by Evie Kent
Loki’s face blurred in and out of focus, finally sharpening with a few good blinks—and from the look of it, he was loving every fucking second of this new, drunk-off-her-face Nora. Classic dude.
“Yes,” he purred, still shimmying and shaking to the king, his steps perfect. The best student I’d ever had. “Tell me every lurid detail, firebird.”
“Well, as you know, I never drink,” I remarked, my heart suddenly pounding, my mouth too dry, my chest on fire, “because a drunk driver killed my parents.” Loki’s movements slowed, and a flood of bile shot up my throat. I swallowed hard, smiling a smile that didn’t reach my eyes, a little shaky as I carried on. “Yeah, he left the bar, fucked-up, way too drunk to drive, got in his car, and then hit my parents head-on. They were on a d-date night. I was with Oma and Opa—they’d just had a nice dinner, and he fucking hit them with his god-goddamn car. They died instantly in the crash. Alcohol limit was way, way over.”
I pushed off the table, adding a few stiff flings of my arms to the beat, “Don’t Be Cruel” wailing out of the record player.
“Everyone was surprised he was even conscious, he was so fucking wrecked. I was eight and a half.” The room swam again, but not from the booze. Anger blurred my vision, stung behind my eyes—anger and grief and loss—and I smeared the damp up my face, over my temples and into my hair, hands trembling. “I vowed then never to drink, because fuck the stuff that took my two favorite people away from me—that ruined my life.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t stop the tears. Couldn’t blink them back, sniffle them all up, so I just let them careen down my cheeks, even as my lips stretched into a manic grin that could finally give Loki’s a run for its money.
“But here I am, shitfaced for the first time,” I sneered, eyes narrowed at him, our surroundings just hazy darkness, a breathtaking god front and center. “You brought me to that low, Loki. You and this fucking place made me break m-my vow and drink.”
I lurched toward him, toward the perfect student who had stopped dancing midroutine.
“And I feel awesome.” I hurled the words at him, hoping they struck just as sharply as a slap—harder, because he could withstand so much more. “So fucking fantastic. So fun. How about you? How do you feel knowing that’s what you do to me—make me do the thing I promised I would never…”
Whoa. The room literally spun this time, and I planted my feet, squared my shoulders, falling back on a lifetime of grounding myself for some sense of stability. Chin folded into my chest, I pressed a hand to my forehead and willed the mountain to settle. When it finally did, I lifted my head up, my eyes suddenly heavy—and my heart hard as steel.
“You make me drink,” I forced out, totally unaware of what the fuck was coming out of my mouth at this point, functioning on autopilot, on feeling, “because I fucking hate you.”
I hated what he did to me—that I was here for him, that I had been kidnapped and trafficked for him.
Hated that despite it all, I still wanted him. Still wished he would throw me onto the table and fuck me into forgetting everything. Craved his touch now more than ever, because he knew just what he was doing, how to make the world melt away through pleasure.
And, yeah, I hated him for that, but right now, I hated myself more. Hated my body’s need, hated that I had given up and drunk a shit-ton of whiskey. Hated that my inhibitions had dwindled to nothing—that one month in here had broken me.
Even if I’d been sober, I probably wouldn’t have been able to decipher the storm of emotion ripping across Loki’s face. But I’d caught his attention, that much was clear, and I was treading a very, very, very thin line if the grit of his jaw and the twitch in his cheek had anything to say about it.
But fuck it.
He wanted this—me. Let him have me, then.
“What do you think?” I demanded, staggering toward him but veering away at the last second, going nowhere, my back to the kitchen. “Come on, firebird. Tell me how that makes you feel.”
The passive-aggressive tone and fluttering of my lashes sealed my fate; Loki snapped. He charged after me with strides I could never match, and somehow my drunk ass managed to not trip over my own two feet as I scrambled backward—all the way to the fridge, which I hit hard, first my back, then my head. But whiskey numbed the pain, and suddenly I understood a whole hell of a lot more about people in general, about why they drank this stuff. Tragedy’s bite was softer in a whiskey haze.
Only tonight, Loki wasn’t drunk. No games to have him throwing back shot after shot after shot, his eyes cloudy and his mood dangerous. He hunted me with a narrowed gaze, his steps precise and focused, until he too met the fridge—but with his hands, which slammed against the stainless steel on either side of my head. I flinched when his fist came next, his lips lifted in a snarl, his green eyes hard as he pounded it against the innocent appliance. A slight roll of my head told me he had dented it, cracked the surface like it was nothing.
He could do that to me—easily. Crack my bones like they were nothing.
Which was…
Hot.
I bit down on my cheeks, hating myself, hating that his anger sparked something gross inside me, that seeing him emote was a goddamn turn-on. Looming over me, seething, scowling, he was vulnerable. So often, this god was impenetrable, always had the upper hand. Here, now, my anger had struck a chord; I’d maybe even hurt him. Insulted him. Spat in the face of whatever relationship he had thought was brewing between us.
Well…
Fuck his idea of our relationship. My hands fell to his chest, solid as stone, unyielding when I shoved.
Fuck this place. My fingers crept up his sculpted body, over his shoulders, to his throat, the underside of his chin.
Fuck everyone out there. I dragged my nails through the stubble along his jaw, my hips arcing toward his like he had his own fucking gravitational pull.
And most of all, fuck him. I hooked an arm around his neck and kissed him, hard and furious, slamming my lips to his with the cry of a wounded—but still fighting to the last breath—animal.
Loki kissed me back like he wasn’t being careful anymore, thrusting me up against the fridge, his fingers stabbing through my hair and wrenching my head back. He tasted like the whiskey’s burn, and I felt it slithering down my throat and pooling in my gut, igniting between my thighs. Lust and hate. Passion. I’d never felt it before—not like this, not even on stage, and definitely not with Devlin.
Not my finest moment.
I was sloppy and all over the place, rough, scratching at him, hungry for a taste of golden blood, starving for his suffering to match mine. So I bit him as hard as I could, snagging his thin lower lip and chomping down. This wasn’t just a kiss—with Loki, it never was. It was a fucking battle, and if I could make him bleed, then I’d won something in here.
He reared back with a snarl, his lip swollen but the flesh unbroken, and I clapped my hands down on his heaving chest, both of us panting, gasping for air. Locked my arms at the elbows. Shaking. Here but not. Guilty, suddenly, for throwing all my efforts this past month out the window for a bottle of booze and a hot guy. God.
A throb of sadness extinguished the flames inside me, and my chin wobbled as I fought back the next flood of tears.
“Fuck you, Loki,” I hissed, my words thick and heavy—like my heart. Like everything. I needed to get out of here, but there was nowhere to go. Not bothering to wait for a retort, I ducked around him and blitzed for the doorway. It wasn’t safe to wander around a pool of water with my veins more whiskey than blood, but fuck it. I had to move. Had to—
One strong arm snapped around my waist just before I reached the steps, and I lurched forward with a squeak.
“Fuck me? Fuck you, firebird,” Loki growled in my ear, locking me in place like a bear trap for my entire body. I squirmed against him, wriggled and kicked out, smacked at his arm around my waist—all for nothing. Like always. He just held tighter, wrenched me closer to him, my ass tucked neatly against
his hips, his cock insistent and there. Apparently rage got him off, too. Frightening, the two of us together. His teeth caught my ear, his free hand gathering my hair and throwing it over my one shoulder, opening me up to him in a way that felt so fucking intimate that it made me whimper.
“Let go—”
“You’ve been here a month and you’re coming apart at the seams,” he fumed, mouth hot as it ripped along the column of my throat and clamped down on my shoulder. The pain bloomed bright, everything else fuzzy, and I kicked back but missed him by a mile. The god gave me a little shake, jostling me about, then stilled me with a harsh hand in my hair and a knee shoved between both of mine. “Do you even deserve your new title? Where the fuck is my firebird?”
Furious and empty and drunk, I gave him all the fire I had. I fought. I screamed my throat raw, yanked his hair, kicked his shins, scraped my nails up his bare arm. And nothing. His grip never loosened, his bite never softened, and soon enough his free—dangerous—hand found its way under my dress, skimming up my thighs without an ounce of kindness. I wriggled and squirmed, trying to force him off, yank him out with both hands, then scrambled for something to anchor myself on.
The doorway.
I curved my fingers over the stone just as he slipped one of his own between my folds, rubbing me with a rough exhale against my neck. The first stroke had me shaking, burning up from the inside out—because he found me wet. I knew it. He knew it.
He had me.
I could just ride it out—or keep on fighting.
And I had already given up once today.
I pushed back—chose to fight when all I wanted to do was fly.
Useless, every effort.
He was steel. He was a hurricane. He was this fucking mountain and then some, immoveable and cold. But so, so, so good with his fingers. Loki had me trembling in no time, shivering with pleasure as he played me with long, elegant fingers. Thumb on my clit, occasionally a finger or two thrust inside me, stroking me, fucking me like he had wanted to from that first day.
And eventually I let him. I folded—again. I gave in to the burn, to the cozy nothingness, to a head empty of thoughts and a body that felt good after all this time. Even before him, I hadn’t felt good in so fucking long.
Knees buckled, hands weakly grasping at the doorway, the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a puddle on the ground was him. My sole support system—if I just let him. If I just gave in. Loki worked me harder, eventually tormenting my body with both hands, his teeth on my throat—one hand for my clit, the other pumping three fingers in and out of me. Too much. Too much. I gritted my teeth and clenched my eyes shut, as if that would muffle my sobs.
As if that would stop it.
I should have realized by now: nothing could stop it.
Nothing—and no one—could stop him.
This month had shattered me, but tonight, Loki put me back together, all my muscles taut, pleasure drowning out the whiskey, so he could splinter me apart by his own hands.
And when I broke this time, I did so with a scream, a smile, and his name on my lips…
14
Loki
Nora might have been a ridiculous drunk, quick to succumb to the bottle and emotional beyond measure, but she made the most delightful noises when she came. All the others—all of them—had always been so quiet and dignified, demure, like their pleasure wasn’t really happening at all and everything about our fucking had been for me.
So dull.
She was anything but dull, no matter how she made me feel, how she played on my emotions, my temper.
Thrilling to the last, my firebird.
As her body sagged in my arms, trembling through the aftershocks of whatever made her shriek my name as she had, I slowly released her, mindful that she didn’t face-plant onto the ground. After all, she was compromised: drunk on whiskey and pleasure, she could very easily knock herself out if she wasn’t careful.
But not yet.
The night wasn’t over.
Far from it.
Better on her footing now than some ten minutes prior, she shuffled forth and collapsed against the arched opening at the helm of the steps, gasping, panting, shoving her hands through her hair. Cheeks flushed a delicious red, she refused to look at me, acknowledge me, so much as glance my way—but I didn’t need that from her anymore. The game was done, dead and buried. Time to move on to the next one, firebird, where we would both be victorious with every fucking round.
I prowled after her, brain switched off for the first time in eons, fueled by primal instinct alone as I went for her dress. So fragile, the white cotton, so pliant in my hands. It was all she had, and I was cautious not to tear it as I spun her around and yanked the fabric up her body and over her head, then tossed it aside. After tonight, I’d insist the villagers bring her something better to wear—whatever made her most comfortable.
Tonight, however, she’d wear nothing at all—and she had no say in the matter.
Although I’d thought it impossible, my cock hardened further at the sight of her, straining against my trousers. Staticky black hair met perfect shoulders, sharp collarbones, small but full breasts with brownish-pink nipples. Besides the odd dark dot here and there, her skin was unmarred, the only freckles across the bridge of her nose like a constellation. Long limbs. Narrow hips. An ass that mirrored her breasts—perky and taut and perfect.
She was exquisite, my firebird, in body and mind.
Nora swiped at me when I swooped in, but her open-palm slap hadn’t been a deterrent before and it certainly wasn’t now. Without even flinching, I ducked down and scooped her up, threw her over my shoulder, relishing her soft mewling protests as I strode down the steps and into the black. The darkness had been an unwelcome constant in my life for eight fucking centuries; I could see in it just fine, navigate it with my eyes opened or closed—but I would always crave the light, the warm caress of fire and the fleeting wisps of golden sunshine. Nora struggled in here. She still wandered the mountain’s passages with her arms outstretched, her steps cautious yet slowly becoming confident.
She struggled most in the bedroom, the darkest of the made-up rooms; at least the bathroom had a mirror that occasionally reflected the light. Here in the pitch-black, she whimpered when I tossed her onto the bed. Naked and beautiful, she rolled onto her side, pushed up, groped the linens for the circular wooden bedframe that always guided her to her side. Lips hitched in a snarl, I lashed out, yanking her ridiculous pillow wall off and hurling it into the silent abyss around us.
Next came my trousers, the hiss of the zipper stilling her, making her breath catch. Had I not felt the slickness between her thighs, felt her cunt dance around my fingers when she came, I would have held back—possibly just tasted her tonight, licking her until dawn, whether she liked it or not. But Nora desired me. Hated me too, apparently, but she craved my touch just as I needed the companionship of her body.
My cock fell like a lead weight once free, springing forth, solid and lusting, and I kicked my trousers off my ankle with a scowl, eyes fixed on the perfect prey. She squirmed up the bed on her belly, and I crawled after her, dragging my mouth from the crook of her ass up the delicate swell of her lower back, tracing her spine with my tongue and teeth to the base of her skull. Little bumps erupted across her flesh, and she shivered beneath me, her hands twisting in the blankets.
I’d fantasized about how I would first take her, but it had never been anything like this—never organic, flowing from one movement to the next, not a thought in my mind of where to go from here. I coiled an arm around her hips, then hauled her onto her knees, ass up for me, and Nora planted a hand on the wall, shocking me when she arched her lower back, opening for me like a flower in bloom. Fuck. I hissed, cupping my hand over her ass, gripping hard as I nipped at her ticklish sides harsh enough to leave marks. Evidence—of her surrender, my dominion.
Of us.
Fire lapped at my insides, bright blue and violent, threatening to bur
n me alive, consume me whole. Desire. It had been far, far too long since I truly desired one of my consorts, lusted after them beyond the basic need for release. And because of that, I would take my time with her.
Fuck her until dawn. Feed her a feast to refuel, then carry on fucking her well into the night.
Taking her firmly by the hips, I nudged against her slick heat, against a cunt still dripping wet for me. Nora jerked out of reach—or, at the very least, tried to, one final attempt at maintaining our status quo. Smirking, I wrapped my arm back around her, capturing her, trapping her in place like a rabbit snare, then slowly thrust into the inferno between her thighs. She moaned, unfurling for me with every inch, smacking at the wall once, twice, three times with a hoarse whimper.
Fuck, she was tight enough to make me see stars, and while that primal thing inside me, the beast who longed to devour every part of her, demanded I just go, fuck her into the bed with no remorse, I took my time. Painful as it was, I filled her slowly, knowing that I was likely far larger than she was accustomed to. Teeth gritted, I sank into her bit by bit—until finally I was home. For a few precious moments, buried to the hilt, I was a man again, not a prisoner, not an animal confined in a cage for all its miserable life.
Alive.
Nora made me feel alive—with her smart mouth and her fiery cunt.
She wriggled in my grasp, squirming, fighting, arching her hips—grinding back into me. I inhaled sharply, pleasure exploding behind my eyelids like a show of pristine oriental fireworks. Magnificent, the displays I’d seen but once in my life. And would never see again.
Except when I was inside her.
The thought broke me, dragged me away from the considerate lover to a monster who took. I bucked against her, retreated only slightly before driving back home, the last semblance of control waning—gone. One hand seized her hip, the other planted firmly on the wall, and I had her as harshly as I wished, thrusting, pulling out completely and slamming into her, fucking her as I’d imagined that first day. Savagely. Brutally. Making her mine.