Fleckney Companion Piece || Anya & Klaus

{The piece takes place between Chapter 62 and 63 of the Wattpad webserial Every Bookshop Needs a Cat}

He opened the square. She hadn’t noticed at what point it had travelled in his hands. She couldn’t see what he did under the duvet, but it seemed to take a few tries, and he mouthed something, swearing, perhaps. She found it so endearing that she started peppering kisses on his long nose and freckled cheekbones, and he was obviously torn between reciprocating and trying to focus. And then he stretched on top of her, weighing down on her body, heavy in the most exquisite way – and Anya shifted under him, accommodating him. His palm burned into the skin on her hamstring, and he hiked up her leg, opening her more. She jolted when he pressed into her; and he pushed, making her gasp and tense up.

“Are you–” He was forcing sounds out of his no doubt constricted throat, and she realised she had her hands splayed on his chest, as if trying to halt him – or to even shove him away. “Anna, do you want me to–”

“Just– Give me a moment–” 

She took a slow breath in, reining her emotions, which seemed to spiral into actual panic now. It was as if she’d never noticed just how large of a human he was, with his wide shoulders, his strong frame. His chest was in front of her, and she stroked a naturally prominent muscle. Her fingertips bumped into his scar – the widest one, jagged, striking among the dark red hair. She could feel his body tremble, and she felt fiercely grateful for his self-restraint. She dropped her head back to meet his eyes.

“I got scared and–” she whispered, embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” he said and carefully lowered himself onto his elbows.

She felt a nudge of the tip, and as much as she tried, she couldn’t hide a startle. He frowned, looking concerned now. 

“I’m sorry, it’s like it’s my first–” Her voice sounded anxious.

“Don’t apologise,” he interrupted. 

He looked more and more disgruntled, and Anya rushed to reassure him.

“I want it! It’s just the mood today–”


“It’s like a roller-coaster, up and down, and I just–”


“But I’ve waited so long, and–”

“Anna! It’s not a chore!” he barked, and she shut her mouth. “I haven’t had proper sex in twelve years. I’m shocked I can even get it up,” he continued. “And you got me off twice last night. There is zero pressure on you here!” He glowered at her. “It’s just… sex. We can just kiss, or cuddle, or– Or we can go to sleep, for goodness’ sake!”

“I don’t want to sleep!” she yelped.

“I think we’ve just… overprepared,” he grumbled. “All this talk, and the hotel reservation, and your lingerie…”

“Oh I forgot about the hotel! Do we need to cancel it?” Anya immediately switched to her business mode, and he groaned and dropped his forehead on the sheet, next to her temple. “Sorry,” she squeaked.

He started rolling off her, and she instinctively grabbed his upper arms.

“Please, I still want to try!”

“Isn’t the mood sort of gone?” he asked – but stopped moving off her.

“No! Um… Yes? I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “There were so many moods by now, my head is spinning! And I’m not used to– to deciding! Before, it was just… expected of me! You know, like a duty. And I didn’t hate it, but–” She exhaled noisily through her nose, feeling she wasn’t explaining it right. When did the telepathy that they’ve been having go?! “It’s different with you! It feels better, more– more everything! And I’ve wanted it for so long!” Her voice wavered, and she even felt her eyes prickle. “I’ve been dreaming of you…”

His face softened. “That’s flattering.” He lightly brushed his lips to hers and chuckled quietly. “And a tad daunting, älskling. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“I have very low standards,” she joked gingerly, and he snorted. 

It became easier to breathe, and some sort of a nervous knot was easing between her ribs.  

“Although you’ve been spoiling me,” she murmured and tapped her finger on his bottom lip. 

He caught her digit in his mouth and mimicked her manoeuvre from before. She felt his tongue dance on the pad of her finger, and then he nibbled on it. It was unexpectedly stimulating, and she ran her palm along his side and onto his hip. He was still thin these days, but he’d been working out religiously, and she felt his oblique muscles, pleasantly taut under her hand.

They started kissed, first tenderly, and then heating up quickly; and a few moments later he started rocking his hips, probably unconsciously. The pressure and the hotness against her skin echoed somewhere below her navel, and she was now lifting her bottom off the bed to meet him. 

He pushed one hand between them, and she grunted in frustration because whatever he was doing there, was in the way of the delicious grinding.

“Anna, can I–”

She’d noticed it from the start: she couldn’t function mentally when they were intimate. Just as always, all she could think and feel was some sort of a frenzied joyful hunger. She moaned and arched on the bed, seeking more contact, not quite understanding why he was depriving her of her pleasure.


“Please,” she exhaled, pulling at his neck, hoping he’d lower himself on her again.

He shifted; she momentarily thought that his body was strangely lopsided – and then she cried out, because he led himself into her, and thrust, forcefully but smoothly.

“What–” she gasped.

He froze, his widened eyes, pupils dilated, right in front of her.

“What?” he rasped out. “Did you not– You said–”

Anya clapped her hand over his mouth.

“Shut up! Don’t–” Who gives a fuck what she said and whether someone misunderstood something?! “Just move! Move! Please!” 

She clawed at his upper arms, not sharp enough at the moment to suss out which way she needed to nudge him. She felt full – full of him, connected with him – stretched almost to the point of pain, but at the same time, better than she’d ever felt with a man. 

He jerked his chin, shaking off her hand, and even that much movement made her moan.

“You bloody– mammoth,” she hissed.


He looked confused, slightly mad, dishevelled, and sublimely beautiful – and Anya started laughing. Why had she bricking it? It was Klaus, and they were shagging – and it was the most natural thing in the world! Sweet, exciting buzz spread through her body, from her toes to the top of her head.

“God, stop– squeezing–” he gritted through his clenched teeth. “You’re a menace…”

“And you’re huge!” she gleefully announced.

“It’s a glitch– in the Bjornsson genes– We all are, although we aren’t–” He groaned and rolled his shoulders in. A shudder ran through him. “I’ll try to be slow.”

She encircled his waist with her legs, and he snarled. 

“Just at the start, maybe,” she said – and moaned again, because he drove his hips into her in a measured, powerful movement. “Oh god…”


He was going slowly – but only for a tad; and then his control started slipping, which probably had something to do with her chanting his name and “Боже, как хорошо…” 

And then they were once again in sync

Giving, taking, sharing, offering and accepting.

“Это как вальс…” she breathed out, and he laughed.

She swallowed his merriment, with a kiss; and he murmured, “Der Walzer?” 

They started chortling together, and snogging, their hands wandering.

Jösses, Anna, du är så skön…” He mixed words with kisses. Mitt livs kärlek…

She wondered if she’d remember to ask him later what it meant – and immediately forgot about it, solely preoccupied by how amazing he felt. 

His thrusts were growing rougher, and she grinned and cupped his face. 

“So good, Klaus…”

“Good,” he replied, but she doubted he’d heard her. 

His eyes closed, he seemed utterly wrapped up in his sensation – yet attuned to hers. His strong fingers slid onto her wrists, and he raised her arms above her head, pressing them into the sheets. She bucked her hips. More, more, more Klaus, more! She didn’t know how to ask for it – but she didn’t need to. He let go of her right wrist – and right away, both of them were in the grasp of his left hand. He scooped her bottom, jerked it up, towards him – deeper – and she obviously mostly felt, but also heard, his energetic, purposeful thrusts.

And then the coil of her pleasure tightened, astonishingly fast – and she cried out, and thrashed, spread under him, stretched between the shackle of his hand and the point where their bodies connected. 

He exhaled, “Just a bit–” and his tempo increased, and she wasn’t sure she could take any more of his pummelling, or whether she wouldn’t ask for the same again the next morning – and then she orgasmed. Any sort of awareness had disappeared, and she could just feel, unconcerned with anything else; not sure why she couldn’t move her hands, but unfazed by it.

And then she cried out, because he was now striving for his crisis – and she thought he was going to break her! There was some stinging ache mixed in her pleasure now, and she realised he was digging his fingers into her buttock – and then he gnarred, and plunged into her three more times.

And then there was a second of absolute silence – and absolute perfection – and he collapsed, crashing her, with a long moan, and then another one trembled on his lips. There might have been her name there – attempted; but as simple as it was, unpronounceable for him right now.

She weakly tugged, and he released her wrists, and she embraced him, for the very first time in her life feeling utterly and consummately satisfied.

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