A/N:
NSFW!
Mature Audiences Only!
I really like to write Loki as protective and loving and romantic AND dominant. I find that casting him against type - at least in the first three categories - is incredibly sexy!
Fluff, Smutty Smut Smut, Dom!Loki, Romantic!Loki, Erotica, Sex, D/s, Master/Slave, A Little Angst, Loki in Love, Protective!Loki, Spanking
Something was trying to get into her bed.
And it wasn't a cat or a dog - she knew how that sounded and felt.
This was something much bigger, and much more determined.
As she forced herself to open eyes that were still largely stuck together and full of sleep, her heart lodged firmly in her throat. She recognized the silhouette - it was a man, reaching down to lift up the sheet and comforter as if he was going to tuck himself cozily into bed next to her!
Only there was no man on the planet with that right, currently, so she threw her head back and screamed - the first and only time she'd ever done that, since this was the first and only time she'd ever truly feared for her life as she tried to scramble across the bed - but couldn't seem to nearly fast enough, constantly becoming tangled in the bedclothes until she very nearly fell over the edge and onto her head -
Until long, strong - somehow familiar feeling - fingers closed around her wrist, pulling her firmly away from the edge, which was kind of good, but then he continued to tug her towards him!
Story resisted with everything she had - and it was nowhere near enough. She might as well have flung herself into his arms for all the good she was doing trying to prevent herself from ending up plastered against him so that he could do God only knew what to her.
He was saying something to her that sounded surprisingly soothing, but she was too far out of her mind with fear to be able to hear it, even with her special capabilities, which seemed to have been incapacitated by her fear.
It wasn't until she got close enough to smell him - and wonder fleetingly how it was that he managed to smell so acutely of leather when he wasn't wearing any - that it finally dawned on her sleep addled brain just who it was that was that was reeling her into him so inexorably.
Loki.
And not only was he not wearing any leather, he wasn't wearing any anything - she grew more and more certain of this as he brought her closer and closer, and the proof was in the way a certain part of him stood proudly between them, making a considerable impression in the yielding flesh of her tummy that continued to grow to truly impressive proportions.
He used his hold on her slender wrist to control her as his other arm slid around her waist, curling up her back as he bent his head just a bit, whispering, "I'm sorry I startled you so badly. The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me, after all you've done for me. But I - I awoke rather violently -"
Translation: he had another one of those horrific nightmares that had plagued him since joining forces with the Avengers, only they weren't really that. They were more memories of what had been done to him while in the tender care of Thanos and his compadres rather than something his mind had conjured, and that was so much worse, so much harder for him to try to come to grips with, and so much more horrible for her to hear about.
But she was his doctor, his psychiatrist, one with a very special ability that the Avengers had hoped would allow Loki to get past what had happened to him to become a contributing, functioning part of their team.
They'd even let her come live there with him - in his flat, no less, since it was in his best interests that she be there when the terrors visited him nightly.
Thanks to her, and her alone, their frequency had been reduced dramatically.
But, despite their best efforts, though, they still, occasionally, reared their ugly heads.
Usually, she could feel it happen to him even though she was across the flat from him, her mind trying to connect with his flat-out terrified one and yet she never once hesitated to - bravely - enter his room to reach out to him physically, too, trying to calm and reassure him with her mind and her presence even before he awakened.
Sometimes it had worked, sometimes it hadn't.
Sometimes she got him to calm down, woke him as gently as possible, and held him as he cried.
Sometimes . . .
More than once . . .
The ambulance had had to be called.
And not for him.
He was a God, and although he had been mentally and emotionally battered by what had happened to him, he was more physically powerful than any other being on the planet, save Thor.
And when his mind forced him to relive the horrific things that had been done to him, he understandably did his best to try to prevent history from repeating itself.
She was five foot nothing, a hundred pounds soaking wet, and she had been on the receiving end - sometimes of his understandable frustration and ire, sometimes merely of his efforts to free himself from the unbearable.
The first time it happened, he had seriously hurt her and he had banished her from his flat, refusing to even look at her, seeming somehow almost small as he did so from her bedside in the hospital, although he was nonetheless resolute about it.
He'd tried to divorce himself from her entirely, not allowing her back into his flat once she was discharged, gritting his teeth and unsuccessfully trying to tamp down his jealousy as she'd refused to leave the Towers altogether, as he would have preferred - purely for her safety - but instead took the invitation that Stark had immediately piped up with, all while smirking mightily at the Gawd, as Stark snarkily referred to him.
Loki consoled himself with the knowledge that Pepper would be there and she would see to Story's recovery almost as scrupulously as he would have himself.
To say nothing of the fact that the other woman would no doubt see to it that Stark kept his greedy, fumbling human hands to himself in regards to Story.
But what he hadn't counted on was how greatly she had effected him, because although he tried to face the next unimaginably bad night without her - which, without her close by him was a very few days later - he knew she was there with him, if not physically but in spirit, he could feel her with him even as he was being tortured, trying to pry him away from the images and the memories as she always had . . . insinuating herself into his mind gently but firmly, never once backing away from them or him, no matter how firmly he tried to discourage her from trying to help him in her injured state.
He would never forget how he'd heard her soft voice and, in fear for her, had turned away from his torturers to look at her, standing there, bandaged up as she was, arm in a cast, ribs bound, eye blackened - none of that seemed to matter in the least to her.
She was just . . . there, and she only had eyes for him. Always coaxing and encouraging, she was a touchstone that could - and somehow always did - lead him away from the seemingly endless morass of agony to the warmth and succor of her arms.
This time he abandoned his thoughts of Thanos et al in favor of keeping her safe, which had that mess dissolving behind him as he dedicated himself to that new purpose, instead.
That seemed to be a key of some sort - that her presence in the horrors he was reliving nearly always caused him to immediately focus on her, and thus the memories faded into the background and allowed him to take control and awaken himself.
With great reluctance because he feared hurting her again, and vowing silently with everything in him that he would not let that happen again, in the end, he had relented about seeing her because of her sheer tenacity.
And because of how badly his heart ached with the need of seeing her, of having her close to him, even though he very carefully kept his true feelings for her hidden, not wanting to presume upon her any further than he already was.
Of course his vow was broken, and it nearly killed him every time it happened.
How she'd managed to manifest herself there, he would never know, but he had always been wholeheartedly, selfishly glad that she was, although the guilt the next day - when his vow was inevitably broken - when she'd been injured again by his unseeing, unknowing hand - was almost more than he could bear.
It was almost too much for him just that he had frightened her this time, this first time he had sought out the comfort of her arms on his own.
"Oh, Loki, as soon as I knew it was you I wasn't frightened any more. I'm sorry I didn't hear or feel you. I'm so sorry -" It was very like her to take the responsibility onto her own slim shoulders, though, he noticed.
Instead of cringing away from him, as she had been - as so many people did nowadays and had in the past - she did what she had done with him from the beginning - moved towards him, her arms open, hugging him tightly, totally and completely without reservation, using every bit of her meager strength to hold him to her, one hand moving up towards his shoulder blade - about as far up as she could reach - the other at the small of his back, both sets of fingers splayed as if she wanted to claim as much of him as she physically could, positioning herself between his legs, ignoring his ever present erection, which always left him feeling both relieved that she wasn't addressing it and indignant that she could so easily dismiss it at the same time.
He couldn't stand the idea that she might feel guilty about not having jumped up to run to his defense when she'd done that so often in the past year or so - and completely without complaint or even a thought to her own safety. He'd been having a bad bout lately - the worst in a long while - and she'd been up with him almost all night, every night for the past week. It was no wonder she was so exhausted she hadn't noticed his distress this time.
He was badly shaken - as he always was by the unrelenting reality of the dreams - and he certainly would have loved to have had her there to comfort - and distract - him in her inimitable fashion, no matter how frustrated he always felt when she finally left him - but he had been more concerned about her than himself when he realized she hadn't appeared.
But he certainly hadn't intended to terrify her as he had.
It seemed all he did to her was hurt her one way or the other, but he knew better than to say anything like that to her. She might not be able to hurt him physically, but her censure - not unlike his mother's - was something to be avoided at all costs.
In her own small way, she packed quite a wallop.
"I am fine, thanks to your lessons."
He was lying and they both knew it - he was shaking at least as badly as she was, despite all of the tips and tricks she had taught him to try to help him rescue himself from the nightmares.
"I was concerned for you, but I knew how tired you were and I did not want to wake you, I only meant to assess whether or not you were all right since you have never not been there with me when I -"
She began to rub her hand up and down his back soothingly. "I understand, and thank you for your concern. I was just totally zonked, apparently."
"Because of me," he added unflinchingly.
"Because we've been working hard together this past week," she rephrased quietly, moving a bit away from him even though he could feel her still shaking.
Loki drew his own hands slowly down her arms as she retreated, easily, almost casually, encircling her wrists with his fingers. "Are you cold?" he asked, not waiting for her to respond but reaching down to drag the comforter up and around her, and as he expertly bundled her up in it, he bundled himself, too, so that she again ended up plastered up against him, although she did try - if not very hard - to wiggle away.
How did someone who was supposedly a Frost Giant manage to feel so blissfully warm? she wondered, as he held her cheek to his chest with an infinite gentleness that she knew many would have thought him incapable of, fingers cupping her neck, a big thumb laid along her jaw in front of her ear as he rubbed her back brusquely over the short, gossamer thin nightie she wore, which inevitably rode up so that his hand ended up on her bare skin.
Loki tried to ignore the sharp hiss of her breath through her teeth as his flesh touched hers intimately for what he thought was probably the first time. She was very - how had Stark put it? - "touchy feely" with him, but at the same time, it was all very chaste, too. She was there to comfort and help him, not have sex with him.
He'd never even seen her in a nightgown - certainly nothing like the teasingly almost see-through, very short confection she was currently wearing, which left little to his already overactive imagination. Until now, she'd only always appeared before him either entirely dressed or annoyingly buttoned up; her thick robe belted and exposing nothing.
She'd been depressingly clear about the fact that this was a professional relationship from the start, and the fact that she had been so scrupulous about it and yet had given so much to him, so unselfishly, of herself had only made him love her - yes, love her - just that much more.
All while frustrating him in the extreme, of course. And if he'd had any idea that this was what she usually wore to bed, his patience would have been exhausted long before this.
But, truthfully, in the end, he did love her, which had imbued him with much better angels than he might have listened to in the past, and he would cut off his own arm rather than presume that she felt anything towards him at all - even friendship.
She was the empath, not him.
He had no idea whether what he felt was returned in any way; she gave no indication at all as to her real feelings, probably out of self-defense, he knew, although he wished she didn't feel the need to protect herself from him. He wanted her with a white hot need that kept him embarrassingly erect around her at all times, and yet he was loathe to mention anything about his feelings, not at all willing to go down a path that might make her feel uncomfortable around him.
And yet, here he was, in her bedroom, in her bed, where he least expected to ever be, with her all but naked in his arms.
The fact that she was still trembling had him drawing her gently closer, feeling an uncomfortable pang as she began to try to pull away from him, and unable to prevent himself from the pure audacity of tightening his arms around her to prevent it.
Against his chest, she murmured softly, "Loki . . . no."
He should have let her go immediately at that, he knew, but he couldn't quite convince himself to actually do it.
It seemed his better angels had deserted him in the face of the reality of just how amazing it felt to hold her in his arms like this.
Instead, he took advantage of the way she began to lean away from him a bit to bend down and press his lips over hers with exquisite tenderness, feeling her stiffen at first but giving no quarter, gently slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue tickling her lips before boldly slipping through them.
Her moan, as well as those beautiful bow lips opening - if a bit tentatively - beneath his, caught him a little off guard at first, but then he thought he would have to hold himself under tight rein lest he frightened her with the intensity of his ardor.
When he would have deepened the kiss even further, though, she renewed her efforts to pull away from him, and he called upon every bit of strength of will he owned to back down and let her separate herself from him.
"I am sorry. I did not mean to hold you against your will," he murmured huskily, "You are shaking so badly that I just wanted to share my warmth."
In a moment of unusual candor that she hoped she wouldn't come to regret, Story almost absently let the truth of the matter slip from her lips, somehow managing to look away from him as she did so. "I'm not trembling because I'm cold. Not any more."
Startled to his core, Loki tipped her face up to his, searching her eyes for the truth and realizing with a start that it was plain she was being quite honest with him - all of the signs of her arousal were there - the pearlescent, flushed skin, big, dark eyes, her breathing ragged with - not cold, not fear - but desire.
"Oh, my dear heart," the words rumbled, almost unbidden, uncontrollably, from his lips, the truth hitting him as if he had taken Mjolnir to the chest, gathering her to him again less gently than before, "if you harbored any hopes at all of ever being allowed to leave my side, you should not have made such an admission." Loki lifted her off the bed - one powerful arm around her waist, nibbling at her ear as he whispered in a gravelly tone that made her tremble even more, "for now I will never let you go."
Thrilled to the core at what he'd said, although not necessarily willing to take it as gospel, Story lay her hands tentatively on the plate-like muscles of his chest, not really prepared for how her mind had betrayed her in allowing her to make that truly damning confession within his earshot - or his heartfelt response.
But it was done, and he seemed more than all right about it, which emboldened her further.
She nearly bit her lip clean through, blushing furiously and swallowing hard as she looked up at him, preparing to say something even bolder.
"Loki, I need to ask you something . . ."
His eyebrows rose, chin notching up just a bit as he looked down at her, certain that he knew what she was going to say before she said it - "Be gentle with me" or some such other entirely unnecessary plea that betrayed her entirely understandable concern for her physical safety with him as he made love to her.
But instead, she drove her fingers into his thick black hair, smiling at the surprise on his face as she pulled it a bit, arching her body up and laying it firmly against his, pressing her warm lips to his ear and whispering huskily, "Promise me you won't worry about hurting me while you fuck me."
He was entirely unable to stifle the growl that began in his toes at her words.
When Story leaned back again to look up at him, she looked quite self-satisfied.
But finding herself suddenly flat on her back beneath him wiped a good portion of that bravado away, although she still didn't look frightened, even when he reached down to place his hands just above her breasts and rip her gown down the front. As he moved his hands towards the lovely, generous mounds he had just exposed, the gossamer material vanished into the air as if it had never been, leaving her vulnerable and naked beneath him.
When he spoke, his voice reverberated in her head like nothing she'd ever experienced as his hold on her shifted, his arm moving down her back as he held tight to him, his hand reaching down, over her bottom, fingers inserting themselves into her cleft and lifting her off the bed, such that she was forced to hang from his very intimate hold. "Be very careful what you ask for, my warrior princess. You may get more - much more - than you expected from me with an request like that," he warned fiercely.
She gathered every ounce of courage she owned, leaning forward to meet his eyes bravely and whispering, "I'm not afraid of you, Loki. I never have been, and I never will be."
Her strong, confident tone left no room for doubt.
"I want you. Please." Her eyes darted shyly away from his, then quickly back again as she breathed, "I ache for you . . ."
Another deep, dark, thundery growl, mixed with an almost keening sound, issued from his throat as he lowered her beneath him again. He indulged himself, reveling in the taste and touch of her, in that which he had spent hours fantasizing about but had never expected to actually be able to explore intimately, not for the first time, wishing he had her abilities in reading people's feelings.
As a result, while he wished he could spend the entire time kissing her, he left off - his passion buoyed by the way she tried to pull him back to her while moaning as if he had left her bereft of sensation - and began to nibble and lick and suckle the very enticing rest of her, ordering, as he pressed his lips to her delicate shoulder, "Tell me what you like - I can do or be anything you could imagine -"
He was surprised to see her frown. "No, Loki, I don't want tricks or magic from you, please." She made as if to move away from him, but his arm around her waist held her in place, and - ever acutely attuned to her - he saw her eyes flare for an instant when she realized that he wasn't going to allow her to get away from him. "I just want you - you don't have to be or do anything other than who you are."
His low, knowing chuckle had her shaking against him as he pressed his face to a straining nipple as she so prettily arched her back to offer it to him. "But you like a certain way I can be, I can tell. It was in your request of me, and it's plain on your face right now."
Story found her hands gathered uselessly in one of his big paws, then brought above her head, stretching her out beneath him.
"You, for all of your Midgardian education and professional success, wish to be made to submit, as you should to your God." She opened her mouth, but he merely raised an eyebrow, saying, "Ah ah ahhhh. I did not give you leave to speak, little one. I have no need for your words at the moment - your body will tell me what I need to know."
He arranged himself to one side of her, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, while Story writhed and tested his hold on her wrists, gazing up at them as if she couldn't quite believe that's where they were, or that she had lost control of them to him.
But when his spare hand laid bold claim to her lower belly, she started and her eyes went immediately to where his hand lay, fingers spread wide, easily spanning the width of her hips as he slowly dragged his palm down towards that beautiful mound.
And there, just slightly shy of its target, it stopped.
"Look at me, lovely," Loki commanded quietly.
After fidgeting for a moment, she did as she was told, still bold but somewhat apprehensive gray eyes meeting bright green, decidedly mischievous ones.
"In deference to your inherent weakness as a Midgardian female -" he began, having a hard time keeping his face straight when he heard her indignant snort at his characterization of her - Story didn't see herself as weak in any way, and he knew that fact better than most. But the bare truth was that she was quite delicate, regardless of how she liked to think of herself - especially as compared to him - and, as much as he also wanted to indulge in this fantasy - and make it more than that, hopefully, eventually - he also wanted her to know and feel that she was safe with him, which he felt would make her even freer to enjoy what was going to happen between them. " - I wish you to know that, if you should become frightened or if I should accidentally hurt you, that you may stop me at any time with but a word."
"A safe word," she supplied.
He'd not heard that term before, but it sounded apropos. "Yes. A safe word. And yours shall be 'gefa sik'."
She repeated it back to him. "That's two words, but ok. What does it mean?" she asked, not bothering to hide her suspicion.
Loki chuckled. She knew him too well already. "It's old Norse for 'surrender'."
It was Story's turn to growl at Loki, but that only made him chuckle harder - a brave kitten growling at a lion.
"I don't like it. Choose something else."
His eyebrow rose. "Instead of arguing with me, you should be grateful that I allow you to have one at all, slave."
Her indignation melted immediately and she couldn't suppress a kind of a mewling whimper, and Loki knew he was on the right track - for both of them. There was nothing he'd enjoy more than taming his fearless little savior.
"However, if you abuse it - if you use it to delay or avoid the punishments I, as your Master, decide upon - I shall retract it, and you shall be even more entirely dependant upon my less than tender mercies . . . " His head dipped to each nipple, suckling hard then nipping, just slightly, at the end.
Story was mortified to realize that, with him having intuited her interests with eerie accuracy, she was alarmingly close to her first orgasm - and he'd barely begun to touch her! She should have been annoyed at how quickly she'd gone from being his "warrior princess" to being his slave . . . but there was no way she could summon that indignation - not while her lady parts were so close to a culmination she was sure was going to kill her.
That was when she became excruciatingly aware of where his hand had left off, just above her mons, and of the fact that her legs were being widely parted, even though both of his hands were otherwise occupied and hers were still held captive.
Try as she might- and she did - she couldn't begin to close her legs against whatever forces were separating them. She couldn't even halt or somewhat slow the way they were being positioned, butterflied neatly, knees bent, held obscenely wide apart as his hand began its slow descent.
With her hands held, his imposing presence lying next to her, dwarfing her completely, and her legs incapacitated by invisible - hands? - somethings, Story tried to wiggle or fidget or shift her most intimate self out from under his touch, but found herself rendered alarmingly motionless, while his hand began to delve into her, discovering her most closely held secret as his long middle finger sought and found irrefutable evidence of her arousal, which made him chuckle, prompting Story to renew her efforts to escape, to no avail, of course.
"My dear, my fingers are fairly drowning in your tribute to me. Very good. This discovery pleases me greatly. I wonder what else I shall find in this lush trove of yours . . . " As those strong, inquisitive digits began to rove elsewhere, Loki leaned down to whisper near her ear, "No matter how you might fight me, no matter how your words might strive to deny it, your body will never fail to tell me the truth about how you feel, my slave."
It had been a while since he had played this game - and he'd never done so with anyone he loved. It was infinitely more intoxicating to do so, he was finding.
And because of that, he was perilously close to losing control, which was entirely unacceptable. He viciously clamped down on himself - with only a moderate amount of success he was horrified to realize - as he dragged his index, middle and ring fingers up from her opening, having come to the stark realization that penetrating her in any way at this point would undoubtedly compromise him, he instead surrounded a deliciously hard, distended bud, which he then began to stroke slowly, from the very bottom to the very top, then back again, never changing his rhythm, his majicks holding her fast as she began to try to unconsciously try to rock her hips up to meet his caresses, to adjust his rhythm to one of her own.
Story's head thrashed violently on the pillow. "Loki - Loki- I'm - I - "
He withdrew from her immediately, flipping her onto her stomach then lifting her hips back, so that she was folded over her knees, arms held outstretched in front of her by invisible bonds as he brought his hand down on her bottom fiercely, in a manner that was calculated to leave her wearing his entire hand print there for some time to come. "You assume permissions well above your station, slave. You have not - and will not - be given leave to say your God's name. You may address me as Lord or Master and nothing else. I'm afraid I'm going to have to teach you a verystrict lesson."
Story had been spanked before, but it was nothing like this. He wreaked havoc on her backside with just a few swats, and showed no signs of letting up - except to, occasionally, reach between legs he yanked mercilessly wide open to assess whether her arousal had abated because of his efforts, although he found - to his great delight - that the opposite was true.
When he did stop, she was breathless and on the verge of tears - and, she was ashamed to admit, using her safe word as the vicious throbbing in her bottom completely and utterly overwhelmed what had been the riotous demands of her lady bits only a few minutes ago.
"There." He sounded obscenely satisfied with himself. "A well punished slave is an obedient slave, right, my Story?" he asked, grasping a handful of her hair and using it to pull her head back so that she had to look at him.
She felt he was expecting some sort of response, and after a moment it came to her addled mind. "Yes, L -" she couldn't bring herself to call him "Lord". She just couldn't. "Yes, Master."
He loved the sound of that title from her lips, his cock bobbing blindly, as if seeking the source of his pleasure.
But he couldn't let her do that yet or this would be over in a humiliatingly few seconds. No, he was going to do this the old fashioned way, with scrupulous attention to her responses and her cries of ecstasy to guide him as to what she would most like him to do to her.
Since she was already on her knees, he moved behind her, kneeing her legs even further apart and settling his much bigger ones between hers, towering over her much smaller form even now. Two large hands reached for slim but gently rounded hips, which he pulled towards him until his cock nudged up against that which it sought the most.
"Now you will experience your true purpose, my dear. To satisfy your Master's lust within your delightfully small body," he threatened then proceeded to make good on it, seating himself inside her in one smooth, breathtaking advance that tore a combination scream and groan from Story's throat as she felt herself being more fully possessed than she ever had before in her life. It was as if he occupied not only her flesh but her mind as well, blotting out any thoughts but those of what he was doing - and what he was going to do - to her.
His withdrawal, seconds later - much, much too soon for her to have come to grips with how he was making her feel - only amplified her helpless vulnerability as he pulled all the way out of her, pressing the head back against her immediately, jerking his hips back and forth, teasing, threatening, promising that which she already knew was going to devastate her.
"No, please," she mewled, unsuccessfully trying to cringe away from him.
"Ahh, that was what I was waiting for," he almost snarled, slamming himself back into place, the tip of him nudging the end of her passage, making her gasp loudly, her soft moistness clenching at him spasmodically as she tried to come to some sort of physical and mental acceptance of his invasion, but there was none to be had.
He occupied her, completely and totally. He controlled her the same way - she couldn't move on her own - he moved her as he saw fit - in response to the way he began to plunge violently, hips thrusting powerfully, the helpless yet blissful sounds she was making unconsciously only serving to inflame him further.
But before he got to the point where he was in danger of losing himself to her and in her, one of the hands that had been holding her hips buried its fingers into her hair and pulled inexorably back, forcing her up onto just her knees as his relentless invasions continued to elicit guttural groans from her - but he wanted more from her.
Much, much more.
So he set about getting it, holding her still for his thrusts by her hair, her face turned to his, lips almost touching but not quite, so that their heavy breathing mingled and she couldn't help but notice the way his pupils were dilated and his lids sat at half mast over those beautiful eyes as if he was devoting all of his strength to fucking her and couldn't be bothered to keep them all the way open.
That free hand of his came up to cup her throat quite forcefully for a long moment, as he ground out, "Mine," in a tone so low she didn't recognize it as his, but then it found all of her that it could reach, her arms, the insides of her elbows, her palms, collarbones . . . to trail rough tipped fingers over nipples that had been crying out for his attentions since they'd met.
And they were not disappointed, although his ministrations left them only wanting more, throbbing and aching and stiff and swollen as he traveled on to even more interesting territory, laying claim to every inch of her in between until her still spread thighs began to tremble as he drew nearer and nearer to those moist folds.
He hadn't even reached her yet and she whispered, "Mmmmmmm . . . I - I'm going to cum!"
Loki yanked her hair sharply enough to startle her out of that spiraling cycle of ecstasy, growling, "You will do no such thing, slave, or I will flay your behind until sitting down comfortably becomes just a distant memory. You may cum when I say so and not a second before!"
Those fingers had arrived at their destination, and they didn't hesitate to claim it - fully, fitting themselves into her groove, opening her rudely for the heel of his hand to land directly atop her clit and slowly grinding there with a pressure that was so unbelievably right that he could tell that she was already very close again.
Perhaps it was her mindless begging that clued him in.
"Pleasepleasepleasepleasplease!"
Or how she tried to arch her hips against him.
Finally, his fingertips found the source of her pleasure as his hips began to jackhammer into her, petting and fondling her teasingly, rubbing hard only sometimes, driven to distraction by every single thing about how she responded to him and determined to do the same to her.
Just before he kissed her passionately, Loki whispered in a tone that should have seemed out of place considering how dominant he had been with her, "Cum for me, my darling, as I cum for you. Let us fly apart and cum together at the same time."
And that was exactly what they did.
When the tingling, tremulous feeling began to sizzle its way through her, when he mercilessly drove her beyond all semblance of civilization, she had no choice but to let go, to trust him to keep her safe, to let lose with a full throated scream that - despite its considerable volume and length still didn't come close to expressing how she felt - as if she was dying and then being reborn with each orgasm, and he was there with her for every bit of it, encouraging her, stroking her, praising her well past the point of his own heady resolution.
Eventually, she begged him to stop. "No more, please. I - I - can't. I just can't again."
Loki chuckled softly. "You can, but perhaps that would not be the best thing for you."
He let her go, but grabbed her up again in his arms when she nearly collapsed onto the bed on her face, unable to hold herself up, tucking them both under the covers and her to his side, stroking her hair and rubbing her back as he stared down at her anxiously.
She looked pale and fragile, and he worried he'd done something wrong.
"Are you all right?"
Story couldn't help but smile - wanly - at the concern in his voice, cupping his cheek in her hand with what little energy she had left. "I'm - I'm better than I've ever been in my life. Ever, ever, ever."
His broad, relieved smile was more of a reward than she expected.
"But utterly, completely, and totally exhausted - in a very good way."
"Then you shall sleep."
Story laughed. "By royal decree?"
Loki grinned at her unrepentantly. "I am a prince, after all . . . "
"Uh huh."
Although he knew she'd never thought of - or really treated him - as such, he nuzzled his lips to her temple, saying with a soft but nonetheless potent dominance, "And you are my slave, and so bound do to as I tell you." She squirmed in his arms, and he knew that, exhausted or not, that idea did the same thing to her as it did to him - he was, improbably, semi-hard already, but he would not impose himself on her again. She had already been terribly tired before this, and he would not put her health at risk just to slake his own desires.
So although he would have talked and made love with her all night, perhaps even confessing his love eventually, he instead remained quiet - preferring to reveal his true feelings when he was more certain of her response - stroking her back, combing her hair with his fingers, and pressing soft kisses to her face, feeling her relax - slowly - into him, however against her will it might be.
Story slept in his arms better, more completely, than she could ever remember having done so in her life.
And Loki had no more nightmares on that or any night during which he'd taken her.
It seemed that they had had the permanent cure for his nightmares all along.