Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Was that all right, käraste?” Mr. Blomqvist murmurs, kissing my neck.
I smile up at him, weak from his ferocity. Does he know what we have right now? Pure peace. For a moment the world has stopped spinning, and I’m truly living. “Perfect.”
I trace the patterns on his chest with my fingertips. I’ve only had peeks at his body before now, and I finally get a proper look at the tattoos inked into his muscles. They’re Nordic. Animals, swords, runic knots and symbols.
I point to each one and ask what they are. Valravn, he tells me, his fingers tracing the dark ink on his chest. Valravn is the raven of the slain, and the tip of one glossy black wing curves up toward his throat. Fenrir, the monstrous wolf, prowls across his hip bone and belly, and again down his wrist. Each one beautiful and elegantly inked.
I trail my fingers over him, wondering at his beauty. “You must have made a lovely canvas for the tattoo artist.”
He plants a kiss on my nose. “Thank you. I like being a canvas. I’m thinking of getting an old Viking saying on the back of my calf. I haven’t decided which one yet.”
“What sort of saying?”
He turns onto his back and tucks me into his side. “Well, there are lots of proverbs about courage in battle and holding your tongue lest you be thought a fool.”
I laugh, tracing the planes of his belly. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Then there are very grand sayings, and very long and weighty ones. But I thought a simple one would suit me best. Perhaps, Slow and sure. Tómr ok munu. It’s from a thirteenth century saga.” His eyes follow the patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling as he tastes the words in his mind. “Tómr ok munu. Yes. I like it.”
He rolls onto his side and props himself on his elbow. “I am learning patience, käraste. Or, I’m trying to. I have wanted you so badly, but there is sweetness in the waiting.”
He’s the one who’s been teaching me about patience, every evening on my knees in his office. The pleasure in slowing down. Being present. Really seeing someone.
“Slow and sure,” I whisper. “I like that, too.”
We’re doing this together, I realize, my heart swelling. We’re building something precious, slowly and surely. Tonight it’s grown, and I can feel it burning through me, bright and strong. We hold onto each other, just breathing in and out, like gentle waves on the ocean shore.
Mr. Blomqvist’s phone rings, and he reaches down off the bed to his trousers to check who it is. “The collection manager for the exhibition,” he grumbles. “I should take this.”
He heads out of the room, naked, his phone pressed against his ear. He’s got another large tattoo covering his right shoulder, a wheel of some sort. It almost reminds me of a weathervane, but Viking-looking and encircled with runes. I get a good view of his ass as well, and dear lord, does he have a beautiful one.
I stretch and grin to myself. My lover is downright gorgeous.
Opening my eyes I spy a thick, full-color book on the bedside table and pick it up. It’s a beautifully printed book about Viking ships and artifacts. I start flipping through it, marveling at how well preserved the Viking burials are, with all the carvings on the wooden longships intact.
Toward the back I find a diagram of the circular design on Mr. Blomqvist’s shoulder. It’s called a vegvísir, a Viking compass.
If this stave is carried, I read, one will never lose one’s way in storms or bad weather, even when the path is unknown.
I trace my fingers over the design. I want to hold him close. I want him to be my stave that I carry through storms, so that I never get lost. I want to be that for him, too, because everyone needs someone to help them through the bad times. I close the book and hold it my chest for a moment, hugging the precious thought to my heart.
I’m daring to hope. I haven’t dared in such a long time.
I put the book down, collect my clothes from downstairs, and come back to the bedroom to get dressed. Mr. Blomqvist is out in the greenhouse and doesn’t see me. Enough being sentimental. We’ve had much more than our allotted hour today, and it’s time I got going.
A few minutes later, Mr. Blomqvist comes back, his phone in his hand. He’s still naked, and looks so good it makes my mouth water. I just want to go to him and spend hours exploring his body. How does it feel when I lick you here? Do you like that?
He frowns when he sees that I’m dressed. “You can stay the night. I’d like you to, if you want to.”