He commanded attention as soon as he entered the room. He had abandoned his horns and the more intimidating portions of his attire, and wore only that scarf she knew so well and `a simple leather jacket, the same pure, undiluted black as his hair and his neatly donned pants. Florence Porter sat up straighter in her seat, and cast down her lashes. His picture had not done him justice.
"Are you the man?" she said softly, as if she didn't know. There was no man who could impersonate that, no man who could be so arrogant and yet so polite… He smiled, and the movement made his squared, sensitive face momentarily animated, losing that haughty, British chill.
"Yes, I am. You must be Miss Porter."
Porter. Miss Porter. The name seemed, on paper, cool and informal, yet in his quiet, velvet voice it seemed incredibly intimate. She shivered.
"I am. You-you saw my advertisement?" pointing breathlessly to the yellowed paper tossed casually to the side of the dull wooden table. He glanced at it, and then his eyes went back to her—feline green eyes, impish and yet cooly wicked.
"Yes, I saw your advertisement, Miss Porter. 'Young blonde woman seeking excitement. Well-read and enjoys men of unusual tastes.' Very charming. Miss Porter, I do not know what else you think of me, but I am a man of unusual tastes, particularly in matters of great—" he leant forward, and stared straight into her eyes, eliciting a sharp inhale. "Intimacy."
And he laughed when she, despite the boldness of her advertisement and the erectness of her carriage, looked away and blushed deeply.
"May I call you Florence?" he asked, and touched her hand. Florence straightened, and her eyes widened enormously. Big, blue eyes, as playful as they were innocent…
"Certainly," she said, her voice barely audible. "What may I call you?"
His mouth twisted again, but this time the smile was rather hard and cold. "You may call me Loki, Miss Porter. I assume you would find Fallen Prince of the Asgardians too unwieldy a title for an evening in bed."
An evening in bed—the phrase deepened her blush, and made the most wildly improper thoughts race through her head…an evening in bed with Loki…
"Very well," she said, softly. "Loki, then."
He nodded, and his smile became a little wicked, almost teasing.
"I do not know how you, humans, make love, Florence, or rather—I know, but I do not know all of your little amorous diversions done beforehand—I believe you call it foreplay. We Frost Giants see the act of making love as almost a quest—a quest for dominance."
The word "dominance" had left her speechless; with a madly racing heart she nodded quickly, and prayed he couldn't see how the idea excited her.
"I-I see," she squeaked, and caught her breath when he took her hand and walked with her into the modest inn room, shutting the door noiselessly and turning to smirk at her. He looked rather like a young boy about to pull off a particularly noisome prank.
"Let the evening begin," he said, and, with an almost roguish expression, unbuttoned the clasps of her soft, innocent cotton blouse.
"You must forgive me, Florence, if I seem a little forward," he said, not really apologizing at all. "You see, I have never made love on earth before."
And he punctuated his statement by placing her on the bed, and, as she stared up at him wordlessly, took one of her hands and placed it on the zipper of his jacket; taking the hint, she pulled it, and, to her delighted consternation, found he wore no shirt beneath it…
"Extraneous garments would be useless, I thought," he said, with another mischievous little grin. "Yes," she breathed. "I agree."
In reply, he took her face by the tips of his fingers and, staring hard at her for several moments, pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her firmly, almost as if trying to seem rough and heartless, yet she could feel the sensitive lines of his mouth…
Her arms went around his neck, and she didn't notice when he lay her down and both hands slipped beneath the waistband of her skirt, sliding it down—all the breath was knocked mercilessly from her body.
"Oh, God…Loki…."
He laughed again, and his hands clamped around her thighs, pulling them onto his hips. Without thinking, she pulled him down, and her heart stopped beating at the low groan that escaped him…
"Florence, gods almighty," he murmured, as her hands laced into that long black hair…
He was without any sort of clothing now, and her eyes widened as she stared over it, marveling silently…and then she caught the blatant appreciation in his, and felt every part of her body light on fire.
His mouth wandered, wickedly, over her, bringing out a little, mortifying cry—and then, suddenly, with his breath coming hard and his hair disheveled, he smiled at her, and his eyes were alight.
"I-I quite approve," he breathed, as his gaze roved over for the millionth time, eliciting another maddening blush. "The Earthly customs of lovemaking…they are very exciting."
"I'm glad you enjoy it," she whispered, mindlessly. "P-perhaps…perhaps we could do it again sometime…"
"Yes, another evening in bed…" he mused, into her neck. "Yes, I believe that would be for the best, Miss Porter."
"Florence," she corrected breathily, pulling herself closer to the hardness of his body. He nodded. "Remember…you call me Florence…"
"Yes, right," he said, as his mouth moved along her jawline. "Florence. An evening in bed with Florence…"
He seemed to think about it for a moment, his eyes on fire and a gorgeous flush on his usually pale, sharply defined face…then, abruptly, that devastating, inhuman grin lit up his face, and he ran his fingers along her cheek, unusually tender for just a moment. She tried not to close her eyes in pleasure, wanting to stare up at him for as long as possible…
"An evening in bed with the beautiful Florence," he said, sounding decided. "Yes, I believe that could very easily happen again."