A/N: This chapter is dedicated to a very dear friend of mine, who goes by the name of 'BeatnikFreak' on here. It was written with her in mind. Incidentally, please check out her Chronicles of Narnia fic, 'Set The Fire To The Third Bar'. It is a beautiful fic, I adore it. It's movie-verse, and the pairing is Caspian/Susan. So please, go check it out!

Anywho, a thank you to Phoenix Falconer and xXfireXflyXx, whose reviews were wonderfully constructive. So thank you to both of you :)

And a thank you to everybody else who has alerted, favourited and reviewed this story. I really appreciate it, and love hearing your thoughts on each chapter!

Shall we continue?

The plane touched down at the airport, and Eva sighed. It was a familiar concept, now. She longed for her home, for her job. And to see her family. Above all things, that was what she craved the most. To joke with her father, reminisce with her mother, hug her little brother. Simple things that most people took for granted. Yet she hadn't been able to do any of those things for god knows how long. She'd lost track, but she knew it had been at least a month.

A month with Loki. She had no idea how she'd managed to survive, but it seemed Loki had no intention of ending her life just yet, which she was indubitably grateful for. Perhaps her intelligence attracted him more than she'd thought. She knew she was clever, however it amazed her that she was able to keep up with him, a being with genius-level intellect who seemed far more cultured and educated than she.

She slid into the car as Loki did – but she immediately noticed the black barrier in front of her. She could not see the driver; the passenger seats were cut off from the front of the car. She frowned, and glanced at Loki, raising an eyebrow questioningly. He smiled, and pressed a button.

"Yes, sir?" spoke the driver through the intercom.

"Take a detour."

"Anywhere in particular, sir?"

"No. Just drive as you see fit, and until I give you your next instruction."

Loki did not wait for the driver's reply before releasing the button, and he looked at Eva. His lips curved as he saw the seatbelt.

"You won't be needing that. Come."

She raised an eyebrow, and a blush crept up her cheeks as she realised what he was insinuating.

Not again.

"No."

He sighed, and turned to her. The click as he released the seatbelt was audible enough in the silence that she fought a shiver when she felt the belt loosen. Loki's eyes were dark, and Eva inhaled as his hand delved between her thighs, parting them with consummate ease, even as she tried to keep them closed. The skirt was a deliciously deep scarlet, as was the blouse, a black belt tight around her waist. His fingers curled around the scrap of lace separating him from her most intimate parts, and there was a loud ripping noise as he tore it away with no effort whatsoever. His hand withdrew, and she stared at him.

"Are you mad? Mend that, right now!"

"Ah, you assume I can do such a thing." He smiled dryly. "How presumptuous of you."

He let the slip of lace drop to the floor of the car, and his hand curved around her hip. Her eyes narrowed.

"No –"

He pulled her onto his lap, her legs straddling him. His hand moved over her behind, and he squeezed it, his other hand sliding under her blouse. She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips swallowed any words she might have spoken, and satisfaction filtered through him as he felt her succumb to his ministrations.

"There," he murmured against her mouth, a sly smile shaping his own. "That wasn't so horrific, was it?"

"Damn you," she whispered, hating how breathless she was. His eyes gleamed, and his voice was a low purr.

"Your blouse. Remove it."

She paused.

This was new. Never had he commanded her to do such a thing; his usual practise was to simply strip her by his own hand, as roughly as he chose. It almost threw her off, and her natural instinct was to defy him, refusal plain on her visage.

"No. I will not –"

She gasped in shock as he slapped her behind, the skin stinging, and his gaze was pointed.

"I will not say it again. Remove the garment. Now."

Slowly, her glare scorching, she reached up to unbutton the blouse, and she pulled it from her body, throwing it aside. She eyed him warily, and he ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

"Good girl."

She raised an eyebrow, unamused, though her body was tingling, and her cheeks were flushed with colour. This was uncharted territory. The context of the slap, the command…

"I am not your 'girl'," she hissed, but he pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her instantly. His other hand moved from where it cupped her behind, trailing fingers up her spine to unclip her brassiere.

"Remove it."

This time she complied, much to his satisfaction, and he leant up to kiss her throat, his tongue flicking the spot which made her gasp and tremble.

"Do you see?" he murmured. "I am your King, Eva, however much you may try to deny it. You will obey me, whatever it is I demand of you. And you want this. You crave subjugation. All of your kind does. And you yearn for what only I can give you, be it this…" His hand cupped her breast and he toyed with the nipple, "this…" His other hand slipped under her skirt to tease her traitorously swollen nub, "or this."

His teeth bit her neck, hard, and she cried out as pleasure burst from all three of the tortured areas. She arched up, and her hands grasped the back of the seat as her thighs clenched. His chuckle was low and delectably sinister, and his fingers delved into her slick folds, curling and stroking and pumping in and out of her. Had the car windows not been as darkly tinted as they were, passers-by would have seen something quite shocking, and it almost certainly would have made the news. As it was, no-one looking in would see a thing. Eva was panting and mewling, and Loki's eyes were dark with desire. His woman, his lady, freely gasping with need. It was enough to make any man lustful.

His thumb pressed on her clit, circling it, and he was rewarded with a soft, desperate keen and a shaking body.

"Look at me."

Even then she possessed the last shreds of defiance, and his tone lowered to a soft, dangerous velvet.

"Eva. Look at me."

She did, and his gaze almost made her lose it completely, it was so heated and goddamn sinful. His fingers had never wavered in their rhythm, and she could feel herself tightening like a coil of wire, closer and closer.

He leant up to her ear, his breath tickling the sensitive flesh, and his whisper was triumphant.

"Come for me, lítteinn. Come for your King."

The coil snapped, and she climaxed, a loud cry escaping as the waves of pleasure crested over her, and she found herself trembling like a leaf. She almost groaned as she watched him lift his fingers to his mouth and suck them clean, one by one, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Good."

She had no time to recover before he had freed himself from the confines of his suit trousers – he could see that she was in no state to quickly do it herself – and had lifted her up and onto him. The hard, hot length of him filled her completely, and she shuddered, her need renewed even as aftershocks still reverberated through her.

"Loki…"

The first plea by name in all their couplings. That did not escape him, and he smirked against her lips as his hands deftly unbuckled the belt and tore the skirt from her body in strips, wanting her completely bared to him. She had a figure that, if her position weren't so public, would make him ban her from wearing any clothing whatsoever. Perhaps the occasional bit of lace or silk, he mused, but otherwise…

As the car weaved its way through the streets, Loki thrust relentlessly, his hands gripping her behind once more, relishing every gasp, plea and catching of breath he elicited from her. The smell of the leather seats combined with the scent that could only be described as sex was heady, intoxicating, and he let out a growl as his mouth sought her throat once more, marking her for his own.

She was too far gone to even care that he was marking her. She only craved pleasure, gratification, his touch, his kiss, his sex. Want. Want. Yes.

"Impatient harlot," he remarked, his voice a rasp, and his hand smacked her rear again, making her moan as the pain mingled with the pleasure.

She did not last long, and he granted her relief then, following swiftly after her with a throaty groan. She was trembling as she leant against him, too weary and somewhat shell-shocked to consider moving off him. His hand lazily trailed along her spine.

"I take it you enjoyed that, my dear."

Eva was quiet, pondering. Had she enjoyed it? The answer was yes. Immensely. But there was still the thread of loathing that ran through her and refused to untie itself from her. She still felt used. Exactly like a whore.

Well, he had called her a harlot.

Goddamn it.

It gradually dawned on her that she was half-lying on a man, in the back of a car, completely naked, still sheathing him, and on her way to meet with politicians.

And her clothes had been near-ripped to shreds.

"Something wrong, my dear?" His voice was entirely too innocent, and she raised her head to look at him accusingly.

"Clothes. You tore them again. And I happened to like that skirt. You're going to have to mend them before we get to the Palais."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. You know it is. Besides, do you really want all those men eyeing my naked body?"

It was a ploy, but it worked. His eyes flashed, and his fingertips pressed into her waist. She shifted a little, and was rewarded with a flicker of lust in his gaze as her slick walls tightened around him.

He lifted her off him before she could try anything else, and she sat on the seat beside him, a soft sigh escaping her.

What have I done? I can't keep doing this. I can't. He's the enemy. I am literally sleeping with the enemy.

And I'm supposed to hate it.

He glanced at her after zipping his trousers back up, and a wry twist of his lips appeared. She looked at him.

"I'm going to need a refill of contraceptive pills soon," she said dryly. He quirked a brow at her.

"Since apparently 'mortal prophylactics' don't work," she added, rolling her eyes. A quiet note of amusement slipped his lips.

"No. They don't."

"And you would know this how?" She suddenly reconsidered, and held up her hand, disgust rippling across her features. "Wait! I don't think I want to know!"

"I do not have children, Eva, you know that. I was referring to other Asgardians with a propensity for bedding mortals. Your modern sheaths are not –"

"Stop! Just stop!" Her face was scarlet, and mischief glittered in his eyes as mortification added a pink tint to her body. He chuckled.

"So easily embarrassed…"

"I'd appreciate my clothes back now."

He leant over to kiss her, and his hand cupped her breast, before he smiled against her mouth; as he moved his hand away, Eva found herself dressed in a fitted black dress, with dark green heels and silver jewellery.

"Oh, that's not implying anything, is it?" she remarked sarcastically, not missing the symbolism of the outfit for a second. He grinned.

"You are mine, Eva. Accept it."

She leant close enough to brush her lips against his, and her accent was a mere whisper.

"Never."

His gaze was alight with mirth, and he pulled back to press the intercom button.

"Take us to the Palais."

"Monsieur, mademoiselle. Welcome to the Palais des Nations."

It was beautiful, to say the least – but then, this was Switzerland. Famed for its natural beauty – and expensive economy, but money was no object to Loki, it never had been.

The tour was quick but efficient, yet Loki could sense Eva's tiredness, even as she kept her face serene. She was cold, too, though she made no protest; Geneva in late November was not exactly warm. Not wanting her to betray her fatigue, he made excuses about needing to see to the villa, and the two of them were taken straight there.

Eva sighed and unbuttoned her coat, slinging it over the back of a chair, and she began to her way up the elegant staircase, before a hand slipped around her waist, another behind her knees, and to her shock she was lifted in Loki's arms.

"What are you doing? Put me down!"

"I think not." He ascended the stairs without another word, and when Eva began to push at his chest and slap him, he simply rolled his eyes, and she yelped in shock as her wrists were abruptly bound in tight green ribbon. He glanced down, and a sliver of a smirk graced his lips.

"You are weary."

"No. Wait, yes. But that is beside the point. Why are you carrying me?"

He elevated a brow. "Is the reason not clear? I did not take you for someone so imperceptive, Eva."

"Because I'm tired?" Disbelief coloured her tone. Her eyes narrowed. "Why the chivalry all of a sudden?"

"I cannot have my woman exhausted, can I?" The double doors opened to a beautifully furnished bedroom, and he set her down on the bed, smirking in full now, waving her satin restraints away. "I intend to have you by my side. Looking fatigued will do you no favours. Therefore, you must rest."

He tilted her head up and kissed her so deeply it made her head spin. He broke away, eyes glinting at the slightly dazed expression she wore.

"You are losing, Eva Manning. Just as I said you would. And I haven't even truly tried, yet."

He turned away to look out of one of the windows. "I don't think I have to tell you the obvious. You will have servants to attend to your needs… save the ones that only I can satisfy."

"How long are we staying?"

"As long as is necessary," he replied. "I know not how long this will take. It is a significant political shift, at any rate."

"Switzerland will not take kindly to it," she said calmly. "Just because they are neutral and are the centre of the world's banking systems, it does not mean –"

"Eva, Eva, Eva. Must I always remind you? They will accept it, whatever I command. I am your realm's King. Whatever I wish, occurs." He shot her a look. "You would do well to remember that, lítteinn."

"Remembered. Not accepted."

He laughed quietly. "How typical of you."

"I'm human, I'm naturally stubborn."

He raised a brow. "And yet you yearn for subjugation. That was evident enough in the car."

She blushed delicately, glancing away.

"Anyone will submit in that way, Loki." Her eyes flitted back to him. "Another test?"

His lips curved. "You might say that."

He moved away from the window.

"I must see to matters. I will return soon. Until then, you are free to roam as you wish. The grounds are quite the spectacle. I am certain you will be able to relax."

He had stolen a kiss before she could even push him away, and with a soft sound of amusement, he vanished.

Eva groaned, and fell back onto the bed.

The sun filtered through the gaps in the branches to weakly warm her face. It was a cool, crisp afternoon, as was habitual here, and she languidly watched her breath form vapour in the air. She was considerably warmer than she had been the day before, with a thicker coat and a scarf. Loki had not been quite as wrapped up, but then, why should he be? He was naturally of Jotunheim, and more likely than not relished the cold that bit at her feeble mortal skin.

"Dorian Gray?"

Eva rolled her eyes upon hearing that voice, silken and smooth and laced with derision. She placed the bookmark back between the pages, and snapped the volume shut, rising to her feet and turning to look up at the figure lounging on a branch, one long limb dangling. He was dressed simply – black dress trousers that somehow weren't snagging on the rough bark, and a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Very casual, for him. Suits getting too much, I wonder? His smile was teasing, and it surprised her more than a little that there was no mockery in it, only a restful sort of humour.

"Oscar Wilde was a literary genius. Don't you dare criticise him."

"An opulently-minded mortal's wishful thinking poured into a single novel," Loki idly remarked. "Hardly a revelatory tale."

Her lips thinned; insulting one of her favourite authors was a dangerous move, even for someone as supposedly immortal and indestructible as him. She wouldn't be responsible for the consequences if he continued to do it.

"Aren't you supposed to be dealing with ambassadors right now?" Icy, unamused. His eyes twinkled at her tone, and he looked as though he were enjoying a private joke when he answered:

"I am."

Oh. She could have smacked herself in the face; Thor had mentioned Loki's ability to produce doppelgangers all those months ago. Handy trick. But her mind – long corrupted by Loki's tastes in the bedroom – wandered to other, more debauched things, and it was his low chuckle that brought her out of her wanton musings. She glared at him, and his eyes gleamed in response.

"I would have thought that such a 'significant political move' would require your full attention," she commented, swiftly changing the subject and raising an eyebrow. "Leave me be. You said I could relax here yesterday. And guess what? You aren't that relaxing!"

He laughed. "Perhaps not. But then again, I would not have thought a book on decadence and sin would be that calming, either."

"Should I be surprised that you've read it?"

"I have read much of your realm's literature, even that dreadful volume in your hand."

That stoked her temper.

"It is not dreadful! The language Wilde uses alone proves that! I don't think you'll find another who writes – or wrote – as poetically as he did!"

His lips twitched. " 'The lady doth protest too much, methinks'."

Her eyebrows knit together and she tilted her head in recognition of the line, her ire abruptly fading.

"Hamlet. Act Three, Scene Two."

"Yes." He dropped from the branch, lightly landing upon the grass. "Shakespeare was a clever individual, I must say. His command of your tongue is unparalleled. As is his understanding of your natures."

Intrigued by this sudden common ground, she furthered the debate.

"You know there are theories that it wasn't him who wrote the works, right?"

He chuckled. "I do. And though there are various pieces of evidence, I doubt highly that he was just the name. The primary candidate, the Earl of Oxford, died years before the last play was written, and any other men who have been suggested – Francis Bacon, for example – have too little substantiation to recommend them. Fascinating though they are, I do not think there is a great deal of stock in the authorship theories."

She smiled dryly. "What do you think of Austen?"

The ghost of a smile adorned his mouth. "Not one who caught my interest for long."

"Shame. There's a film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice which is gorgeous. The costumes are beautiful."

"Yes, I can see why you would appreciate that period's attire." His tone was wry.

"Jekyll and Hyde?"

"A simple yet interesting idea, toying with the concept of human morality. Again, your love of decadence in book-form is showing, Eva."

"Oh, hush."

Loki's brow lifted, and she smirked.

"So, what about Snorri Sturluson?"

His facial expression was priceless.

A/N: Yes? No? Let me know what you thought! :)

Lightning xoxo

PS: From the 25th to the 30th of this month I will be unable to update, most likely. Sincere apologies!