Page 9

Beryl

W ith Kjartan in the bed with me, the mattress suddenly seemed way smaller than it actually was. Still, I inched closer until our knees were touching.

“We should keep our hands to ourselves,” I mumbled, but my fingers sneaked across the short stretch of bed between us. They landed on the large bulge that strained against the rough denim.

He groaned almost inaudibly when I squeezed his dick, shifting his hips a little so he pressed into my palm.

“This seems like a splendid choice,” I said, trying to make my voice as inconspicuous as possible and giving him another squeeze. “Definitely big enough.” I closed my hand around him again, revelling in the soft grunting and clenching of his jaw.

“Yes, Vindur,” Kjartan rasped. He raised a hand to brush my hair off my forehead. “Big enough. Can we buy this and go?”

“Not yet.” I gave him a sneaky stroke. “You need a few plants, some cushions, sheets, and bedding.”

“If you keep doing this—” he growled quietly, “there will be an entirely different kind of bedding. Right here.”

A violent shiver racked my body. He noticed and threw me a slight smirk back.

“When I fuck you into the mattress, we can truly see if this bed is Orc proof. Perhaps we should before I buy it.”

“Let’s go finish our shopping,” I gasped, fleeing the bed before I took him up on his offer.

Somewhat getting a grip on ourselves, we made it back to the stairs and picked up a cart for all the decorations I wanted to get for him.

Kjartan surprised me by staying close to me and occasionally touching the small of my back—suspiciously close to my ass—to draw my attention to things he’d spotted.

He knew exactly what he wanted and chose brightly patterned textiles that somehow all fit together. Kjartan even picked out a woven Jute carpet. “Maybe this will make some kind of living area separate from the sleeping area,” he explained, cheeks turning rosy again.

“I love that idea! You could use lamps to tie the spaces together…” And we were off. Eventually, we picked the bed frame and the mattress from the shop’s built-in warehouse and made our way to the check-out.

The total came to over a thousand crowns, and he paid without blinking an eye.

“Wow, that was more expensive than I expected,” I groaned once we’d manoeuvred the trolleys out of the building and approached his truck.

“I was surprised how cheap it all was,” Kjartan told me with a shy grin as he loaded the heavy furniture on the truck bed as if it weighed nothing.

Had he left his nerves in N?kken? Would we just go back to dancing around each other, not daring to even touch?

I got my answer once we’d put all the little packets into the back seat, taken back the cart, and climbed into the cab. A heavy hand settled on my thigh as he steered the truck back towards the motorway leading back to Kincardie.

Every time he had to let go of me to change gears, his hand settled a little higher and gripped a bit tighter until he had me fidgeting in my seat, hoping and praying I wouldn’t come from his hand on my clothed thigh like a freaking fifteen-year-old.

“Do you want me to take my hand away?” he asked me in a deep, growly rumble.

“Fuck, no,” I huffed. I covered his fingers with mine and slid them up a few inches.

“Beryl.” He made a sound like a wounded deer, massaging my thigh, his pinky finger brushing over my crotch.

That we arrived at his place a moment later almost made me cry.

That’s just cruel!

“I’ll carry this upstairs… Would you help me unbox everything or do you need to leave soon?”

I checked my watch, doing a double-take when I saw how late it was. We’d spent almost three hours in N?kken.

“I’d love to help! That’s half the fun. There should be trains until ten or so. If it’s okay with you, I’ll stay a bit longer.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Have you decided on where you want the bed to go?” I asked him once we’d taken everything up to his flat on the first floor.

“Not yet, no.” Kjartan planted his feet wide and surveyed the room, gaze flitting from wall to wall, corner to corner. “I’ll have to take it back. I don’t think it’ll fit.”

Oh Gods, Bee, don’t fucking say it.

“Oh, I’m one hundred percent sure it will fit, gorgeous.”

Damn it.