could get me—and I'm not kiddin’."
The other women exchange looks, somewhat amused with the situation, and I think even a little worried for him.
"We'll give you two some privacy," Fern says, already herding the others toward the door. "The furniture's all set up. Just need to dispose of the boxes."
"We'll handle it," Mom says, squeezing my shoulder as she passes. "Take your time."
In moments, they're gone, the door locking behind them with a click.
"How bad is it?" I ask once we're alone.
Geirolf moves closer, his presence filling the space between us. "Your dad's beyond pissed. Emil wants my head on a platter. Oskar gave a little bit of a shit, but nothing too much. But Runes is keeping everyone calm for now."
"For now."
"Yeah." He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay. Processing. Wondering if I made things worse by opening my big mouth."
"You were brave," he says. "Braver than me."
I study him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself carefully. "There's something else. What is it?"
"Someone's watching the spa," I tell him. "Blue sedan across the street. Been there a while."
His expression hardens immediately. "Show me."
I lead him to the window, pointing out the car.
Geirolf's body goes rigid beside me. "Stay here," he orders, already moving toward the door.
"Wait—" But he's gone, striding across the street like my life depends on it.
I watch, heart in my throat, as he approaches the sedan.
The driver—I can see now it's a man—tries to start the engine, but Geirolf's already at the door, yanking it open.
Words are exchanged. I can't hear them, but I can see Geirolf's body language, and it doesn’t look good.
The man raises his hands defensively, shaking his head rapidly.
After a few moments, the car speeds away. Geirolf watches it go, then heads back to the spa.
"Who was it?" I ask as soon as he's inside.
"Nobody. Some PI hired to watch you. Probably the Patriot's doing." His jaw clenches. "I got his license plate. We'll track him down. I’m gonna shoot a text off to the club and let them know what’s up, though."
Geirolf pulls out his phone and texts the club’s group chat.
I grumble, "Great. As if we don't have enough problems."
"Hey." He cups my face in his hands. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Not on my watch."
I lean into his touch, some of my tension melting away. "You look stressed."
"You could say that."
An idea forms. "You need a massage."
His eyebrows raise. "Princess?—"
"I'm serious. You're wound tighter than a spring. Lucky for you, I happen to be a professional massage therapist with a newly furnished treatment room."
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Is that so?"
"Mhmm. Come on." I take his hand, leading him to the back room. "Strip."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
His cut comes off first, draped carefully over a chair.
Then his shirt, revealing his hard muscles and hot tattoos that never fail to make my mouth go dry.
"All of it," I say when he hesitates at his jeans.
"Bossy," he murmurs, but complies, stripping completely.
Gods, he's beautiful.
He lays face down on the table, and I don't bother with a sheet.
We're way past modesty.
I warm oil between my hands, then begin working on his shoulders.
The muscles are like granite under my touch, holding all his stress and worry.
"Jesus, you are tense," I murmur, digging my thumbs into a particularly stubborn knot.
He groans, the sound sending heat straight to my core. "Feels good."
I do what I do best, finding each point of tension and kneading it out.
Down his back, along his spine, paying special attention to the areas I know hurt him.
My hands map every inch of him—the scars, the ink, the places that make him gasp when I touch them.
"Turn over," I say after working his back thoroughly.
He complies, and I have to bite back a smile.
He's already half-hard, his cock stirring against his thigh.
"See something you like?" I tease.
"Always," he growls, eyes dark with want.
I continue the massage, working his chest, his arms, his abs.
Each touch seems to make everything burn hotter between us.
By the time I reach his hips, he's fully hard, his cock standing proud and thick.
"Astrid," he groans when my hands venture lower, massaging his inner thighs.
"Shh. Let me take care of you."
I wrap my oil-slicked hand around his cock, and he bucks into my touch. "Fuck."
I stroke him slowly at first, base to tip, learning what makes him groan, what makes his hips lift off the table.
My other hand cups his balls, rolling them gently, and his whole body shudders.
"That's it," I murmur, increasing my pace. "Let go for me."
His hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white as I work him.
I'm mesmerized by the sight—this powerful man coming undone under my touch.
"I need to be inside you," he grits out.
"Then take me," I breathe.
He's off the table in one fluid motion, spinning me around and lifting me onto the edge.
My jeans and underwear disappear in record time, his hands impatient but careful.
"You sure?" he asks, positioning himself between my thighs.
Instead of answering, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
The first press of him against my entrance makes us both groan.
"I don’t have a condom," he warns.
"I don't care. I need you."
He slides home in one smooth thrust, filling me completely.
I cry out, clutching his shoulders as he stills, letting me adjust.
"You okay?"
"Gods, yes. Move. Please."
He starts slow, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in.
Each thrust hits something deep inside me that has me seeing stars.
"You feel so fuckin’ good," he groans against my neck. "So tight. So perfect."
I've never ridden him before, never been on top, but suddenly I want to try. "Wait," I gasp. "I want..."
Something flashes in his eyes.
He lifts me easily, switching our positions so he's on his back on the table, me straddling him.
"Take what you need," he says, hands spanning my waist.
I'm nervous all of a sudden.
I don't really know what I'm doing, but the way he's looking at me like I'm some kind of goddess gives me courage.
I sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch until he's fully seated inside me.
The angle is different, deeper, and we both groan at the sensation.
"That's it," he encourages as I start to move. "Fuck, you look so good ridin’ me."
I find a rhythm, rising and falling, guided by his hands on my hips.
The friction is incredible, hitting places inside me I didn't know existed.
His thumb finds my clit, circling in time with my movements, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming.
"Don't hold back," he growls. "I want to hear you scream for me."
I let go, moaning freely as pleasure builds.
His hips start meeting mine, thrusting up as I come down, and the added force has me spiraling toward the edge embarrassingly fast.
"Geirolf, I'm going to?—"
"Come for me, princess. Let me feel you."
His words push me over.
I come with a cry, my inner walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through me.
He follows right after, gripping my hips hard enough to bruise as he empties himself inside me with a groan.
I collapse against his chest, both of us breathing hard.
I can feel him softening inside me, his release starting to leak out, but I don't want to move yet.
"That was..." I trail off, not sure how to finish.
"Yeah," he agrees, pressing a kiss to my hair. "It was."
We stay here for a few moments, basking in the afterglow.
Reality creeps back in slowly—we just had unprotected sex in my workplace, while my father wants to kill him, and someone's apparently got a PI on me.
"We should probably talk about the no condom thing," I say eventually.
"Probably," he agrees, but makes no move to let me go. "You on anything?"
"Birth control, yeah. But still."
"I'm clean," he says. "Haven't been with anyone but you in months."
That surprises me. " Really? "
He pulls back enough to look at me. "Really. Haven't wanted anyone else since I started noticing you."
My heart does something complicated in my chest. "When was that?"
"Honestly? Years ago. But I kept my distance. You were too young, too off-limits. Then Laken..." His jaw clenches at the name. "I wanted to kill him every time I saw you together."
"But you never said anything."
"Wasn't my place. You had to figure it out yourself." His thumb strokes my cheek. "And you did. You got stronger, found yourself again. That's when I really fell."
"Geirolf..."
"I know we're in deep shit with your family, and the club's a mess with this Patriot business, but I need you to know—you're it for me, Astrid. Whatever happens, that won't change. I wanna give this a real go, a real fuckin’ shot."
I kiss him softly, pouring everything I feel into the contact. When we break apart, I whisper, "You're it for me, too."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "Good. Now we just have to survive your father's wrath."
"And Emil's."
"And Oskar's, probably."
I groan. "My whole family wants you dead."
"Not your mom," he points out. "She seemed... understanding."
"Mom's always been good at seeing the bigger picture." I finally climb off him, wincing slightly. "We should clean up. Get dressed before someone comes back."
He helps me down from the table, both of us moving to find our scattered clothes.
As I pull on my jeans, I notice him watching me with an expression I can't quite read.
"What?"
"Just thinking about how lucky I am," he says softly. "How fuckin’ lucky that you chose me."
"Pretty sure we chose each other," I correct, moving into his arms.
He holds me close, pressing his lips to my hair.
For a moment, we just stand there, holding each other in the silence of the spa, pretending the outside world doesn't exist.
But it does. And sooner or later, we'll have to face it.
"Did they text you back yet?” I ask, curious.
He looks at his phone, shaking his head. "Not yet, but they viewed it." His arms tighten around me. "No one's going to hurt you, princess. Not while I'm breathing."
"Come to my place tonight?" I ask. "After you deal with club stuff?"
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away."
I smile against his chest. "Good. Because I plan on doing that riding thing again. Practice makes perfect, right?"
His laugh rumbles through me. "Fuck, woman. You're gonna kill me."
"But what a way to go," I counter.
He kisses me, deep and thorough, reminding me exactly why I'm willing to risk everything for this man.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathless.
"I’ll be there tonight," he promises.
"Good." I smile, then look at the mess on the table, "Um, I need to disinfect that."
"All right, I’ll head outside and make sure everything is good, but I won’t leave until you do. Okay?”
"Yeah, that sounds good."
He heads out to his bike and sits on it, surveying the area while he waits for me.
As I start cleaning up the massage room, I can't help but smile.
Yes, our situation is complicated.
Yes, there are threats and challenges ahead.
But for the first time in years, I feel like I’m in the driver’s seat of my life, and that’s what I want.