Chapter Fourteen

A Healing Touch

The Midgardian was vibrant with residual power. The very essence of the rainbow bridge seemed to seep from every pore, the connections of Yggdrasil thrumming through her like a second heart beat. It was truly intoxicating. Even as her fingertips brushed against his blood soaked skin, Loki could feel the bridge. It spoke to him, seducing him with whispers of powers lost. Even now, as his eyelids fluttered shut, he could see Alexandra framed by the riot of colour, straw-toned hair splayed against the crystal surface. Every inch of her bare skin would glow: blue, violet, crimson, emerald. As his tongue swept against the cleft of her sex, he would be able to taste it. Power. Coveted, stolen power.

"You have a terrible habit of ruining my social life."

Her soft voice slashed through the heady rush of his imagination, causing his eyes to once more open. The swab of cotton clenched between her fingers was now the hue of Thor's cloak. Her storm-grey eyes were trained on his lips, watching in fascination as the stitches morphed into tiny black worms that seamed together, weaving through the ruined flesh.

When the last of these worms had snapped into place, his little chit resumed her ministrations, brushing away layers of dried blood. The pain was excruciating, as though she were slashing at his jaw with a mirage of tiny knives. He could not help but wince with the agony, an action that caused her to huff.

"Quit your whinging, Laufeyson."

Loki scowled, causing the wounds of his lips to seep a little blood onto the freshly cleaned patch of skin. Laufeyson. It was a name that suggested a connection that did not exist. Laufey may have rutted with his foul Jotunn queen to create Loki, but in no way would he ever be considered a father. What kind of father left their child to die, exposed to the coldest winds of Jotunheim? Then again, what kind of father lied to their son for over a thousand years?

Alexandra gently brushed the cotton against his neck. "Sorry Loki, I know how much you hate that."

Sorry? The word seemed like poison when falling from the tongue of a woman who only moments before had stated: he deserves worse. How much simpler would his imprisonment have been had he restrained from taking the girl to his bed? His evenings would have been spent in embrace of his chambers, desires sated by books of ancient pornography and the knowledgeable grasp of his own hand. But even as these traitorous thoughts slipped into his mind, Loki knew they were foolish. He may loathe her pity, but he could never loathe her body. Even now he wished that she would toss aside the blood soaked scrap and move those skilled fingers further south...

oOoOoOo

Loki's silver tongue had been stilled, rendered silent by the harsh jagged lines of black twine. Even so, Alex felt as though she could read his every thought. His pain was evident, in the gleam of his emerald eyes, the reluctant stance of his hunched body. Anger was clear in the sharp gash of his mouth, the lowered stance of his eyebrows.

Alex chose to ignore this, running her makeshift rag along the long expanse of his neck. It took every iota of self control not the brush her lips across the pale flesh, run her tongue up to the sharp angle of his jaw. Even in this pathetic state he was still heart wrenchingly beautiful.

Snatching another scrap of cotton from the pile at her side, Alex started to wipe away the splatters of blood painted across his chest. Loki's breath quickened as her fingers danced across a nipple, accompanied by the cool damp swish of the material. By the time she reached his navel, the blood was almost non-existent. The scrap fell to the ground between them, falling erratically like a fallen leaf upon the Autumn breeze.

His pants were thin, unable to hide the prominent jut of his arousal. Alex shot a wary glance across the courtyard, but saw nothing. The light that had bathed them before had gone, the lanterns distinguished. Their only company of was the dim lunar glow, barely strong enough for her to see the glint in his eyes.

Please.

oOoOoOo

Her soft, delicate fingers were like fire against the skin of his lower belly, tracing their way down the dark line of hair from his naval. The material of his pants was worn, the knots collapsing in her hands as she freed him. The keening noise that erupted from his throat could not be helped; all his mind could fathom was the desire for her to touch him: her mouth, her fingers, her tight little cunt.

It was her fingers that finally provided him with coveted touch. Though her movements were quick and precise, he could not help but feel that it was the most delicious sensation he had ever experienced. Every stroke was perfection, the delicate, the rough. A groan replaced the keen as her other hand ventured lower to massage his sac.

Pain shot through him as he attempted to call out. His little Midgardian stopped concern evident in her gaze. "Do you want me to stop?"

All he could do was shake his head, wishing for the sensation to last a lifetime. The pleasure was everything, made even more intoxicating by the little moans she was uttering. Even tied and mutilated, Loki enjoyed the idea that she was getting aroused merely by the act of pleasuring him.

Climax came with blinding clarity, his seed spattering the grass. Still bathing in the afterglow, Loki barely noticed as she cleaned him off, tucking him back into his pants and before tying the knots. Soft lips swept across his cheek.

"Until tomorrow night, Loki."