Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“A little wet never hurt anybody,” he said smoothly. I blushed at his double meaning and started fidgeting with my hands. “But I could use some help. It hurts a bit to clean myself. I can’t reach my back.”
I smiled devilishly and picked up the bar of soap lying beside him. “I can do that.”
I came behind him and gently pushed him forward. I began sliding the bar of soap up and down his back, marveling at his smooth lines, the way his muscles rippled under my touch. I followed the ones that ran in firm planks down the sides of his spine. After taking my fill, I focused on his wide shoulders, feeling the power in them, wanting nothing more than to claw at his skin.
I moved the soap further in and pushed back his hair that gleamed gold and bronze when wet. Along with the runes and symbols Erik had tattooed on his front and his arms, I was surprised to see he had a beautiful raven at the base of his neck.
“What is this?” I asked.
A hesitation rolled through him. “It’s Odin’s raven.”
“Is Odin your god?”
“He’s one of them,” he answered, reluctance in his voice.
“You don’t seem to want to talk about it.” My fingers traced the raven’s outline, the shine in its thick beak.
“It means something else to me now.”
“The raven? What does it mean?”
“It’s a symbol of my beliefs, not theirs.”
“You don’t believe in the Norse gods?”
He exhaled through his nose and slowly shook his head. I knew I should keep washing, but I was enthralled by this side of him.
“No,” he admitted. “I was raised on those beliefs, fought on those beliefs. But I don’t think those gods are the right gods. Or the real ones. I believe they were made up—or at least twisted—to convince us to fight and die. Odin promises salvation, freedom, in death. You can only reach Valhalla if you die in battle, with a courageous heart. If you do not die fighting, you’ll never be saved.”
“Which is why the Vikings know no fear,” I mused quietly. I couldn’t get behind a god who expected that sort of sacrifice and was impressed Erik couldn’t either. “So what do you believe?”
“I believe that when I die, if I have made enough amends in this life, that I never really leave,” he said. “I got Odin’s raven carved on me when I was fourteen and ready to die by taking the lives of others. I killed hundreds of men and women and children by believing that. I had no fear and no conscience.”
I swallowed back the tiny bit of fear climbing up my throat and didn’t say anything.
He continued, “Now, I believe that if we are good enough, worthy enough, of whatever god is out there, we can come back after death and keep an eye over our loved ones. You just need ones you love.”
“And the raven?”
“Perhaps ravens are the souls of all the people who have died, flying high and watching over you. That’s what I’d like to believe, even when I’ve found there’s so little left to believe in.”
A hush fell over us as we mulled over his words. I hadn’t taken Erik to be an optimist, but I was still somewhat surprised at his admission. Did he really think there was nothing left in this life to believe in? Or was I being foolish, having lived my life as a poor, unloved peasant, to think there was?
I cleared my throat, trying to break the silence. “We seem to always be bathing each other.”
I felt him relax beneath my hands at the change of subject. I started rubbing down his hard muscles again, driving the pressure deep until he was clay in my hands.
When he didn’t say anything to my remark, I paused and looked over his shoulder. His cock was high and rigid between his legs, its moist tip poking through the surface. Heat pooled between my legs, and I shifted back, trying to ignore it.
I had scooped water from the bath and let it trickle down his back, the soap running off in foamy rivulets, when he reached behind him and grabbed my hand.
“I thought you couldn’t reach your back,” I whispered.
He twisted his head to the side and eyed me. The steel had melted, only lust in those smoky orbs.
“I lied,” he said. “But I do need you to do my chest.”
I smirked, still nervous and still on fire. I came around to the side and began rubbing the soap over his chest, so hard and so smooth, with light tufts of hair grazing between his muscles. I was too afraid to meet his eyes now, too stubborn to look at his erection. I kept my eyes on the soap and only the soap.
“Cherine,” he whispered, his voice sending chills down my back. “I hoped you’d come.”