A/N: Hello lovelies! I bring an update for you! I'm sorry it's taken a little longer than usual, the last days of school were quite hectic :/ But thank you all for your reviews, your enthusiasm spurs me on relentlessly!
Without blathering on, then, I shall let you all get on and read it... ;)
Two nights later, and Eva was voicing her refusal. Angrily. Loki had commanded her to attend an event hosted in New York – by his side. She had immediately declined, the idea both terrifying and sickening. But he would not take no for an answer, no matter how hard she rejected the notion.
"Eva, you will be there. I will not have it otherwise. You will attend, and you will enter at my side." His tone was akin to ice. "I will hear no further protest on the matter. It is decided."
"I will not be your trophy to flaunt!" she shouted. "I am neither your lady or your queen – I have no place at your side, and nor do I wish for one!"
A mocking smile formed upon his mouth, and he sat in one of the armchairs, studying her as she stood in the doorway, her posture screaming defence.
"From my understanding, a trophy is only there to look good. You, my dear, have not only looks but also a brain. Your mind is your greatest asset, and I could not have a senseless wench by my side, could I? You will charm the ambassadors, the politicians, the businessmen and women. You will challenge their words, keep them – to use a mortal phrase – on the ball. You will impress them and you will impress me. And you will smile while doing so. Now tell me, Ms Manning. Is that understood?"
The look she gave him could have burned holes in steel, and she strode over to him, seething. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair and leant forwards, her face like thunder.
"I am not your pet."
He laughed, igniting her fury further, and his finger tapped her chin.
"Then what are you, pray tell?"
"I am me. My own woman, who cannot be commanded by a so-called King!"
His fingers closed upon her chin, and he tugged her forwards, ignoring her resistance, until she lost her balance and fell onto him. Her hands shot out to brace her fall, and she nearly recoiled when they felt his robes beneath them, clothing strong, hard shoulders. It was only then she realised he had caught her, and his hands gripped her waist.
"Will you never learn?" he whispered in her ear, honeyed poison. "The closer you come, the easier you fall." His lips closed on her throat, right upon that spot which so many found sensitive, and she inhaled sharply. "I thought you were clever, lítteinn…"
"Let me up," she gasped, pushing against him and panicking when he would not release her. "Let me up!"
"No," came his simple reply, and his mouth claimed hers. One hand tangled in her hair, gripping the back of her head with a possession that had her shocked into submission. The other splayed against her back, and brought her onto his lap.
"Why do you scare so?" he murmured, his fingers slipping under her blouse and tracing her spine.
She knew exactly why. It wasn't the fear that he would take her. No.
It was the fear that she would give in. She no longer trusted herself around him. As if she knew that soon he would win –
"No," she whispered, horrified. "I can't. I can't."
He seemed to follow her train of thought, and his finger traced her jaw as he looked up at her, gaze softening.
"You can," he spoke, and his voice held a persuasion which could have only been learnt by him. Smooth, lilting, yet with an edge of command to it; even when gentle, he could never completely relinquish that side of him. "And you will."
He released her, and she stumbled from his lap, taking refuge in the other chair, watching him warily.
"You have something to request of me," he noted, his gaze upon her, fingers steepling. "Ask it."
She inhaled, running her tongue between her teeth as she pondered how best to put forth her request.
"I need to get out," she said eventually, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. "I can't walk two streets here without being swarmed by the press. I need some peace and quiet. Away from New York. I don't care where it is. I just need fresh air and green spaces and somewhere I can hope to relax."
He looked at her for a second longer, before rising and walking to the windows, his hands loosely clasped behind his back, his carriage ever regal.
"We leave for Geneva in three days," he spoke calmly. "I must speak with various delegates about the city becoming the capital of Europe. We will stay in the Palais des Nations, where you will not be disturbed by any media. If I recall correctly, the buildings are situated within a park, and it is shielded from the commotion of the city. You will be able to, as you put it, relax." He glanced at her, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth. "There are two villas available, but I think le Bocage will suit."
"Bien sûr," she said coolly, rising to her feet. "As you wish."
She turned to leave, but his hand caught her wrist, and he pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand.
"Be pleasant tonight, Eva."
She turned her head, and smiled a smile which caught him off guard.
"Of course." Her voice was sweet. Too sweet. Loki tilted his head.
"Scheming, lítteinn?"
She laughed, and pulled her hand from him, walking away into the bedroom.
"You tell me."
"The King asks if you are ready, my lady."
Eva nodded, picking up the black clutch from the table. "Tell him I will be out shortly."
She glanced in the long mirror, and sighed. She looked beautiful, she knew that, but she found no joy in it. Floor-length strapless scarlet gown, ruched at the hips, clinging gently to her curves, accentuating them. Her shoulders were covered with a short black faux-fur mantle, and she wore diamond drop earrings with red gloves up to her forearms; her hair was immaculately curled, and black stilettos adorned her feet. She knew Loki would approve. Yet that was what irked her. The fact that she was playing his game, but losing round by round. It was infuriating.
Her fingers pressed into the leather of the clutch, and, steeling herself, she walked out of the suite and into the hallway. A guard was there to accompany her, and the two of them made their way to the elevators.
"He waits for you in the foyer," the guard told her as the lift descended. Eva inclined her head, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
The elevator reached the ground floor, and when the door slid smoothly back, she stepped out, her heels tapping on the tiled flooring.
He was there, dressed in black with a dark green silk tie - so dark it was almost the colour of his suit - his hair brushing his shoulders, and his hands clasped behind his back. He turned at the sound of the elevator, and smiled as he took her in. He walked towards her, took her hand and kissed it, amused by the sudden fire in her gaze.
"Remember, my dear. Be nothing but charm personified tonight."
"Had I ever forgotten it?" she replied coolly. He released her hand, and gestured.
"Come; we do not want to be any later than is apparently fashionable."
His hand rested on the small of her back as he guided her out of the building and towards the car. The press were there, predictably, and she inhaled, keeping her composure as the footman opened the door, and she got into the vehicle. Loki slid in beside her via the opposite door, and she rolled her eyes as the car drove off.
"How on earth do you not want to yell at them?" she asked. "Do you not want to scream at them to back off?"
A sound of amusement left his lips. "You forget; I was raised as a prince. I am quite used to hordes of people, Asgardian or Midgardian. Although the use of cameras is something unknown on Asgard, it was not difficult to acclimatise to it here." He glanced at her. "But they trouble you. Deeply. And it isn't merely because you are unused to it, is it?"
She exhaled, debating on whether to elaborate.
"I'm not aristocracy, my family isn't filthy rich or famous. Before I made the idiotic decision to go and talk to you, I was a complete unknown. And I was happy with that. I was about to start teaching at university, I had a home I loved, friends. I had everything I could want. But then I had to go and mess that all up and get into business which I should have stayed well away from."
He was silent then, which surprised her somewhat. No witty comeback, no clever riposte?
"Teaching?" he finally asked, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. She nodded.
"Yes. Teaching. Although I don't know if I could lecture my subject now, not after what's happened." She laughed hollowly. "I couldn't stand in a room and wax poetic about gods when one of them is sitting right next to me."
He smiled dryly. "Perhaps not. I used to teach on Asgard, you know."
She turned her head to look at him, surprised that he would give away that information so freely.
"You did?"
"I did." His tone was thoughtful, and she thought she heard a note of affectionate remembrance in it. "Only a small group, but they were the very best, the most skilled. You know of my magical abilities. I engaged a number of students to train their own powers; it kept me occupied, and though magic was not something held in high regard or talked of often, I knew my students were proud of what they could achieve, and I was proud of them."
"Where are they now?"
"On Asgard, naturally. I do not know exactly whereabouts." He was lying; he kept an eye on all of them, though he never visited, knowing his presence would complicate their lives. It was better for them to exist without his interference – besides, Midgard kept him so busy that he never had the time to visit, regardless of whether he wanted to or not.
"Do you think you'll take any more on? Surely Midgard must have some who can wield magic?" Despite her resistance to him, she was fascinated by this conversation, and for once her guards were down. Loki was well aware of that, but he did not manipulate the situation as was his way.
"I have enough to do at present. Were I to take any on, they would have to be exceptional. Worthy of my tutelage. But I would not teach for several years yet; your realm has much to be remedied first."
The car slowed to a halt, and Loki spoke then.
"I hope you are ready, my dear."
The doors opened, and he climbed out as she was helped from the vehicle. She straightened amid the clicking and shouting from camera and press, and was relieved that she had managed to remain elegant, neither stumbling or banging her head. Loki was there to take her hand, and he placed it over his arm.
"I do not like this," she murmured in Old Norse. What she really meant was that she wanted to walk in without her hand on his arm, and he knew that. He simply smiled as they made their way from the car to the entrance of the building where the event was being held.
"You will be presented as my lady, Eva," he replied in the same tongue. "It is only fitting that you should accompany me so."
"Ah, so I am your equal?" she responded drily. He laughed.
"Of course not. Whatever put that idea into your pretty little head?"
They reached the entrance, and moved smoothly into the foyer.
"Good evening, Your Grace. My lady." A man bowed, and another took both Eva's mantle and her clutch from her with a respectful nod of his head. She murmured her thanks, and Loki began to speak.
"Are they all in attendance?"
"Yes, Your Grace. They await you at your convenience."
"Well, then. We must not keep them waiting. Shall we, Eva?"
She fought a grimace, and smiled.
"As you wish."
His laughter was heard only in her head, and they proceeded to the next set of double doors.
When they opened, her outward façade of serenity nearly cracked. She was looking at a wide, grand staircase – and beyond that, below them, were a host of well-dressed people. Politicians and their spouses, both foreign and not, investors, businessmen and women… all the richest and cleverest were present. Some faces she even recognised, which took her by surprise.
"His Grace King Loki of Midgard, and Lady Eva of England."
That sounded completely absurd to her, but she did not voice it, nor show it upon her face, and the two of them descended the steps, confident. A power couple, almost.
Except we are not a couple.
The crowds bowed their heads in reverence, and Eva realised that either they were all consummate actors, or they genuinely believed in Loki's leadership. Not one of them appeared uneasy or disrespectful. How? They're supposed to be fighting against him!
They know that I am good for your realm, came Loki's calm tones. They want me on the throne, guiding their race to better times.
"My King," one man spoke as they reached the bottom. "It is an honour." He and Loki both shook hands, again something which took Eva aback, and Loki smiled.
"As always, Francis. May I introduce Eva Manning, the lady who has caused quite a stir these past few days."
Francis's eyes were amiable, and he took her hand, pressing a kiss to the back.
"A pleasure, Miss Manning."
And then it began. She was not sure how she would have managed to greet the various individuals without the glass of champagne that was given to her by one of the waiters, and she was inwardly relieved for it – and the soft violin music playing which soothed her. She found the talk by most of the women dull and vapid, and it was only when someone asked her about Loki that she was able to fully engage her brain.
"Yes, what is he like?" one of the women echoed. It was an innocent enough question, but the curiosity in her eyes betrayed her sordid thoughts. Disgust rippled through Eva, and Loki's voice sounded in her mind.
Are they being distasteful, my dear?
Nothing I cannot handle, she replied curtly. Go back to your debates.
Eva looked at the small throng, formulating her answer. She knew the need for discretion, and she had always been a private person, even before she was thrust into the spotlight.
"He is as a King should be," she replied calmly. "Nothing more, nothing less. You understand that I will not divulge any personal information, I do hope." Her gaze drifted over the woman, who had the grace to blush and look slightly discomfited.
"But how did you two meet?" another persisted, with hungry eyes and a just-too-thin figure. Clearly being as slight as possible was still all the rage here, even under Loki's rule. Eva was slim, but she possessed curves, and her cleavage was not inconsiderable. It was clear that her figure was one that almost every man – and some women – in the room instantly appreciated. It did not escape Loki's notice, and his possessive streak growled within, but he kept his countenance serene and cordial as the two of them moved in different circles.
"Ah, I am afraid that too will remain private," Eva answered. "I am sorry I cannot be more entertaining, truly."
A waiter came up to her, and she thankfully turned to him, though well aware that her interrogators were silent and observing.
"His Grace asks if you require anything, my lady," the man said quietly in her ear. Grateful for the attendant's discretion – and to an extent Loki's indirect rescue, though that realisation disturbed her somewhat – she shook her head slightly.
"No, but thank you," she murmured with a smile. "I am quite alright."
He bowed and left, and Eva turned her head to see Loki looking at her. He raised a brow at her questioningly.
Concerned? she asked dryly. His lips twitched.
Ensuring that you do not murder any of the guests would be a more accurate description, he replied levelly. Do not think I haven't noticed your desire to strangle the lady.
I am not responsible for the consequences.
He chuckled. Of course not.
The socialising went on for what seemed like an age, until all of a sudden talking turned to dancing. Confusion blossomed. She hadn't even known any of the guests could dance, or knew how to.
She set her glass on a passing waiter's tray as Loki's eyes locked with hers, and she understood then.
What will it be? he asked as the two of them moved to the centre of the ballroom. Passion, or elegance?
If you think I am dancing the tango with you again you are sorely mistaken, she responded coldly, though a flicker of desire for that routine ignited within her. His lips curved; he had not missed that flicker at all, and her denial amused him.
A waltz, then, since it is doubtful any of these present would know how to dance the tango skilfully.
His hand curved around her waist as hers rested upon his chest, and as she placed her other palm in his, the violins struck up, and they began to dance, their steps easy and flowing.
"How are you finding tonight, my dear?" he asked softly, in his mother-tongue, knowing many would be straining to hear their conversation. Her expression remained tranquil, but her eyes spoke volumes.
"The women are tedious, and the men are clearly more interested in my body than my mind," she replied in the same idiom. "It probably doesn't help that I am wearing scarlet and that everyone in this room thinks I am your whore."
His eyes flashed. "Yes. I am well aware what these mortals think of you."
"And it is all your doing," she hit back, her tone deceptively sweet. "How does that feel, my King?" She was mocking him, and the grip on her waist tightened.
"Careful, Eva," he murmured in her ear. "We don't want to appear fractured, do we?"
"We were never in one piece," she spoke steadily, though her heart raced as his breath caressed her neck. "Or has your deluded mind convinced you otherwise?"
He laughed. "Oh, lítteinn. My thoughts are nothing but realistic; it is you who is deluded."
He spun her around, and brought her flush against his chest. Her eyes sought to deny, to break away from him, yet she couldn't. Everyone else was dancing around them, but she could only see and feel him. Feel the suit beneath her fingers, feel his gaze burning her, see the planes of his face, his glittering eyes.
No. I can't. I can't. It's wrong, I shouldn't.
"You've impressed me thus far with your resistance," he said then, twirling her. "Nevertheless, you are wavering, my dear. I can sense it in your every move. You fear not I, but the surrender. Don't. Give in. You will feel better in doing so."
She was silent, her cheeks stained with rose, and she glanced away, uneasy.
"No," she finally whispered. "It can't. It won't happen."
"Oh, my little lioness, but it will. It will," he whispered, his eyes smouldering enough that it made her feel almost dazed.
The waltz finished, and he released her with a smile that was nothing but predatory.
Even as the discussions and debates continued, that smile was always, always in the back of her mind, and anticipation lit a fire within her body, something that horrified her completely. And she knew Loki had noted it, judging by the looks he gave her every now and then. Heated promise.
I will eat you alive.
It was never spoken, not by mouth or in mind, but she could sense his intent. She fought the shivers that threatened to twist and crawl up her spine. Not now. Not here. Somehow she managed to get through the remainder of the evening without giving herself away to the guests, and it was with pure relief – after forcing her heart to slow when Loki placed her hand on his arm to lead her from the ballroom – that she exited the building at the end and all but fell back against the car seat as the door closed on her, her eyelids falling shut.
"Well, that was quite eventful, was it not?"
His tone was laced with laughter, and she did not open her eyes to look at him as the car drove away. Not even when his hand grasped hers, though she tensed enough. Only when his fingers trailed along her thigh did she freeze and stare at him, instinctively shifting away from him. His gaze was triumphant.
"You know you cannot fight forever, my dear."
"Well, no, because I will have died. The whole 'being mortal' issue." It was attempted sarcasm, but weakened by the inner struggle in her mind. Her knuckles were white with tension, her whole posture defensive. Loki simply let his fingers drift upwards, and she slapped them away, her blush darkening considerably amid his derisive mirth.
"Don't touch me," she hissed.
The silence was deafening throughout the journey back to the Chrysler, and she got out of the car without a word to Loki, walking into the building, her gaze focused ahead of her, refusing to turn to look at him. She reached the elevator, and her finger was just about to press the button when his hand closed on her waist, and he tutted.
"No. Not today."
In a second, they were both standing in his chambers, and he let her go with a kiss to her bare shoulder. Her body tautened at that, but he merely slid her short cape from her shoulders, placing it upon the back of a chair on top of his suit jacket. He moved to the nearby table, conjuring a glass in his hand, with a peach-coloured liquid. He returned to her, holding out the shallow almost-goblet in his hand. He smiled knowingly.
"I do believe this will be suited to your tastes."
Sex on The Beach. Of course it would be. She glared at him, though she pulled the gloves from her hands, draping them over the chair, and she took the delicate cocktail glass. She nearly jolted at the brush of his fingers against hers, and she retreated from him and raised the cocktail to her lips, sipping it. The drink was perfectly made, and she lowered it, her eyes never leaving his. She took a step back, needing space, safety. Or at least the illusion of it. She knew perfectly well that he could have her in a second if he so chose. As it was, he was simply enjoying the expression upon her face.
"Not bad for someone who has never made a cocktail in their life," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. His smile widened at the slight trembling of her tone.
"It is not difficult." He could see her fingers tightening on the glass; if she wasn't careful, she would break it. Not that he'd mind. Such a display of raw emotion from her would satisfy him immensely.
Eva felt as though she were a coil waiting to snap from being stretched too far. His gaze, his words, the days of dancing around each other, of playing cat and mouse… it was wearing on her. She was drawn to him, she knew that, could no longer deny it.
Fuck.
The glass hit the floor as she tossed it aside, shattering into a thousand pieces as Eva strode over to the god, and her lips met his with an almost desperate hunger. Her fingers closed on his shirt, and there was no gentleness; she tore at the fabric, spurred by rage, feeling the material rip. This was violent passion, fiery and unrelenting. What was it Shakespeare had said?
These violent delights have violent ends,
Which as they kiss, consume…
Her back slammed into the wall, and his mouth claimed dominance. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling at it, and his teeth bit her lower lip, blood welling up. He licked at it, but all of a sudden he spun her from the wall. His hand caught her wrist, and she found herself doing exactly what she had vowed not to.
The tango.
His hands were everywhere, lifting and pulling and twisting her body as she kept the pace with him, gasping and arching back as his hands skimmed her form, as he lifted a leg to his hip, half dragging her across the large chamber, his gaze akin to an inferno. Her hand struck his cheek, hard, and he seized her mouth with his, relishing her outraged response which very quickly deviated into a longing moan. He bent over her, lowering her almost to the floor, his lips brushing her collarbone, his tongue flicking the heated skin. Then he pulled her up, and the dance began again, passionate, vehement. Eva would have bruises in the morning, but she barely cared. His fingers pressed into her flesh, so hard it would have made her normally wince, but she was too fired up to even feel the pain. She cried out as his teeth marked her throat, and his fingers danced down her back, rendering her incapable of even a word.
Loki turned her so she faced away from him, and she inhaled as she felt him rip her dress in half down the back, the material falling slack as he tore it from her body in strips. She was trembling, and his mouth pressed kisses to her bare back. His fingers toyed with the waistband of her underwear, and she tensed as she heard it snap, and the feeling of it being pulled from her, leaving her bare, save for her stilettos. But even they were taken from her; she was thrown over the edge of the couch onto her stomach, and his hands deftly undid the straps. Eva heard the soft thump as the heels landed upon the carpeted floor, and she inhaled as she felt the lightest of touches upon the backs of her legs. Yet then a hand closed on her neck, and she found herself yanked upwards. He turned her to face him, and she went for his shirt – only to find that it was gone. Instead, solid muscle met her grasp, and she stared. A taut abdomen, with a line of hair from his navel which led tantalisingly downwards. Broad shoulders, though not as wide as others' she'd seen over the years, with distinct biceps. Loki radiated subtle strength, and he lifted her easily by her hips, his hands cupping her behind as he walked swiftly to his bedchamber, his mouth never relinquishing hers until he reached his bed, and he threw her onto it as easily as he would a piece of clothing, not caring if he hurt her.
Eva barely had time to recover before she was flipped onto all fours, and Loki's hand slipped around her to cup her breasts alternately, squeezing and feeling the soft flesh. His other slid around her waist, and she gasped as he toyed with her clit, rubbing and teasing. He ran a finger along her slit, feeling her body clench, and he licked his finger clean, the wet pop of his digit being released from his mouth sending shivers down her spine.
But then his hands gripped her hips, and she inhaled as she felt him penetrate her, the rhythm relentless, hard, and it took all she had not to collapse. She hadn't even realised he'd dispensed with his last garments, and the feel of his bare flesh against hers was near-intoxicating. He rolled her nipple between finger and thumb as he thrust, and she bit back a cry as pain jolted through her breast. Eva shuddered as fresh pleasure burst within her, and she yelped as his teeth marked her neck, sucking the skin and leaving a purple mark which made his lips curve up in satisfaction. She reached back and grasped his hair, pulling hard, and with a growl he wrenched her hand away, pinning it under his own as he increased the rhythm. There was no finesse, this was all about dominance.
The end came in a furore of passion. His teeth bit her shoulder, hard, and she cried out as she tumbled over the edge, Loki following swiftly with a hoarse groan, his rhythm stuttering as he reached his peak. The both of them fell onto the bed, he pulling out of her, and she moved away from him, her eyes aflame. She was wary as she lay on her side, watchful even when still in the throes of her orgasm, her body quivering. He reached for her, and Eva slapped his hand, fury swelling. Loki laughed quietly, and simply observed her as he too lay on his side. His eyes were playful.
How now, my little lioness?
She did not respond, though he could feel the ire surging through her. He could see the bruises marking her skin, slowly blossoming, and he marvelled at how easily damaged she could be, though she had matched his pace and never faltered. It had been her anger that had bolstered her, and he smiled faintly. He was almost… proud. Even after her surrender, she was still fighting.
She would not sleep, either. Defiant, she kept her eyes upon him, even as the minutes passed in silence. Yet this was one battle she could not win. He studied her form, eyelids, mouth, posture, studied it all as she gradually succumbed to slumber, gloriously naked upon his sheets.
What have I done?
Her last coherent thought.
And it only made him smile.
A/N: Still with me? Excellent. I do hope you enjoyed this... ;)
Lightning xoxo