The sea was calm that morning.Not still — never still — but accepting. Rolling in soft sighs against the rocks, slipping over pebbles like lovers over skin.
Astrid woke early, body heavy with anticipation.Today, she would offer.
Her breath came quicker just thinking it. The Ritual of Watching had stayed with her for days, curling around her spine like a fever that didn't burn — it warmed. It opened.
And now… she wanted the mirrors to reflect more than her gaze.
Åse had told her: "When you are ready, the sea will ask for you."
And it did.
She heard it in the salt wind. Felt it in the ache between her thighs as she stepped out of the cottage, naked under a loose cotton robe. Her feet took her down the cliff path, past the heather and wet stone, to a cove she hadn't yet seen.
There, waiting — as though he'd known — was Leif.
The quiet carpenter.
He stood knee-deep in the water, shirtless, his trousers rolled to his thighs. His chest glistened with morning spray, hair curling at his temples. He didn't call out when he saw her. He didn't smile.
He just opened his arms.
Not for a hug. For acceptance.
Astrid let the robe fall. It slid from her shoulders like mist.She walked toward him, the stones cold beneath her soles.
He didn't reach for her.
She had to close the distance.
And when she did — when their skin touched — it wasn't fire.
It was heat. The slow, building kind. Like embers at the base of a sauna.
He leaned in, nose brushing her cheek.
"You're ready," he said, voice a breath, not a sound.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered.
"You're not doing," he said. "You're being."
He laid her back on a sun-warmed flat stone, her spine arched gently as her legs parted. The salt air kissed her navel, her neck, the insides of her arms. She trembled — not with fear, but with openness.
Leif knelt.
His hands, calloused and reverent, held her thighs wide as he looked at her. Truly looked. Not with hunger. With honor.
Then — without hurry — he pressed his mouth to her.
And waited.
Waited until she shifted.
Until her back curved.
Until her hips asked for more.
When he began, it was not with force, but with worship.
The flat of his tongue. The edge of his teeth. The slow rhythm of his breath matching the waves behind them.
Astrid cried out — not from shock, not even from climax — but from the realization that she'd never known what her body was capable of receiving.
She pressed a hand to his head. Not to guide. To anchor herself. Because her mind was slipping, melting, dissolving into moans and salt.
Her thighs quivered. Her belly jumped.
And when the first orgasm took her, it was silent.A ripple through her limbs. A bloom behind her eyes.
He didn't stop.
Leif never stopped.
He continued like a man working a spell. Her body lifted again — a second wave, harder, louder. This time, she screamed.
The birds in the cliffs lifted.The sea exhaled.
Her fingers clawed at the stone. Her lips shook.
And when he rose, kissing her inner knee, then the hollow of her hip, he looked up at her with eyes that didn't ask for approval.
They asked for nothing.
He had given, not taken.
She reached for him then, dragging him up her body, her fingers fumbling at his belt. He stopped her gently.
"Not yet," he whispered.
"Why?" she panted.
"Because today, you offer. You don't return."
Her eyes welled — not with frustration, but release.
He wrapped her in the robe again, kissed her salt-wet lips, and walked away, trousers damp, chest bare.
She stayed on the stone for what felt like hours. Watching the sea. Touching her chest. Breathing in herself.
Later, as the sun shifted overhead, she returned to the village sauna.
Naked.
No towel. No robe.
She entered through steam and silence and found Ida there — lounging, skin flushed, hair damp, one thigh thrown casually over a bench.
Ida's eyes widened slightly. "You've changed."
Astrid smiled. "I've arrived."
They sat beside one another.
Ida reached down, slowly, and lifted Astrid's foot into her lap. Began massaging it. Deep. Erotic without being sexual. Intimate without needing permission.
"You know the next rite?" Ida asked softly.
"No," Astrid whispered.
Ida leaned in, brushing her lips over her toes.
"It's not to watch. Not to offer. But to ask."
Astrid's breath caught.
Ida smiled. "And when you ask, this village never says no."