You had finally gotten Lily into bed – after a bit of an overtired meltdown. It had been days since either of you had seen Loki, and although you'd tried to explain his absence to her – all the while kind of wishing you could have a tantrum about it yourself, you realized with a start, even though you understood that he was off doing good deeds with the Avengers and was unable to be there – she just wouldn't accept it, finally falling asleep still sobbing his name pitifully.
Determined to bring your unusually raging hormones under control, you grab a shower, realizing as soon as the soap was in your hand that that probably wasn't a good idea – the moment you felt the slickness of your hands on your own body, they brought back vivid, sensual memories of how his hands had felt in their place and only left you more restless and longing for him even more than when you'd started.
Scrunching under the covers of your lonely single bed, your body throbs in a way that lets you know that you're not likely to get any sleep this evening if you're not going to address its needs first.
As soon as you admit that to yourself as you reach for the lube you keep in the nightstand drawer, memories of your first time together – in particular - flood through your all too eager brain . . .
Lying on your back in his bed, you were still under the effects of that dessert, which you really didn't even need, as well as his very potent kisses, your body one big, sensitive, impatient nerve that would have you begging him to touch you if you allowed it.
But when those terribly nimble big fingers reach for the delicate row of buttons that paraded down the front of the dress he's made for you, marching quickly down them until they're open all the way to the hem, your mind comes rapidly to the forefront – blowing past all of his compliments and the powerful aphrodisiac of the dessert and his hungry looks – all at once and for the first time in quite a while. And that is not a good thing, bringing with it all of your worries and concerns and feelings of inadequacy and insecurity, making you doubt every wonderful thing he's ever said about you to the point that you grab his hand, holding it tightly in your suddenly cold, clammy ones – both indications of the depth of nervousness you've managed to achieve in such a short time.
Loki looked up at you questioningly, hands rubbing gently up and down your arms, raising even more goose flesh wherever he touches you. "Are you alright, my darling?"
Desperate to give him a reason to leave his bed that he might accept easily, so as not to completely break down in front of him, you sit up suddenly, fibbing, "I need to use the facilities, please."
His expression a bit worried, Loki nonetheless moved to let you go.
You notice as you're leaving that your dress is gaping open, showing off not only the decrepit state of your underthings – having no money to go out and buy new ones for just this potential situation - but also a fair amount of flesh you'd prefer not to put on display – which is your motivation for leaving him at such an inopportune time - grabbing the blanket off the bed to cover yourself as you hurry away from him.
In the bathroom, you don't bother to lock the door, knowing that it would be a useless gesture anyway, and it might arouse his suspicions. You turn on the faucet, sit down on the toilet, put your head in your hands and just sob, as quietly as you can, while your mind continues to diligently work on sabotaging any inroads he might have made – or that you might have made yourself – towards you feeling better about how you look.
As well as the absurd idea that you might, somehow, maybe, even be a fit lover for someone like him.
But, realistically, how could you possibly even be here – with him out there, expecting you to make love with him – to allow yourself to be naked in front of him? What kind of a fantasy world were you living in? He was a God. You are an emotionally damaged and so-physically-imperfect-as-to-be-ridiculous human – a mutt, with no breeding or background of any kind whatsoever.
The bottom line was, that you couldn't begin to fathom the actuality of allowing him to see you completely naked. It just . . . could not be done. It was bad enough that he'd inadvertently seen your butt. You wouldn't be able to live through the shame of him seeing the shape you're in – or rather not in. Maybe in a few years, when you've lost weigh and hit the gym you'd be a bit more acceptable . . . but even then, so not.
Besides, he deserved better – much better - than you, on so many levels . . .
"My love? Are you all right?" You can hear the genuine concern in his voice, and, somehow, you know without seeing it that he's standing directly on the other side of the door, his hand lying on it as gently as if he was touching you instead. And you also know that as soon as you answer him, he'll be able to tell that you've been crying.
"I – I -" you fight back sobs. "I'm sorry, Loki. You're so w-wonderful and sweet and g-generous and kind to me, but I don't . . . I don't think I can do this."
You don't hear an exasperated sigh or any other sign of him being done with you and your neuroses – as you might have expected from your previous mate. You don't hear anything, until he says quietly but firmly, "Dearest, I'm going to open the door now."
You barely have time to grab for the blanket, which has ended up on the floor, before he does. You're clutching it to you, up under your chin as the door swings open, feeling a little better because you know that he can't see anything of what he would certainly consider to be your repugnant ugliness.
To your surprise, he doesn't rush in to hold you. In fact, he actually backs up a couple of paces, then holds his hand out. "Come to me, please."
By his tone – and despite the nicety of the "please", you know that it's not really a request. It's an order. Gently given, but an order none the less.
Still, you're not at all sure you can – or even should – obey him.
But your body apparently knows its master and has no such reservations, since your traitor feet are already making their way – however hesitantly - towards him, although your hand is not out to his – it – along with your other hand – is too busy trying to make sure that every bit of yourself remains covered – especially since, you note with no small amount of trepidation, that your dress – and everything else you used to be wearing - seems to have deserted you entirely at some point, and you are well and truly naked behind it.
You glare up at him, but his calm expression doesn't change, even though he has to have been the reason you lost that small defense against him.
When you are standing a few steps away from him, you stop, growling angrily, "Loki, I want my clothes back!"
He looks truly remorseful as he says, "I'm sorry, lovely. I made it for you to wear while we were out. But now it will just get in the way, so I removed it."
You want to continue to be livid at that, to take him to task for being so high-handed, but then he does something you never expected in a million years.
He sinks – oh-so-gracefully, of course – to his knees before you, gazing up at you with unadulterated adoration in his eyes – then leaning over to move the blanket away from where it has pooled on your feet, pressing butterfly kisses to the area he has just revealed, and repeating that process as he gathers more and more of the material into his hands – addressing your ankles and calves in the same way, licking his way up to your knees – giving the same treatment to the very sensitive area behind them, too – making your breath catch in your throat, despite how nervous and uncomfortable you're still feeling about what was happening.
Then he leans back a little, locking his eyes with yours as he keeps a hold of the bottom of the blanket, beginning to tug at it slowly, and no matter how desperately you clutch at it, you can't seem to clench your fists tight enough to retain it.
You are forced to slowly relinquish the blanket inch by inch, thus revealing yourself – with all of your horrible, completely unacceptable imperfections – to him; each miniscule loss of cover eliciting tiny mewls of distress from the back of your throat that cause him to whisper, "Shh, shh, shh," in an attempt to soothe you. And what he's doing to you is also happening to him, so he is revealed to you, too; his suit dissolving bit by bit, until the blanket falls completely out of your hands, and you stand before him – and he kneels before you – completely naked.
You try to bend down to snatch the blanket out of his hands, but it disappears before you can get to it, and he commands quietly, "No, my darling. There is no need for you to hide yourself from me."
Although it helped that he had kept his eyes scrupulously on yours throughout, your hands automatically try to replace the blanket in strategic areas – with absolutely no success, and you're really only making things worse, you realize, but you can't seem to control the need to shield some of you – any of you that you could manage - from him.
His voice is low and strangely comforting as he reaches out to move your hands away, prying them from your body carefully but inexorably, until he is holding them at your sides, but still looking only into your eyes.
"I know that this is very hard for you, my darling, because I have my own misgivings about how I look."
Your eyebrows practically find your hairline at that. "That's ridiculous! You're gorgeous!"
He blushes, then says with a small smile, "I flatter myself to think that you see me that way because you are looking at me through the eyes of love. But the truth is that I am tall and thin and pale, and nowhere near as pleasing to look at as my brother is – at least, that seemed to be the prevailing judgment of most of the young females on Asgard, especially as we were growing up. I am not as well muscled as he is, my shoulders are not as wide as his, and I do not possess his strength, nor will I inherit Asgard."
"But you're smart and you're very skilled with knives and you have your magic. I'd take you over him every time," you said, trying to bolster him as he so often did for you, and knowing in your heart the absolute truth of what you'd said.
Another somehow beautiful blush – as opposed to what you know are you own blotchy, ruddy red ones. "I am, indeed, glad to hear that, Princess."
You see his eyes beginning to wander down your body, and you automatically tense and try to cringe away from him, but he won't allow it. Even from a kneeling position, he is so big and strong that he can still control you completely.
"No, sweetheart, do not shy away from my eyes. I want to feast on you this first time I'm seeing your beauty so stunningly revealed. The mere sight of you is almost enough to bring me to satisfaction this very moment, against my will."
Although you listen and look for signs of mocking in his tone and expression, you find absolutely none – just open, honest reverence. But still, the tears are back with a vengeance as you can feel him looking at parts of you that you can't stand to know he's seeing.
"No, you can't possibly mean that!"
He looked up at you again. "You doubt my word when you can see the obvious evidence of my weeping arousal before you?"
Discounting that out of hand, you sobbingly admit to him the basis of your feelings. "Brian . . . he didn't want me while I was pregnant. He said I was an ugly, fat hippo – I turned him off completely, and he kept calling me that afterwards, too – making sure I knew that it was my fault that he didn't want me anymore, because I hadn't been able to lose the baby weight. But I was spending all of my time in the hospital with Lily and eating badly from the stress – and he didn't like that breasts were always full of milk for her, and they leaked sometimes, and, afterwards, my stomach was still all stretched out – oooh!"
Loki interrupts your anxious babbling by simply leaning forward and burying his face in the soft flesh of your belly, kissing it, as well as the unsightly, silvery stretch marks on either side of your navel, keeping you still when you would have wrenched yourself violently away from him, letting your hands go to your sides but not allowing you to move them anyway as he placed his own on your tummy with infinite gentleness, as if you were pregnant now with his child instead, whispering huskily, his words filled with awe, "This is where our Lily grew. How could I think less of you – of the changes to your body – that resulted in the miracle that is that darling girl? My darling girl," he corrected. "She is beautiful, but you are even more so to me, in no small part because of what you had to go through to have her, to say nothing of afterwards. I wish I had been there to support you and cosset and spoil you through your pregnancy, and especially when things were bad with Lily, when you needed it the most." Then he caught your eyes again. "There is truly no part of you that I could ever think of as ugly, my love."
"But you are so perfect! You're gorgeous! You're a billion on a scale of 1 – 10. I'm –" you were smart enough to stop before you got yourself into trouble. " - not, " you finished lamely.
"Despite your flattery, I am most certainly not, and for far more serious reasons than I admitted to you previously." His eyes darted from yours, then back again, and he seemed almost nervous about what he was going to say. "I am a true monster. I am hideous. There are parts of me you have not seen, that you might never see because I am so deeply ashamed of them."
You are intrigued and wanted to pursue that topic, but he is on to you, as usual, recognizing that you're using your curiosity about what he'd just revealed about himself to deflect attention from yourself.
"So you are not the only one who feels insecure about your looks. But you – you have nothing to worry about. As you can clearly see –" he gestures towards his rampant erection, beneath which is a small dark stain of his pre-cum on the carpet, " - I adore every single inch of you – some inches more than others . . ." He winks slyly, rising to stand before you, curving an arm around you and slowly but insistently taking you with him as he turned towards the bed. "Come. Let imperfect me love imperfect you before I lose the thin threat of my control completely and unman myself in front of you. I will take care of you and everything else. I don't want you to think of anything but what is happening between us, what I am doing to your delicious body, and you are not to listen to anyone – especially yourself – but me. All you are allowed to do is concentrate on how you feel, although I do charge you with telling me if anything I do is not to your liking."
In a single, elegant movement, he tucked you beneath him as he guides you onto the bed, ignoring your reluctance and immediately latching onto a nipple that instantly began to ache and swell within the warm, wet cavern of his mouth and under the tender lash of his tongue, causing all of those sensual emotions you'd pushed aside in favor of concentrating on your insecurities came roaring back, the strength of which had you groaning and arching up uncontrollably, offering him even more of yourself as you began to pant loudly from his efforts.
Alone in your room as you remember this scene in your head, your fingers crept to your own nipples, using them to mimic how he had suckled at you so avidly that night, cupping your breasts and squeezing them as he had as he nibbled at those taut tips with the edges of his teeth to make you squeal . . .
It was as if he had hypnotized you or something – or perhaps you had actually allowed yourself to do as he'd asked, but there were no further instances of your rampant insecurities taking you over.
All you could think about was him, your body more alive under his knowing touch and loving – but hungry - gaze than it had ever been.
You had never felt worshipped before, but Loki's attitude and actions left no room for doubt that that was exactly what he was doing to you.
Not wanting this to be one-sided, though, your hands crept up to cup his face as he kissed you. He immediately turned his head to press his nose into the palm of your right hand, kissing the center and holding it against him as his eyes drifted slowly, blissfully shut.
But then those long fingers encircled your wrist, his others finding its mate and bringing them together in one hand, then drawing the both of them over your head as you struggled futiley to reclaim them.
You figured he'd magic them there so that you couldn't move them, but you were wrong.
He wasn't going to make it that easy for you, holding them there as he spoke, his deliberate words stoking the fires of lust that already raged within you.
"As much as I adore your touch – and I do – and I wish you to feel completely at ease with touching me any time – and," his tone lowered an octave or so for the next word, "anywhere, I was not exaggerating the fact that I am extremely . .. susceptible to your charms, and your hands on me would surely lead to me finding my own ecstasy in a humiliatingly short amount of time. But I do not wish mine to precede yours. So you must keep your hands above your head, my dear, or I will flip you over onto your tummy and thrash that pretty, plump bottom of yours."
Just about everything he said had you blushing furiously, especially the bit about your behind and what he planned to do to it if you disobeyed him.
But you found yourself desperately wanting to touch him, to say nothing of the fact that you were sure that there were going to be times ahead that you might want to stop him or move his hand, and you told him as much.
"Later, when we have had more time together, I will allow you free reign to touch me when we lay together, for that is something I crave very deeply, too." Then he gave you one of those terribly dominant looks. "But as to your latter concerns, I do not want you to stop me or move my hand, not that you'd be able to do either, anyway, you realize. You may ask me to do so, and I might comply with your wishes." A mischievous grin spread across his face. "But then again, I may well not."
You whimpered at that pronouncement as he leaned back, on his side next to you, one big hand lying between breasts that were begging for his more of his attentions, tips hard and hot and swollen, still damp from his mouth.
Then he began to draw it down the center of your body, his eyes moving from yours to where his hand was and back again frequently, keeping a close eye on your reactions and, as his hand passed over your stomach and it's looser skin, you began to struggle, wanting to dislodge his hand, but he successfully diverted your attention by taking an impudent nipple into his mouth.
You immediately forgot to worry about him touching an area that you wished he wouldn't in favor of drowning in the almost violent sensations it seemed only he could bring to you.
Bold fingertips brushed along your lower belly, just above the sparse patch of hair.
"Sorry," you whispered, embarrassed.
"About what, angel?" He gave you quizzical look.
"Not doing some neatening for you down there. I wanted to but I couldn't afford it."
Loki dropped a kiss directly onto that soft thicket. "You need not change yourself so on my account, nor will I have you spending money you do have to make yourself appealing to me when you are already everything I could ever want in a woman."
"Loki, stop!"
With a barely there smile, he stated boldly, "I adore the sound of my name on your lips, but I know I shall love it even more when you are screaming it in ecstasy."
His fingers followed that natural triangle to its apex, but your legs remained closed, silently denying him access to your most private places.
Rather than force the issue, Loki ran his fingers lazily up the seam that your clenched legs created, painting your skin with his fingertips, massaging you slowly, and relaxing you almost against your will and causing you to move your legs naturally, restlessly as he touched you, not making any demands but simply enjoying your body, murmuring about the softness of your skin as your nipples tightened further the longer he dallied.
Eventually, you forgot to keep your legs closed, and his hand sought access to your secret places again, claiming them in a lazy, almost casual manner before you had a chance to realize or worry about what he was doing.
"Loki – no," you groaned, and a hand automatically drifted down of its own accord. You didn't even try to pull him away from you; you simply wrapped your fingers as far as they would go around his muscled forearm.
Almost regretfully, Loki murmured, "Ah, my darling, you have disobeyed me. What did I say I would do if you didn't keep your hands above your head?"
You released him immediately, knowing it was already too late, knowing that even if your hand had only ever made a millimeter past your hairline, he would have known, and the result would have been the same for you.
You're so nervous – and embarrassed, for some reason, and more than a bit excited, if you're willing to admit it to yourself - that you can't quite say the words.
"Answer me, beauty," he scolds mildly.
"You - " Your voice is so hoarse you barely recognize it, barely above a whisper. "You said – that you -" your lip is nearly bitten through as his eyes settle on you heavily, but offering no assistance whatsoever. "You'd flip me – me over and - " even more softly, "spank me."
As you said the words – finally – he put you into the exact position he'd said he would, and you found you couldn't move from it no matter how hard you tried.
"That's not quite what I said, is it?" he quizzed pointedly, a big hand lying over the crests of your exposed backside.
You're blushing so hard you think you might faint. He wasn't going to make you say those exact words, was he?
But apparently he was, and you certainly didn't want to press your luck about how long he'd wait to hear them, either.
"When I ask you to tell me what I said, Princess, I expect you to do so without any selective editing. I shan't spank you for that tonight, but remember it in future, as I will not continue to be quite so forgiving. What – exactly – did I tell you was going to happen to you if you were disobedient?"
Good grief, he was going to kill you with this! He knew the perfect things to say to make you drip onto the sheets beneath you, and he did it in the sexiest voice you'd ever heard, one that had you shivering - and not with cold.
Closing your eyes and scrunching up your face, you said it all quickly, like ripping off a band aid. "You said that you were going to flip me over and thrash my pretty, plump bottom."
As you enunciated the last word, his hand rose above you and you could feel the cool air in place of it, until it came down, and the spanking began.
And that was the last time for a while that your bottom was going to feel cool.
It was at least as bad as the one he'd given you before – shorter, but harder – and you could do nothing to negate the swats as they landed, either, not for lack of trying. You kicked up, once, hitting his hand and interrupting the smack he was delivering.
He didn't get angry at you or yell or anything. He simply put your leg down again. Of course, you went to raise it again – as he lifted his arm again – but you couldn't move it, or its neighbor.
It seemed to go on forever, every inch of your behind feeing the searing scourge of the flat of his palm.
Suddenly, you were on your back again, sore butt resting as gingerly as you could make it on the sheets, his hand – the same one with which he had spanked you – finding its way between your legs again, and this time you dared not reach down for any reason.
"Open your legs more for me, dearest," he whispered against the side of your face.
You whimpered, but did as you were told, and he claimed you fully the moment you did. You could feel those long fingers covering all of you, the heel of his palm resting somewhere near the top of your lips – much too close to your clit for comfort - and you contracted once – hard – just at the thought of what he was doing to you.
But when he began to follow the path of your swollen lips up and down, pressing his middle finger past those two puffy folds, you couldn't help but jump a bit.
With his other hand, he began to brush the hair back from your face. "Try to relax, my darling. Remember that all I want to do – more than anything I've ever wanted to do in my life - is pleasure you. I want to learn what makes you wild, what gets you wet, what will make you beg me for release . . . "
You know that his finger has already been bathed in your wetness, and that fact has already caused a broad, self-satisfied smile to bloom on his lips.
"I think we can safely say – based on this evidence as well as how you reacted to your first punishment – that being spanked is definitely one of the things that makes you wet."
Your entire turned scarlet with embarrassment at that pronouncement, but you could hardly dispute it when he literally wore the evidence against you – in both cases.
Then he brought that very wet finger to his lips, licking it very diligently, deliberately clean as you watched, mesmerized by something you knew you ought to be looking away from, but you couldn't.
And not because of his magic, either.
It was his total, unselfconscious, unapologetic commitment to pleasure, to enjoyment at pretty much any cost, that kept you watching him indulging himself in a way that he must've known you'd find outrageous – especially because the loud noises and groans he made as he licked himself clean of your juices made it sound as if they were pure ambrosia.
"In a few minutes, I intend to taste you even more fully, although it will sorely test the strength of my will to do so." He replaced his fingers right where they had been, this time invading you more completely, allowing his middle finger to – very gently – slip inside you as he watched you like a hawk.
Your breathing is already ragged, but it becomes worse as a series of whimpers and mewls struggle out of your throat while you find yourself slowly but thoroughly occupied by him. Loki groaned when he had taken as much of you as he could. Although he had seen for himself the undisputed evidence of your pregnancy, he asked outrageously, "Have you fibbed to me? You had to have adopted Lily. You are very nearly untried, my sweet, you clutch at me, milking my finger in a way that I can barely tolerate because I'm imagining how it will feel it's my cock you're clutching at instead."
He removed it quickly, as if his words were no lie, fingertips dabbing themselves into the flow of your wetness and moving upwards along your cleft.
When they first find your clit, stroking over it once as you pant and plead wordlessly, then surrounding it knowingly, your body went rigid beneath them.
And, as you are replaying your memories, you very nearly do, too, at the thought of those moments in which he had first touched you so intimately as you hold yourself open, trying to recreate those feelings without him, fingers brushing lightly over yourself, your greedy body straining for more as you had with him . . .
But he merely teased you, not allowing you the firmer contact you craved, no matter how you arched your hips up wantonly, seeking your own end.
Loki laughed softly, playing you perfectly, bringing you to the very edge then delving back down to press two fingers into you experimentally, and you gasp at the sensations he's invoking.
It doesn't hurt, exactly, but you definitely feel stretched.
You feel . . . occupied. As if your body is no longer your own.
And it isn't, of course.
It's his, to do with as he pleases.
You are so vocal about how he's making you feel as he slowly penetrates you, groaning and even gasping occasionally, that he stops halfway, asking, "My love, are you all right?"
Beyond words, sounds coming from your mouth that you've never made before, primitive, animalistic sounds, you settle for nodding, trying not to notice that triumphant smile of his.
"I'm glad. When the time comes, I would not want to cause you any discomfort, and I am . . . considerably better endowed than my fingers can really represent. That is usually a good thing, but you are nearly virginal – which I find perversely appealing, for some reason – and I feel the need to prepare you a bit."
Once he'd lodged his fingers entirely within you – so far that you could feel the knuckles of his other fingers pressing against your outer lips - he began to pump them into you quite vigorously, and you nearly lost it right then and there.
You're so oblivious to your surroundings – so completely focused on what he's doing to you – that you don't even notice that he's changed positions until you feel his mouth seal itself over your clit while his fingers continue to fuck you.
The cry you emit as he does that is unrecognizable as your own, although no one else could have made it. And once he found himself there, where he'd second most ever like to be, he devoured you unrelentingly, sucking and licking, stroking and rubbing and worrying your little pearl with his lips and tongue until he could feel your muscles tightening, feel the storm gathering that he'd been creating within you, driving you further up that peak until you were very nearly ready to go over the edge –
And – when you are just about there yourself – your phone rings, and you know it's him. The errant thought that you should make his ringtone, "When I Think About You, I Touch Myself," flits through your mind, but he didn't really need the ego boost that that would no doubt provide him.
Regardless, he had terrible timing.
You punch the green button on your phone almost angrily, and before you can say anything, he rumbles into your ear, "Were you being naughty just now, my Princess?"
You feel as if you've been caught doing something you oughtn't, but then throw that feeling away instantly, not that you don't still feel embarrassed, but a flippant comment comes flying out of your mouth anyway.
"Define 'naughty'."
You loved making him laugh.
But then you ask the question you really want to know the answer to. "How would you know if I'm being . . ." you don't know exactly why, but you're somehow reluctant to repeat the word, "that . . . if you can't read my mind?"
Just as you had told him that he couldn't simply appear in your apartment, and that you didn't much like him using magic on you, you had also told him – in no uncertain terms – that he, even if he had the ability, he was not to read your mind at any time. Ever. Period.
His unrepentant chuckle skittered along your already sensitized nerve endings. "I did not read your mind. But, because of how strongly attached to you I am, I will always be able to feel any strong emotions you have, and that connection goes both ways, so you may well begin to have an empathy for mine, too, if to a much smaller extent. And the longer we are together, the stronger our bond will become." There were other aspects to the bond, too, but he chose not to go into them at the moment, as you might not be much of a fan of them.
"Oh. Well, thank you for not violating my trust."
"You are welcome," he replied formally. "But you didn't answer my question."
"What question?" you asked in your most fake-innocent voice.
"Do I need to come there and give you a spanking?" Loki returned, almost casually.
"NO!"
He laughed at the vehemence of your response.
"I don't think that what I was doing was -" you blushed furiously as you forced yourself to say the word. " -naughty."
"That's for me to decide," he growled. "What, exactly, were you doing?"
You squirmed, even though he couldn't see it. "I was . . . uh, masturbating."
His groan made you want to groan in return.
"I had a hunch that that was it." It was more than a hunch – he had felt the strength of your need the moment he'd gotten close to Midgard, and had been sporting an almost painfully throbbing and inconvenient reaction to the waves of lust you were projecting ever since then. "I would have come to you, so that I could take over that delightful pursuit from you, but then I remembered that you do not favor me popping in on you unannounced, and I did not want to cause you any undue stress or alarm."
But if ever there was a good reason for him to simply appear in her bedroom, this was it, and, if his scruples were all he had had to rely on, he would already be inside you.
Your feelings, however, are of much, much more import to him virtually than anything else, and he is loathe to defy one of the very few parameters you have set for him, considering who he is, and that is what kept him in his flat.
"But, since I had thought, perhaps, that that was what was going on, I couldn't begin to entertain the idea of giving up the opportunity to be with you – in a manner of speaking – when you do this. The next time, I will be there, and I will avidly watch every single second. But this will do for the time being."
You could hear him moving around a bit, and thought he might be making himself comfortable on his big bed.
Probably – you realized – he was making himself very comfortable, in ways that got you even hotter, if that was possible.
"So, my darling, tell me what you were thinking of before I so rudely interrupted you."
"Loki!"
Is if he really was there, he can feel the heat of your body rising as you blush, but he pauses, waiting for you to obey him.
"Did I make the mistake of making you feel that you have a choice about answering me, lovely?" The question was softly whispered directly into your head. The phone that was propped up against your ear had nothing whatever to do with it.
You would swear he was there, so strongly you would have sworn you could you feel his presence next to you.
"I was thinking about . . . our first time together."
"Mmmmmmmmm. Absolutely delicious scenes I have frequently brought to my own mind – and we already have so many of them to choose from. Go on."
You blushed to think of him thinking of the same things you had been. "You were perfect to me - for me that night, even when I freaked out a bit."
"I could not bear the sounds of you crying alone in the bathroom, so concerned and worried about something you needn't be. My heart hurt terribly for you, although I wasn't about to allow you to leave me. And I shall thoroughly enjoy teaching you things that will please me greatly, and help you completely overcome your unnecessary reticence about me seeing your beautiful body."
Not wanting to talk about how idiotically you had acted, you admit instead, "You drove me utterly crazy. It was as if we had been making love for years – you just . . . knew the exact right things to do and say. You always do with me."
"I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to hear that you think that so. Where, exactly, were you in your reverie?" he asks, again, already knowing the answer. "Beginning? Middle? End?"
Flushing again, you say, shyly, "Very near the end."
"Oh, dear, I do have atrocious timing, don't I? I am terribly sorry." In truth, he knew exactly how close you were – it was reflect in his own flesh - and he had had to race to his flat as soon as they arrived back to Avengers Tower – ignoring offers to join his comrades, who were going to go out to eat and then probably to a bar – in order to call you.
"Well. Let's see if we can get you back there, hmmmm?"
"With you? On the phone?" you squeak.
He chuckled at you again. "Yes. I could come to you, but I find I am enjoying the novelty of this strange communications method – of not being able to see you, hearing only your dulcet voice in my ear, which, I can assure you, is more than enough to pique my interest."
"Oh."
After a short pause, he warned, "Answer my question, angel. I do not appreciate being made to prompt you constantly about that when you should obey me immediately. I would suggest that you do not get used to me reminding you to respond to me, because if, in future, you do not – the first time – you will quickly find yourself over my lap, being punished for not having done so."
You sniff indignantly into the phone – ignoring how your body was responding to what he'd said, and in such a potently dominant voice - trying to recall what his question was, and then remembering that he wanted you to tell him exactly what you were picturing in your mind when he called.
"I can't say that kind of stuff to you!"
Although he found your relative innocence to be charming – and a bit of a turn on – he is firm. "Of course you can, and you will."
Sighing, you began, "You were . . . uh . . . between my legs."
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. Wonderful," he drawled. "What was I doing?"
Your voice cracked as you answered, "Uh – um . . . your mouth . . . it was . . . ah . . ."
Loki took pity on you, surprisingly, whispering huskily, "I was buffing that little pearl of yours with my tongue, was I not?"
A slight whimper is the only answer you're capable of.
"Tell me, are your hands between your legs, Princess? Are you holding yourself open for me, so that I can see what you're doing to yourself?"
Son of a – "Yes," you whisper.
"That's good. And is your body weeping for me yet?" With his mind's eye, as he had physical grip on himself, eyes closed while he's lying back on his lonely bed, he can concentrate and see what you are doing.
Yet, he asked? ALWAYS.
"Oh, yes," you sigh.
"If I remember correctly, at the same time my mouth was loving you, my fingers were buried deep inside you, and I was fucking you with them - quite hard. Did you enjoy that?"
You nearly draw blood as you bit your lip while you moaned, although you tried to keep it quiet, "Christ, yes!"
Intuitively, he whispered, "Don't worry about Lily hearing you. She can't. You needn't deny yourself on that count. And I love to hear the sounds you make when you are the most mine."
You only half hear him, but take to heart the idea that Lily won't know, becoming immediately much more vocal.
"That's it," he encourages. "But I stopped before you wanted me to, didn't I?"
"Yes," you snarl, remembering how badly you ached as he withdrew from you.
"But then I made it up to you – made it even better?"
"Dear God, yes!" There were no words to describe the things you had felt as he nudged the broad, pre-slickened head of himself firmly up against your entrance. You knew it was going to be a tight fit, but you had no idea just how excruciatingly tight it would be.
And he was surprisingly relentless, not pausing, not stopping at all, but filling you slowly and completely as he forced you to remain widely splayed beneath him, pinned, vulnerable, overpowered and overwhelmed - taken, in the purest sense of the word, and loving every single second of it.
As he began to withdraw, his fingers had found you again.
And now, as he spoke to you and you were alone in your room, you would swear that it felt as if it was his fingers that are touching you and not your own, and that you were being stretched to capacity by the dominating presence of his thick, hard cock.
"A little faster," he coaxes, and you adjust your speed – or . . . one of you does, anyway, and suddenly you are knocking on the door to a level of sheer bliss that you are very certain you will never get used to.
"That's it – don't stop and don't hold back or I will know. Surrender to me. I want to hear you cum hard for me."
And you did – groaning his name, chanting it as the uncontrollable spasms wracked your body.
Seconds later, you hear your own name as it's torn violently from his lips, quite certain you could feel his hips jerking powerfully against yours while his seed burst from him within your depths.
Barely able to recover, but forcing himself to do so quickly, he commands, even through his breathlessness, "Don't you dare stop those talented little fingers of yours until I tell you you may."
He had discovered that you were capable of almost infinite orgasms, and had exhausted you with them that night until you fell asleep in his arms, practically mid-cum.
It took some talking this time, too, but you finally got him to let you stop after seven incredible orgasms.
While you were trying to recover, you could almost feel his arms around you.
"Are you all right, my lovely?" he asks.
In response, you wiggle your fingers up and down between your lips as a sign that you're probably not, making him laugh.
There's a companionable silence between you for a long moment, and then you murmur, before you lose your nerve, your eyes filling with unexpected tears, "I've missed you terribly, Loki."
"And I you, my darling love. When may I come see you? Tomorrow?"
"Yes, please. I'm not the only one who's missed you, either. Someone had a complete meltdown today because you she hadn't seen you in so long."
"I am sorry. I shall do my best to make it up to the two of you tomorrow." His register deepened. "Especially you, my Princess."
"Wow – I think you already did that!"
Loki snorted derisively. "Not nearly enough to even begin to sate my ever present desire for you."
"Nor mine for you, my Prince."
He groaned at that. "Do not be surprised if you awaken in the night to find yourself pinned to your bed, your body already full of me, my darling. I shall try to be good and allow you to sleep, but you know how bad I am at delayed gratification."
"What's keeping you there?"
You had no sooner uttered the sentence than he was there, fully capable and fully inside you, growling possessively, "I thought you'd never ask."