Mischief's Lover
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Heavy sensuality.
Prompt #3: Library
Her dark stranger was nowhere to be found. He was not in his bed, and when Gwen had pointedly asked the maid where their guest had gone off to, she had sweetly replied he was somewhere in the house, and oh, was he not ever so charming and dashing a figure as ever one saw?
Wonderful, so Loki had seduced the servants now as well.
He has not seduced me yet, she reminded herself. Nor will he, if you have any sense.
Determined not to think of him, or of the intoxicating dream, that contrary to what she had told Loki, she remembered all too well; she went to the dining room for her breakfast.
She was alone, as usual. Her father rarely left his room, for his health, and as she spooned kedgeree onto her plate, she was glad of it. Despite her resolve, her defiance, a fine tension had begun to take hold of her limbs, and she jumped at every little sound.
She barely touched her plate, before finally admitting defeat, and going to seek her guest once more. This time her steps led her to the library, and as she paused in the dusty old room, she remembered the book of Norse legends her father had brought back from his youthful travels, and sighed.
Well forewarned was forearmed, and her knowledge of Norse Gods beyond names as somewhat rusty. Decided, she went to the back of the room, pulling down a dustsheet to reveal the shelves that housed her father's more unconventional books.
Her fingers gripped the tome, easing it from its shelf. She wrinkled her nose as dust came down with it, wiping off her mint green morning gown irritably.
There was a chaise in front of the fireplace, and Gwen debated calling in a servant to light the fire, as the cold sank into her bones. She dispensed with the option a moment later; she did not want anyone witnessing her foolishness.
Opening the book to a well-read page, she settled down on the comfortable old chaise, and began to read.
She had forgotten how much she had loved the old myths. She was soon engrossed, too engrossed to notice when a fire slowly crackled into life in the grate, and a pair of emerald green eyes watched her amusedly from the doorway.
He knew exactly what she was reading, and why. He knew she had risen with the intent to confront him.
And he knew exactly how to turn it to his advantage.
His magic and strength had returned. He would need to return to Asgard but first, he would ensure that his Lady would be waiting for him when he returned.
A predatory smile lifted the corners of his lips, as he stepped forward to spring the trap.
Gwen jumped as hard fingers slid over her shoulder, albeit screened by her gown. She was thankful she'd picked one that was thoroughly demure and covered most of her skin, else…
Why was she even thinking such things?
She felt a huff of breath against her ear, warm, an amused chuckle. She stiffened, instantly knowing who was standing behind her, leaning over her.
"Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?" he asked cordially enough. Gwen retained her stiff posture and nodded.
"Perfectly," she hissed. "Utterly dreamless and peaceful."
"Indeed?" her tormentor's voice was knowingly amused. He saw through her charade. His hand reached for her book, and she was powerless to stop him. "What is this? A bit of light research?"
His emerald eyes scanned the text intently, as Gwen watched him narrowly over her shoulder, uneasy at how close their faces were.
"Obviously," she murmured, standing quickly. "Forewarned is forearmed after all. Tell me, though, did you truly lie with a stallion?"
Loki sighed, shaking his head. What was it with mortals and such odd fantasies? "No, I did not," he replied, shutting the book with a snap. "So I take it you have accepted my true identity?"
"I had little choice after your…intrusion last night," she muttered, turning to look down into the flames. Loki placed the book on the side table, and stepped up behind her. Her breath hitched as his hands curled over her shoulders, and he leaned into her, his lips at her ear.
"Ahh, so you do remember," he hissed. "And have you decided upon your answer?"
"That was a dream," she muttered. Frowning slightly, he lowered his hands, sliding them down over her arms, inwardly cursing the thick material of her gown that muted his touch.
Gwen felt it regardless. Good God, it made her spine melt and he was not even touching skin! Her resistance had melted away like ice next to a flame.
"Does this feel like a dream?" he asked roughly, brushing her lips over a spot beneath her ear. Her sharp intake of breath made him smile and do it again. "Where next shall I kiss you, sweetling? Here?" he breathed, trailing down to where her pulse beat frantically. His voice deepened, as his hands slid around her waist, then one slid further down, pressing against her abdomen through her corset and petticoats, and then down further, curving into the 'V' of her thighs. "Or here?"
She moved so quickly, he barely had time to blink. Her hand was raised, but he recognised the movement for the delaying tactic it was, and grabbed her wrist, pinning both of them behind her waist and pulling her into his arms. Her breasts heaved beneath demure collar of her gown.
"I am no whore!" she spat fiercely, and he shuddered.
"My sweetling, I thought we covered this," he purred, leaning in seductively. God help her. "The lovers of Gods are above such infantile notions as propriety and virtue. You want me, and you shall have me, lovely mortal…"
He bent his head to her ear, and she arched her neck back in an attempt to escape his words, his hold, but he just held her tighter, against his body. "Slowly, intimately, until you scream and sob my name, but only for the first time I take you to bed. The second time, you will feel the full force of what it means to be the lover of a God."
When he raised his head, he saw Gwen's lips were parted and she shook. Oh poor sweet girl! She was already longing for him, yet she knew not what she felt.
He would tutor her well.
"When you say yes," he murmured, leaning in against her until their lips brushed. "One word is all it will take and it will be yours. But I warn you now, if you agree, if you succumb, then I will be unrelenting in my possession. Once you are mine, you will be mine and mine alone, do you understand?"
"What are you saying?" she breathed.
"No man will touch you, kiss you, lie with you. I, and I alone, will have that right and privilege. You will belong to me," he told her, his eyes darkening with lust as his words affected not just her, but him as well. The thought of her, his forever….yes, he desired that but patience must come first.
"What is your answer?" he asked gently, leaning in, so achingly close to kissing her.
Gwen felt the compulsion, the pull, the irresistible seduction of his words sink into her soul and destroy her resolve. God help her, but she wanted him. She was twenty years old, not yet a spinster, but close. With her father's health so poor, it was likely she would never marry, never take a husband to her bed, and she ached to feel the touch of a man, the possession of a man.
"What of children?" she asked, his brow quirked amusedly.
"You will not conceive unless I will it," he told her softly. Some small measure of relief washed through her; she could have this, have him, without fear of consequences.
"Your answer?" he pressed, and she looked up into his eyes. Her pride would not let her answer, but her inner wildness would. She lunged upwards as far as his hold on her would allow, and kissed him.
Inexpertly, clumsily, but he soon retook control, caressing her lips with his. She felt the soft heat of his tongue against her lips, and opened them with a sigh, letting him in. He was gentle at first, his tongue sliding against hers in an intimate game that thrilled her, novice that she was. She soon learned to return the game, as his hands released hers to tighten around her waist and pull her in further, until she was pressed, head to toe, against him.
And what she could feel against her stomach both thrilled and frightened her.
She boldly slid her hands into his hair, her head whirling as lust awoke in her for the first time, her lips hungry for more with an untutored, fresh passion that allured Loki, even as she unknowingly shifted against his hips, her body craving more yet her mind still too untried to face it yet.
He forced back a groan, and decided to show her more, lure her in deeper. He framed her face between his hands, and kissed her fiercely, voraciously, sinking deeply into her mouth and claiming it, branding it his own.
She moaned, inwardly Loki smiled in triumph. It was but the first victory on a long road, but he savoured it regardless.
He broke the kiss, holding her tightly as she fought to recover her breath, one hand still buried in the hair at the nape of his neck.
"That was…" she trailed off, as if realising she had just spoken aloud. He laughed.
"I am called Silvertongue for a reason, my lady," he murmured. Her eyes flashed and she stretched up for more, but he restrained her. "No, my lady. Not until you give me your promise to be mine and mine alone. Do you give such a vow?"
Gwen could barely think, yet alone speak. She had no plans, and little prospects, to marry, and she trusted when Loki assured her she would be in no danger of falling pregnant. And his kiss…he had awoken something within her, and it would not be denied.
"I promise," she whispered, and triumph shone in his eyes. His head bent back to hers, and she eagerly met him again, wanting to learn more about this wondrous feeling he created in her.
Loki could not hold back his groan when she met his kiss, so full of fire, so eager. Oh yes, the inner Valkyrie he saw in her was rising to the fore. His body was already aching, urging him to forget his carefully laid plans and take her then and there, to lift her skirts and support her against the wall, or on the chaise before the fire-
Damn it all, he was not some barbarian Midgardian!
As if to underscore that point, he bent his head further over hers, reasserting dominance in the kiss, their tongues meeting and feasting hungrily. He permitted himself to touch her neck, to slide it down until it reached the zenith of the neckline of her bodice. She shuddered and clung closer to him.
Calling on his magic, he broke from her lips and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, then down further, tilting her head back as she began to writhe in his arms, and down until he found her pulse and laved it with his tongue. When she was lightly gasping in his arms, his grip around her waist tightened and he bit her skin lightly.
She gasped but did not fight him. He laved his mark on her neck, imbuing it with magic, so it would be visible only to them, and it would pulse if ever she was in danger, or if someone were to get inappropriately close to what as his, and he would know.
So would she. The mark of his ownership stood out starkly against her porcelain skin when he raised his head, and she raised a trembling hand to it, feeling the heat against her fingertips. His gaze was harsh and unyielding when she met it.
"Now you are mine," he told her warningly. "That mark will not let you forget it."
Gwen wasn't sure if she should feel afraid, angered or enflamed by his autocratic pronouncement. She was still puzzling over the appropriate reaction, when his gaze softened, and he leant in to just brush her lips with his. Instinctively, she tracked them, and he smiled at her reaction.
"I must depart," he murmured. "Thank you for your hospitality and your acceptance of my offer, my lady. I will be with you again shortly."
Gwen moved back of her own accord, and a frosty shield descended over her impassioned features. "Good day to you, my Prince, and safe journey," she muttered coolly. Inwardly laughing at her show of haughtiness, he stepped close and snagged her wrist, pressing a kiss to the inner face, and relished her shudder.
"My lady?"
Gwen turned in a panic, as a maid walked in. She felt a shimmer of heat against her back, and when she turned to look, Loki was gone.