I held his gaze. That was a mistake. My knees wobbled, threatening to bend under the intensity of his stare. “You like it?”
“It’s for me, right?”
I bit my lower lip and nodded.
He grinned. “Good. I wouldn’t allow you to give this to someone else.”
My heart thumped hard against my ribcage.
Týr hung his wet tunic up by the fire to dry along with the boots he’d kicked off, and plopped down in a chair. He looked about to get comfortable.
“Týr, you can’t wear it yet,” I said. “It’s not finished. I wasn’t lying about that.”
He pulled at the material and looked at it. “Looks finished to me.”
I dropped the trousers in my hands and stepped closer, grabbing his tunic. “Týr, please take it off. I need to finish it.”
I gasped when he grabbed my arms and yanked me onto his lap. My body molded against his powerful form, and I was acutely aware of the hard object pressing against my legs that was distinctly not a sword.
Týr chuckled low against my ear. “And what are you going to do about it, Valkyrie? Do you think you can make me remove it?”
A pleasant shiver ran down my spine and between my legs. I swallowed, my pulse thumping in my ears. “I didn’t realize you would be the most difficult man to disrobe.”
The hel? Where did that come from? It wasn’t even close to what I had planned to say.
Týr’s nose dragged across my cheek and down to my neck. His hands slid down my back, sending tingles through me. “Hmm, maybe it’s because I’m more concerned about helping you out of this wet dress?”
My lungs ceased to operate.
I’d let him rip this dress off me if he so desired. But I had enough presence of mind here to desire one thing more before I gave into his seducing touch. I wanted an answer, to know where I stood.
“Recite me poetry,” I murmured.
Týr stilled. I couldn’t stop the frown and sudden suffocating disappointment.
It was fine. He didn’t see me that way. His poetry was meant for someone else, and that was how it was. I was to pay a debt my family owed. My father offered anything, and it was clear he’d expected me to be the price. A night with a god was still more than most would ever experience.
“I don’t want to embarrass you,” Týr murmured.
My disappointed thoughts froze.
“I am one god who can’t recite poetry. It’s… well, Freyja would say it’s comical, where I’d say it’s painful. I… don’t want to subject you to that.”
That was his reason? This whole time, he hadn’t tried to seduce me with words because he didn’t think he was any good?
“I want to hear one.” I didn’t care if it was terrible. I wanted to know if I really meant something to him.
Týr took a slow, deep breath.
Behold, you are beautiful!
Your eyes are like rocks by the river, green with moss
Your hair is like molten metal when they skim the dross
Your skin is like Sleipnir's mane, or a flock of shorn ewes
Your mouth is lovely and your lips are red hues
