"Dessy, you are cute and all, but I am a man and a man needs a real woman sometimes." Thor said tugging his shirt over his head. He had just returned from the tavern finding Desdemona curled in front of the fire reading, a sleeping Pumpkin at her feet.

She stared into his sly whoremongering reflection, the pain and humiliation evident before the man who had just fucked another only hours ago and was now about to dip into her as if none of it meant anything to him.

That night she sobbed beneath the pounding of Thor's body, tears streaming down her face, wishing it was Loki who extravasated deep in her womb instead of his brother. He hammered her as if trying to nail her to the mattress, grunting and snarling with feral passion. A passion she did not reciprocate. As soon as he fell limp, she fled into the washroom and viciously washed Thor and his acrid stench from her body.

Afterwards, she stood naked in front of the mirror scrolling her body. Her thighs were red, her nipples rubbed raw from the friction of his brutal pounding. Thor rarely kissed her and when he did he choked her with his tongue. She closed her eyes mentally conjuring what Loki's kiss would be like. He had treated her with tenderness. His passion had been soft and coaxing. She almost regretted pulling away from him this evening.

She opened her eyes to the reality of the world around her. Thor said a man had needs. Loki was also a man. Loki was no virgin. That was evident from his touch today. She wondered who he fucked and how he fucked them. Was he brutish like his brother, or was he as gentle as his hands had been?

She glanced back into the mirror; undeveloped breasts, a lack of curves, barely any hair on her little mound. She was not enough for Thor. He had made that clear. Would Loki think the same if he saw her in the flesh? She doubted it. Lust drifted from his gaze every time he peered upon her. He found beauty in her image where Thor does not.

Genevieve had been moaning with pleasure. The look on her face seemed euphoric. Thor did not do that for her. She had never thought sex could be mutual until today. Genevieve had enjoyed Thor just as much as he enjoyed her.

Desdemona hiked her leg up, exploring herself. She ran her hands over her nipples and down her abdomen, eyes closed, pretending it was Loki who roamed her. She had not touched herself since childhood, fearing angels were watching. Tonight she did not care. All she knew was that she wanted to feel what the servant had felt. Tantalizing her honey spot in fantasization of Loki, she whimpered almost bringing herself to climax, but stopped suddenly afraid of what her body might do. Would she cry out as Thor does? Would she flow with milk like him? Embarrassed, she dropped her leg and washed her hands. Genevieve was a whore. Only whores enjoyed such acts. This had been taught to her since becoming a teen. Sex was meant for bearing children, not pleasure. Anything else was a sin.

The next morning she shot out of the bed without a second glance at her snoring husband and sought out Loki. They rode deep into the wilderness to throw wishing stones into a mystical waterfall surrounded by a dark forest. Desdemona sat beside Loki on a huge boulder at the edge of falls, their reflection rippling with the tide. She dangled her feet into frosty rapids, head back, eyes closed, relishing the warmth of the sun upon her face. This was their secret time together, away from the kingdom where they could be themselves.

Loki watched her in silence. Sunbeams spilled between the spaces of the branches creating a halo about Desdemona befitting an angel. He reached down and plucked a water lily and tucked it behind her ear.

"Thank you. I feel lovely now."

"It is not the flower that compliments you, but you who compliments the flower."

Loki loved to watch her cheeks flame with bashful modesty. Breaking eye contact by batting her sooty lashes downward, she muttered. "You should not tease me so, Loki."

He nudged her playfully in the ribs. "I do not jest." He said as he drew his head toward hers in a playful gesture. She did not pull away, instead she tilted so that her forehead rested against his. They remained in silence, their breaths licking each other's.

Loki ran his hand up her spine and dug into her hair, massaging at the nape of her neck.

She withdrew her face and whispered. "Are we growing too close, Loki?"

Loki's smile faded, his eyes locking with hers. "How close is too close for you?"

"I want to be a good wife to Thor. I do not want to be a sinner."

He grinned. She was beautifully naive. Sunlight sparkling from the water captured her hair, shimmering against the gold. "You are an angel, Desdemona, and angels can do no wrong."

"It is wrong to care for a man who is not your husband."

She was like a motherless fawn, starved for affection, and he the wolf lulling her in. "What would be a sin is to betray your heart." He answered. He relished the warmth of her lips so close to his. The ache to taste them a physical pain.

She gazed deep into his opals. They were liquid blue, kindling like a flashing light.

Loki cupped her by the back of jaw, capturing her eyes long enough for her to read the lust sweltering within. He wanted her like no other. First, a gentle blush of his lips against hers as if teasing her. He pulled back, running his hands up her spine to the nape of her neck all the while gazing into her eyes, a faint reassuring smile etched upon his lips. Slanting her face, he kissed her softly, dropping to her bottom lip biting, sucking, and back up to her lips, slowly, erotically, precisely. His breathing subtle, in control as he peeked his tongue into her mouth, slipping back out and caressing her lips. She responded by the quickening of her breathing and stroking his shoulders and arms.

Running his hands up her back, seizing her hair, yanking her head back softly, exposing her throat to his mouth, lips, tongue, teeth. Not able to suppress her excitement, a moan escaped her throat. He could feel it escalating, just beneath her flesh pressed against his tongue. One hand moves to her chest. Her heart is racing. He could feel its pounding. Feathering a faint trail up her throat, he dips back inside her mouth. This time capturing her tongue, twirling it with his own.

She laces her fingers into his curls, gently closing her fist, capturing his strands at the nape of his neck, her other hand resting on his chest, her finger digging into his shirt to caress his bare flesh. Her actions, stimulating, intensifying his passion, reciprocating the strength of his kiss. Now his breathing intensifies, his jaw working, lips grinding as he captures her head pulling her closer to him, revealing his desires.

Fighting the urge to push her flat on the bed of moss, he breaks the kiss and their eyes lock. He says, "I want you to be mine. I should have pleaded for your hand the moment I saw you. If my father would not stand in my way, I would fight my brother for you and tear you from his clutches."

As much as the words pleased her, they hurt more. It was too much to bear. Gripping her dress to her knees, she leaped from the stone and headed for the horses. Battling a whirl of emotions, Desdemona dug her heels into her mare's ribs and fled away from her heart.