Arctic Night-5

“I can’t have missed Norway, I’ve never been there.”

“You wiseass. You know what I mean.”

Bríd nuzzled her face into Katja’s neck. Her scent was familiar, and it ignited a deep longing inside her. She knew for a fact she wanted to spend the night with her, spend as much time with her as she possibly could, take her along for the rest of the book tour if that was possible.

So why not go home with Katja? Bríd wasn’t on any schedule. She thought about it and realized that if not for Björn, she’d have accepted already. Was she… jealous? She lifted her head and looked at Katja’s bright blue eyes, up close. She didn’t know what to ask, but Katja saved her the trouble by kissing her.

This was no quick and chaste greeting kiss. This lingered, their lips melting together. Katja wove her fingers slowly into Bríd’s hair and held her, stroking the back of her neck with her fingertips.

“So,” Katja whispered into Bríd’s ear, finally breaking the kiss. “Will you come to my hotel now?”

“Oh fuck, yes,” Bríd whispered and hugged her tight. Maybe it wasn’t a time for answers any more profound than that.

As soon as the door closed behind them, they were tearing each other’s clothes off. They kissed and groped, stumbling towards the bed, falling down on it, intertwined. The curtains were drawn and the room was shadowy, but they didn’t need to see. Their bodies remembered each other, and together they dived into the bliss that was them together.

Bríd thought she would overload on this sensory ecstasy. She rode it, higher and lower and higher again, but then she had to take a breather. She wrestled Katja onto her back and settled between her legs, determined to make her crazy with desire or die trying. Katja tolerated it for the longest time, but finally she had an orgasm so massive that Bríd didn’t dare to continue.

When Katja’s tremors finally subsided, Bríd emerged, smiling, from between her legs. She wiped her chin, looking down at Katja, who had all but melted into the mattress, sweaty strands of hair sticking to her skin. Her chest was still rising with each breath, her nipples wrinkled into tight, hard points. Bríd stroked her thighs slowly, soothingly, then her belly. Something caught her eye, something just below Katja’s left breast. A tattoo.

Bríd stroked Katja’s smooth, pale skin lovingly, working her way up to the tattoo. She pushed Katja’s breast away and leaned closer to examine the picture.

It was a fox. Small, red fox, drawn in a quirky style that was delightfully cartoonish, almost childish. Bríd looked up at Katja, meeting her smiling, expectant eyes.

“Like it?” Katja asked. “It’s you. See, I told you, I always have you close to my heart now. It doesn’t matter where you are.”

“Me?” Bríd asked, stunned. She looked at the tattoo again. The fox had a smiling, mischievous expression.

“Björn is many things, also a tattoo artist,” Katja said. “He did that for me. It’s from a drawing his kid did.”

“His kid?” Bríd looked up at her again.

“Yes, let me show you,” Katja said. She sat up, smoothly, and kissed the corner of Bríd’s mouth gently. She went through their clothes until she found her jacket, fishing her phone from it’s pocket. “See… this is Björn, and his kids.”

Björn looked like an old rocker. He had long hair and earrings, and a smile so wide it almost split his face in half. On either side of him were a boy and a girl, each with his white-blond hair, blue eyes and wide grins. They looked approximately eight years old.

“This is the drawing. Saga drew that, his daughter that is,” Katja said and wiped to the next picture. It was the same red fox, a little more childlike and less cartoonish, but recognizably the same. Beside it stood a polar bear with the same quirky expression.

Bríd thought to ask, but suddenly she didn’t need to. She pointed at the polar bear, her finger trembling slightly, and then to Katja, who was smiling almost as widely as Björn and his kids had in the photo. She flicked to yet another picture, in which were the same fox and polar bear, accompanied by a brown bear and two squirrels.

“See?” Katja said quietly. “You’re already a part of the family.”

“But… but… but you didn’t even know if you were going to ever see me again! How can you have taken a tattoo of me? And how did Björn’s kid know anything about me?”

“Oh, you,” Katja said. She tossed the phone on the nightstand and lay back down, beckoning to Bríd, pulling her close and tousling her hair. “The tattoo is not for you, it is for me, to have you with me. It doesn’t need you to see it to work. I told you I always have you with me, even without the tattoo. And sure I have told them about you. You’re my American girlfriend, after all. You’re important.”

“But…” Bríd objected, drawing the fox with her fingertip. “But… “

“Not a girlfriend? It thought you wanted labels.”


Katja just smiled at her. Their eyes met, and they looked at each other for a long moment.

“Don’t worry,” Katja said gently. “Once you come home with me, Björn can do the polar bear tattoo for you. Or maybe I’ll ask him to do an ass on your ass, because you’re really slow sometimes.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bríd said and started to laugh. She tickled Katja, and they rolled around, laughing and tickling each other, and it escalated to a playful pillow fight. Bríd couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this carefree and happy.

She was going home.

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