"Breathe," I command softly. "I've got you. We don't move until you're ready."
She takes a breath, and I feel her body begin to open for me by degrees.
I feel the exact vibration in her muscles when the fear finally lets go, replaced by a desperate, aching need.
"Okay," she whispers, her voice trembling. "Okay—Njal—more."
And I give her more.
I pour every careful, possessive, and tender thing I possess into her.
I whisper "mine" into the strands of her hair and murmur "good girl" against her mouth.
"That's it, that's my girl, let me," I urge as I feel her start to climb toward the edge.
I can sense the old terror—the ghost of being caught wanting something—trying to seize her one last time.
"Don't hold back," I tell her, my voice thick with emotion. "Not here. Here, you're allowed."
That’s the key. Just like last night.
* * *
My phone buzzes on the nightstand a little after midnight.
I reach for it slowly, careful not to wake her, and turn the screen away from her face.
Dag.
Dag:
Spoke to Runes tonight. He needed to know, given who's asking and who you are. He's read in now. The whole table is.
I look at the message for a long while.
There's a second one under it.
Dag:
He wants a word with you. Tomorrow. You knew he would.
I did know he would if he found out about everything.
I set the phone face-down on the nightstand and lie back, and the woman on my chest doesn't stir.
The club's in it now.
That's what I wanted, I suppose—Dag, the law, the… help.
I knew the second I made that call from the porch that it wouldn't stay between me and two attorneys.
Nothing in my family stays small.
Dag tells Runes. Runes tells the table.
That's how it works, that's how it's always worked, and I called Dag anyway with my eyes wide open.
But Runes wanting a word means Runes wanting to know.
