Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Deep Blue Sea

It was in the tiny hours of the morning that Loki clamped his hand down over Lucas Malory's mouth. It was not a particularly fatal embrace: the festering creature was still able to breathe through his nose. Yet the physical act of causing Malory discomfort provided Loki with a perverse sense of pleasure. As did the knowledge that Alexandra was curled within the voluminous depths of his bed.

Their embrace had not progressed into the carnal stages, though Loki had desperately wanted it to. At the mere brush of her lips, his cock had stirred. As she drew him onto the bed, soft fingers tangling in his hair, he was so hard the towel could no longer contain him. So many weeks had passed...

The brush of his erection against the creamy flesh of her thigh, while tantalising for him, had caused his little mortal to withdrawal.

"Not yet."

Now she was resting, wrapped tight in that hideous oversized garment that obscured the bruises. It was agony to leave her there, slipping within the cavernous depths of his over-lavish bathroom. His hand had made short work of her physical effect upon him. But his lips remained swollen; her taste was remanent on his tongue.

He needed her.

And her little mewling groans as they kissed were indicative of the fact that she wanted him in return. Despite all that he had done to her, she still desired him, still considered him to be more amiable company than Lucas Malory.

No, it was Malory's fault that Loki had been denied his mortal.

It was Malory's fault that his time with Alexandra was cut so drastically short.

The other man's breath was short and sharp, desperate against Loki's palm. Dark brown eyes snapped open, staring wildly into the dark. Loki knew full well what Malory saw: a pale spectre with wild black hair, a beastly creature of the night.

"You listen to me, Malory," Loki purred, his silver tongue working its malice. "You will tell no one that I have been here. If you do, I will introduce you to levels of pain your limited imagination could barely comprehend. Do you understand?"

The man nodded frantically into Loki's cruel embrace.

"Excellent." Loki grinned, the worst visage of euphoria he could possible muster. "Now..." the grin disappeared, this time replaced by a scowl. "If you touch Alexandra ever again, I will kill you, but not before I repay you for every bruise or cut you inflict upon her. Stay away from her."

Slowly, he moved his hand away, wiping it against the sheets. He did not wait for Malory to speak, nor did he particularly care for whatever the noxious thing had to say. To him, Malory was the worst kind of mortal: a pathetic wretch who believed himself something great. It was men like Malory that brought upon the human population that which Loki had tried to free them from. If only they had seen the logic of his ways...

More than anything, Loki loathed the fact that Malory had been with Alexandra. Of course, it would be foolish to think that she had arrived on Asgard a fresh-faced virgin. He would have soon discovered that as he ravaged her on the desk. The girl was too willing, to hungry to be an innocent. She did not shy away from his cock. But he still resented that Malory had enjoyed her first.

The journey back to his chambers was wrought with inactivity. The guards ignored him, as was their duty. The only movement came from the dancing flames within the grates.

His Alexandra was but a slight lump in the centre of his huge bed, curled beneath the coverlet, the side of her face delicately bathed in the shard of moonlight peeping through the curtains. The Asgardian sun would rise in a few hours, the warmer light snatching away the perceived vulnerability of her features. It would shine off her tallow locks, the hue of wrought gold. And he would miss it, as he always had, simply because of the nature of his punishment.

Dipping into the bathroom to wash his hands, he heard a delicate moan emulating from the centre of his bed. The hand towel stilled between his still damp fingers, his ears tuned to the sound.

"Loki."

Was she awake? Letting the towel slip to the floor, Loki snuck toward the bed. The moonlight revealed her eyes to be closed, mouth slightly open. Her body was no longer curled, but rather sprawled across the centre of the mattress.

"Loki, please."

She was dreaming about him! Loki almost smirked. Had she been doing so for long? For how many nights had her subconscious taunted her with images of him?

The side of the bed in which he slipped was cold, but Loki did not necessarily mind the temperature. Perhaps this was something to do with his parentage? As he edged toward her, she did not stir, though her light moans continued: tantalising, delicious, exactly what he needed...

oOoOoOo

As much as she had wished Loki from her life, she could not banish him from her subconscious. There he lingered. Cruel. Delightful. Ravenous for her body. And she always allowed him access... never plagued by the fear that he would once again take her without consent. Perhaps her subconscious lacked the moral compass of its real life counterpart. Or perhaps it was merely a reflection of her forgiveness.

As sleep took over that evening, she had been haunted by his scent. It was everywhere in this room: the heady mixture of leather, books, sex and that thing that remained unidentifiable, yet so incredibly... Loki. Dream Loki was all touch, his lips soft and wet against her flesh, tongue dipping at the nape of her neck, trailing down toward the peaks of her breasts. His cock pressed against her open thighs, a tiny drop of pre-cum smearing her flesh. She wanted him. Desperately. Yearned for his lips, his fingers, his cock. She hated him for what he did to her, but she also loved him for what else he was capable of achieving. Loki was her weakness, and in her dreams, he was entirely hers.

His silver tongue finally rested between her legs, long fingers drawing her thighs further apart.

"Loki!"

The heat of his tongue against her swollen flesh was almost unbearable, his desperation to taste every inch of her evident in every swish, flick and suck. His moans vibrated against her, only driving her closer to the edge. Two long fingers dipped within her depths, rubbing against her walls, teasing her spot...

The fingers felt so real, lacking the blurred perception of the rest of the dream. Perhaps her imagination was more vivid. Yet as Alex's mind switched from unconscious to conscious, she was ever aware of hot lips against the back of her neck, the hand dipped within her pants.

"Loki?"

"Are you awake, little one?"

Her response was to slip her hand over her pants, covering his cloth covered fingers, pressing them deeper into her sex. "You shouldn't be doing this."

"I want to make you come, Alexandra."

Alex felt him shift, the hard shaft of his cock pressing against her arse. What did he expect of her in return?

"I want nothing," he murmured against her neck, once again taunting her with his uncanny ability to know what she was thinking, "but to have you gasp my name."

"Loki."

"Yes, just like that, but louder." The ministrations of his fingers increased, drawing from her depths to circle her clit. "Say that you are mine, my little mortal. Say it."

Alex pressed against his body, back arching. His lips brushed against her jaw, other hand curling round to gently fondle a breast through the soft cotton of her ancient shirt. "I am yours, Loki."

"Glorious," Loki purred into her ear. "Now will you let me fuck you?"

Alex merely gasped as her climax hit, every nerve in her neglected body singing, yearning for him and him alone. A smile crossed her lips.

"Tomorrow night."