Valhalla Virus, Nick Harrow [simple ebook reader txt] 📗

“Thanks,” Gunnar said.

“Let’s get you in the water, big guy,” Bridget whispered.

Maneuvering his big frame into the shower was a challenge. She finally lifted Gunnar’s left leg at the knee, swung it over the shower’s lip, and planted it firmly on the floor. “Lean against the wall for a second,” she told him, guiding his hands to the tiled surface. “Okay, right leg up and over. There you go.”

“No wonder Mimi calls you Jolly,” Bridget said when Gunnar was safely standing in the shower. “You’re a damned giant.”

Something about that word stuck in Gunnar’s craw. He cracked open his left eye and glared at Bridget. “No giant,” he croaked.

Only he didn’t say giant. He said jötunn, and the word tasted foul in his mouth. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly forward, backing into the hot spray. He stayed like that for long seconds, letting the shower work the tension out of his shoulders and sluice the blood and sweat from his body. Gunnar kept his eyes closed even when Bridget entered the shower and closed the door behind her. She rubbed a soft bar of soap across his chest and stomach, down his legs all the way to his feet, then back up to his shoulders. She washed his arms next, her strong fingers massaging his biceps, then forearms, then down to his fingertips.

“Better?” Bridget’s voice was low, almost solemn as she gently kneaded Gunnar’s good hand, working down the length of each finger with just the right amount of pressure.

“God, yes,” Gunnar sighed. He opened his eyes and looked down at Bridget. She was wreathed in steam from the shower, and the humidity had soaked through the concert T-shirt she’d swiped from Mimi. The cotton, emblazoned with the Tesla Great Radio Controversy tour logo, clung to Bridget’s breasts. The shirt was short on the taller woman, revealing the taut lines of her stomach and the curves of her hips above the pair of ratty jeans that sheathed her legs.

Bridget didn’t look away from Gunnar’s appraising stare. Her mismatched eyes urged him to keep looking, even as she traced the ridges of his bruised abdominal muscles with the dagger-like tips of her black fingernails. Her hand drifted lower, fingers spread wide as if to feel every inch of Gunnar’s stomach. “I talked to Ray,” she said. “About what happened before you came in for lunch.”

It took a few seconds for Gunnar to find his way back to that time. It felt like he and Ray had enjoyed each other a hundred years ago, rather than a handful of hours. His memory of the time leading up to the shootout at the Mirage was fuzzy, but he remembered the fun and games he and Rayleigh had shared. “She told you about that?”

Bridget did look away then, her eyes dropping to the shower’s soapy floor. She caught her lip between her front teeth and rocked it back and forth while she debated what to say next. “She didn’t have to.” She took the time to choose her next words carefully. “I knew it would happen. I saw it all like a movie in my head.”

Her nails lightly grazed the trail of blond hair that led from Gunnar’s navel down to his groin, then kept right on heading south. Bridget’s hand slid around the bodyguard’s stiffening, soapy length, gently scraping her nails along the sensitive skin. She didn’t look up until Gunnar’s cock had risen to the challenge, filling her hand with throbbing muscle.

“Just like I saw this,” she said. Her breath blew tiny whirlwinds in the steam from the shower. “I talked to Ray about us. We belong together, Gunnar. We’re bound to one another.”

Gunnar tried to imagine that conversation. He was surprised Bridget was still in one piece. Ray wasn’t jealous, exactly, but she wasn’t much for sharing, either. “And what did she say about that?”

Bridget released Gunnar and stepped back from the shower. She crossed her arms, took hold of the shirt’s hem, and pulled it up and over her head in one smooth motion. The wet material clung to the smooth, heavy globes of her breasts, concealing them from Gunnar’s hungry gaze until gravity won out and they bounced free. Tattoos adorned the pale skin around her belly button in ornate knotwork, and a matching piece drew his attention to her cleavage. Her nipples, hardly darker than her skin, jutted up from her breasts to catch beads of water that splashed off Gunnar.

“What do you think she said?” Bridget teased. She unbuttoned the top of her jeans, then paused with her fingers on the zipper.

“You’re still here,” Gunnar said with a throaty chuckle. “So I guess she agreed.”

Bridget’s fingers tugged at her zipper’s tab, revealing a creamy slice of skin between its teeth. She moved agonizingly slowly, her hips swaying gently to a song only she could hear. Her eyes drifted closed, a faint smile tugging the corners of her mouth up into a sweet smile. “She knew it was meant to be. We’re your völva,” Bridget said, her words lilting along to a haunting melody that Gunnar could almost recognize. “It’s our job to help you grow stronger, and yours to do the same for us. Intimacy reinforces that bond. It lets us share our power in ways we couldn’t otherwise. And, even if it wasn’t for that...you intrigue me. I want to be with you, if you want to be with me.”

Bridget closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, snowy white had replaced their warm honey and deep blue fire. When she breathed out, her breath was so cold it turned the shower’s steam back to water droplets that splashed down her chin and dribbled between the slick slopes of her breasts. Her tattoos lit up as the water slithered across them. The last teeth on the zipper parted to reveal the sleek contours of her naked folds, and the damp jeans slid down the lean lengths