There was something delightful about her bravado, Loki thought. She truly didn't seem to fear him, and that alone was worth following simply because it was unusual. Loki was well-aware of his own lust, of how both the lingering glamour of the Torden Stein and his own persistent desire for his fair Sigyn had him on edge at the moment, but this little game . . . this held his attention.
If what she said was true—and her quick freedom from the muzzle seemed to prove it—then his bride indeed had noble blood in her veins, and that changed matters very much.
He looked up at her, waiting, noting the brightness of her eyes and savoring the warmth of her thighs around his shoulder. Loki waited, wondering what her next move would be, and hoping it would bring them closer to the bed. Already the scent of her whetted his appetite, and Loki chafed, wanting to scoop her up and have his way with her.
But this game . . . her confidence and seductive voice; the tiny moments of sweet pain . . . Loki found himself engrossed by these unexpected turns. He tightened his teeth on the silk between them and waited.
"On the bed with you," Cynara purred at him unwinding the strap from his wrist, and Loki fought a smile. Clearly the stone was influencing her as well; probably more so, given how long she'd been exposed to it. He twisted, slipping his shoulder from her thighs and rose obediently, moving to the edge of the mattress and looking back at her, waiting for a further direction.
It came. "Hands and knees, my prince. No secrets from me."
This was interesting. Loki did as directed, aware of his vulnerability now. The position left him rather more exposed than he felt comfortable with, and he toyed with the idea of resisting when he felt her hand touch his flank, stroking down his hip and curling around one cheek of his ass. Her fingers were warm, her touch far too light; almost skittish against his skin. Loki fought a shiver.
He tried to think, but now her nails were scraping little patterns, breaking his concentration. Loki held still, finding himself waiting for the next of her touches, trying to figure out what she was going to do.
"How very gifted you are, my pet," she murmured, and he felt her fingers trail along the inside of one thigh to caress his balls. Loki flinched, but she was quicker, and hooked the fingers of her other hand into the muzzle, yanking it hard. "Now, now—no need to be afraid, not with stones the size of yours. So large and full, yes?"
He shot her a sidelong glance, irritated and yet flattered; not sure if he still wanted this to go on much longer, but when her hand slid up along his thick shaft Loki found himself fighting a groan muffled by the wet silk between his teeth. This, yes—his beloved's touch, so firm and perfect . . . Her hand encircled as much of him as it could, squeezing lightly, and the pleasure made him throb against her palm.
"Stall-i-on," he heard her murmur playfully. "I know you've been a mare once, but with a cock like this . . ."
Loki rocked himself against her fingers, eager for more of her touch, wanting much more of it, yes—
Disappointingly she let her hand move from his prick to glide up his belly, and he groaned against his will, the sound muffled against the silk. The tease was going too far now; it was time to re-assert who truly was in charge. He tried to turn, but a silver stab of pain flared through one nipple as his bride caught one in her nails and pinched it. HARD.
Loki growled, or tried to, flinching, but just as quickly she reached down and stroked his shaft again, a long slow caress that sent hot ripples of pleasure up his belly. She kept stroking him and Loki shuddered.
She was good, he dimly realized. Much more cunning than he would have thought, the vixen, and his grudging admiration rose higher along with his prick. Pain and pleasure, doled out in unexpected increments, a balancing act designed to keep her footing sure and his uncertain.
When she climbed onto the mattress herself, Loki tried to shift, but her fingers still hooked in the gag just at the point along his cheek stopped him. His bride looked hungry indeed, and in this light her skin gleamed.
With desire, he hoped as she slithered under him, lying supine and smiling up into his face.
Was she ceding control to him, Loki wondered. Such a subservient position, surely a mistake. He could take her at any time now with no trouble—But before Loki could do anything, he felt her hands reach down between their bodies and toy with his prick again, drawing it up to lay against her belly, the heat of her skin making him throb.
She pulled him down, taking his weight on her, legs tightly together and Loki realized his bride's little game. His cock was trapped; sandwiched between their two bellies.
"Heat and cold," she crooned to him, her hair wild across the sheets, her smile dark. "You burn for me, prince, and I remain so cold and cruel to your hunger. That silver tongue does you no good behind a muzzle; all you have are those compelling eyes of yours and a prick that every male envies." She added teasingly, "even your brother does!"
Loki growled, rocking himself against her velvet belly as a slippery puddle leaked from his shaft, wetting the rub between them. The warmth and pressure made him stiffen further, and he could smell his Sigyn's desire, that perfume of salt and peach that lay on her glowing skin.
She couldn't stop him now, he gloated. His was the greater strength and weight; she was under him now and for all her seductive words, HE could take this pleasure. It was a shame he couldn't kiss her, but . . .
His bride lifted her head and bit him. BIT his neck, her teeth nipping hard while she raked her nails on his ass! Loki bellowed against the silk, and what little control he had vanished under this combined assault, the unexpected pain driving his glittering climax forward in hard animal thrusts of blind, overpowering pleasure as his seed sprayed thick and hot on their bellies, smearing between them, wet and steaming.
He slumped on her, nostrils flaring, mind blank as his body shuddered in the last of his lust dribbled down the bones of her hips, and Loki lay quietly on his bride, stunned. No thoughts came to mind, nothing coherent at all except the most basic sensory feedback and an overwhelming sense of release.
Odd and quiet freedom.
After a long while, one hand stroked his hair, the other moved to untie the muzzle, pulling it from his slack mouth. "Mmmmmm. Did I ever tell you about the research paper I did for my psychology of sex class back in college? Sixty pages about paraphilias, including narratophilia and algolagnia, not that you care right now. You're a god, Husband and I respect that, I do—but I'm not without powers of my own."
He lifted his head and looked at her. His bride's hair was as wild and frizzy as ever, her smile sweet, but her brown eyes held a hint of ruby in their depths. Loki knew that tint, had seen it in his own.
"Now kiss me," she whispered to him, "and sleep. Your turn is next."
He took a deep breath, aware of the tangled mess the two of them made in the here and now, the stickiness and smell, the aftermath of the physical world so far from the strange place they'd just shared mentally.
"My queen," Loki replied, his smile against her mouth. "Rest. You are going to need it."