Natasha sat in the back of the jet-black suburban, dressed in her finest, holding the sweaty hand of some Russian deputy chairman. He grumbled at her in Russian and she watched in disgust as spit flew from his mouth and onto her heels. She smiled at him but didn't say a word.
SHIELD was really running out of creativity. This was the sixth time she had posed as an escort for a mission this year alone. She was now grubby Oleg's mistress for the night, conveniently attending a black market weapons auction disguised as an annual gala.
The driver pulled up to a large mansion. The lawn was dark and the gate was littered with security for the party. The driver rolled down his window and spoke to security, presenting the man with their invitation. Then they were driving up the short distance to the house.
Natasha signed inwardly, completely and utterly bored by tonight's mission. Natasha could fuck her way out of any situation, her body could get her any information, but she was having a hard time getting anything to slip from Oleg's mouth besides spittle.
Killing him tonight would be a good deed on Natasha's part.
As she followed Oleg out of the car, Natasha's gown fell to her feet. She liked this dress. It was backless, black (her favorite), with a high slit that went almost to her crotch. Whoever the leader of this soirée turned out to be, this dress would make them reveal anything to her. She felt particularly sinister.
She was one of fourteen women present at the party, and she was the most modestly dressed one of them all, and that was saying something. Not a single wife, they were all mistresses and prostitutes, all oozing the scent of sex and self-satisfaction.
Yet, Natasha was more interested in the host of this gala, Stefano Rodobuck. He was a nobody. Though she knew who many of the customers were, she did not know who this supplier was. He was new. Wonderful, this just meant more paperwork for her.
She strolled around the party, intending to catch the eye of Rodobuck, perhaps lead him into the library or kitchen for a groping session before he would showcase his weapons stockpile to impress her. The line "there's more where that came from" sounds cheesier in Russian.
She silently made her way to the kitchens, leaving Oleg to get drunk with his buddies. Ignoring the glares she got from the staff, she grabbed a glass of champagne, locked herself in the pantry around the corner, and pulled out her phone to call SHIELD.
"Coulson."
"Phil, this is a dud."
"Hello, Agent Romanoff, not enjoying the party?"
Natasha smiled into the phone, "The dealer isn't anyone special. He's a newbie named Stefan Rodobuck. I doubt he's got any real weapons to deal."
"We have a team doing an aerial sweep right now; they're not finding any underground facilities, no heat signatures except from the party and the guards at the gate."
"So tonight was useless?"
"Well, there will be no raid tonight. Wherever this newbie keeps his stockpile, it's not his home or any warehouse within a ten mile radius. Your orders to obtain information still stand. The rest of us are pulling out. Meet you at base after the party."
"Yes, Phil."
"Have fun Natasha!"
Natasha hung up, and downed her glass. This reconnaissance mission was a waste of her time; she wasn't going to find any useful information tonight. She would have to entice Rodobuck, make him fall in love with her, and then leave him hanging. She could "accidentally" run in to him later this week, and that is when the information would pour out.
But there was still tonight to deal with.
Phil told her to have fun, so she was going to. If the team was leaving, there was no one to watch her now. She needed to get drunk, eat a bunch of expensive food, and then show off her tits to Rodobuck.
She turned her phone off and snuck back out of the pantry. Closing the door behind her, she turned around and was looking directly at a man's chest.
"Well, hello."
Natasha looked up into a pale face, at least a foot higher than hers, even in her heels. Green eyes surveyed her with amusement and wariness.
"Hello," she answered in Russian.
"Oh, my dear, from the sound of that conversation you just had, I think you know perfect English."
Natasha looked at the tall, lean man. She squared her shoulders and answered in English, "What do you want?" Her pulse quickened as adrenaline rushed through her veins. She could not believe she had just compromised herself during a miniscule case like this.
A grin spread over his face, and Natasha was struck by the wickedness she saw there, "I want nothing from you woman, I just came here to peruse the party."
"Not here to buy some rocket launchers?"
He cocked his head to the side in confusion, and then grinned again, "No. I am only here for the mischief."
"I don't recognize you."
"No, I don't think you would. My name is Loki." He was dressed in a long black overcoat, with a green scarf and black button down shirt. He looked positively delicious.
"Strange name." His eyes were almost aqua. His hair was long and black. Her fingers itched to see if it was rough or soft.
"And what are you named, spy?"
Natasha almost forgot her alias for the night, "Karalina."
He lifted his finger and ran it along her jaw line, making Natasha suck in a slow breath, "My dear spy, what is your real name?" his finger began to travel down her neck and dip low between her breasts.
She swatted away his hand and punched him in the stomach. He had crossed a line. He stepped back and she swung at his face, but he grabbed her wrist. Her other hand came up to slap him away, but he caught that one too, "So we like to fight?"
"I didn't say you could touch me."
Loki became serious, "I do not ask for anything. I always get what I want."
Shivers ran down her spine. She tried to kick him away but he pinned her thigh against the pantry door with his leg. The slit in her dress left her leg exposed. He moved both of her wrists to be shackled by his one hand, and with his free hand he once again traced a finger on her skin. The feel of his long, lithe body against hers made her temperature rise dramatically.
"I like your red hair," he whispered, "It quite suits your personality."
"I like your hair too," she said breathlessly. She was surprisingly not opposed to being accosted by this beautiful stranger. She wanted him; she wanted to stay in his custody.
Leaning in closer, his lips hesitating just a hairsbreadth away, "I've always been curious about your people."
"The Russians?"
He chuckled, his mood changing suddenly, "Yes, the Russians. Ha ha!"
Was he crazy? She thought.
"Yes, you Russians have always held interest for me. I visit every so often just to examine you all. I have never crossed a spy before," his voice was like velvet.
A clattering sound from the kitchen around the corner made Natasha jump.
Loki released her and stepped away.
"We tend not to get caught," she answered.
He gave her a fleeting smile, "My dear, I think the party will be missing you," he gave a slight bow.
What? He was backing off?
She remembered Coulson telling her to have fun, and the next thing she knew she threw herself at Loki and fused her lips to his.
The shock lasted less than a second before he pushed her back forcefully towards the pantry door and his lips moved against hers. It was almost hostile, the way he returned the kiss.
Her fingers wound through his soft hair and she yanked his head back, breaking the kiss, and looking into his green eyes. The most bewildered expression was plastered on his face. She hated to sound like such a girl, but she swore there were fireworks.
"I am not going back to that party."
He chuckled low in his throat, "I can't predict you, little spy."
"Take me upstairs."
"Your wish, my command," he replied, and she felt his low voice travel over her skin like water, and he began to ravage her mouth all over again.
Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up, and Natasha felt like she was flying. A moment later a door opened and she was deposited onto a bed without care.
Natasha growled at him, making Loki laugh. She jumped up and unclipped her halter-top, pulling her dress off in a fury.
"Take the clothes off," she ordered, as she wriggled out of her thong.
He pushed her back onto the bed, "No puny Russian commands me!" He grabbed her ankle and unhooked her high heel, letting it fall to the ground.
She put her naked foot on his chest, "Tonight I do. This is for me, not you, Loki."
He closed his eyes as she said his name, "Say it again, spy."
"Loki," she whispered.
He opened his eyes and smiled at her, removing her other shoe. Then, he flipped her over without warning, eliciting a grunt from Natasha. With a snap of his fingers, his clothes vanished.
"Alright, my dear, this evening shall be for you," he growled.
He kissed her up her legs, simultaneously nipping and licking her sensitive flesh. He blew a soft breath on her thighs, making her arch her back. Her muscles were well defined, but she still had curves to grab and grope. He traced his finger up her spine, and then his hand dug into her scalp pulling her head back so he could kiss her neck. Flipping onto her side, Natasha wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. He marked her neck and her breasts as she explored the subtle strength of his arms and back. It felt like there was an electrical current at her fingertips, raising goose bumps over his flesh.
"I can't say I have ever had sex in Russia," he said, slipping a finger into her wet cunt.
Natasha closed her eyes and gave a quiet mewl of approval. He was surprised at her readiness and her tightness. He pushed his thumb against her clit as a second finger joined the first. She moaned louder and he quieted her with his lips. The kiss felt like it was actually burning her.
The electricity, the fire between them grew as his fingers increased their rhythm. As one hand pleasured her, the other cupped her breast; his nails dug scratches in the delicate skin under her tits.
She growled loudly and bit his lip as she came, his fingers never stopping, prolonging her orgasm. His hand was slick with her juices, and her body shook as she finally unwound and lost control for the first time in months. She took a huge gasp or air, and Loki kissed her on the forehead. "That was just for you, my spy."
"On your hands and knees," he demanded. She did so, and then looked at him grinning at her from over her shoulder.
The wickedness she saw earlier was only the tip of the iceberg, and suddenly she was intimidated by the way he was looking at her like she was something to be dominated. She closed her eyes, overcome by the aftershocks of her orgasm.
He positioned himself behind her, the head of his penis at her opening, "Now, I won't do this until you tell me your real name."
She opened her eyes in alarm and blurted, "Natasha! My name is Natasha Romanoff!" And with that he entered her. She screamed in shock and in pleasure. She was so tight; the feeling of being stretched by him nearly sent her back over the edge.
She made some kind of incoherent snarl as she rose up to meet his thrusts. The pleasure was so overwhelming, Natasha was lost to sensation.
Loki needed to go deeper; he wanted to crawl inside her and under her skin. It may have been ages since he last bedded a woman, but this was the best sex of his long, long life. Dragging her up, he fell out with a slick pop. He pulled her to him so that she sat upon his lap. His arms tightened around her; he wanted to eliminate any and every space between them. He bit her shoulder, hard, and then ran his tongue over the already darkening mark. She felt his penis hit her cervix and her moan died as a gurgle in her throat as she came again, eyes rolling.
"Natasha, Natasha, Natasha," Loki repeated like a mantra as her vaginal muscles shuddered around him. After a few more thrusts, he came quietly.
Minutes passed and he still held her. She ran her fingers through his hair, their bodies dripping sweat. Natasha climbed off him, and fell to the mattress with a groan.
They dozed for what felt like hours. Loki rose, knowing he had already spent too much time on Earth; he needed to get back to Asgard.
When he finished dressing, he kissed the sleeping Natasha Romanoff on the lips.
"Until next time, my dear spy," he whispered. For he knew that with this woman, there would be a next time; he would not be able to resist her for long. He placed one last kiss on her forehead. She mumbled his name and turned away from him.