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Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Winning Freyja’s Cloak
Excerpt from The Trickster’s Lover
Thank you!
More from Samantha MacLeod
About the Author
For Janine Ashbless, one of my writing heroes.
Winning Freyja’s Cloak
The sun was sinking beyond the slowly churning waves of the ocean just outside my cottage when someone knocked on my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but the knock wasn’t much of a surprise. It was that time of day, after all.
“Who is it?” I called, pushing my cat from my lap and setting down the flagon of mead I’d just poured.
No response. I stood, smoothed my dress, and glanced at myself in the mirror. Good. My lipstick hadn’t smudged. Tugging the bodice of my dress down to reveal just a bit more cleavage, I turned to face the door.
“Yes?” I called. “Who’s there?”
But now I knew damn well who it was.
The front door of my cottage had a clever little charm on it, making it transparent from the inside. I’d begged the magic from Óðinn after a particularly satisfying night of lovemaking, telling him it was because I wanted to watch the sunset from my lounge. Really, I just wanted the few extra seconds to prepare myself for whoever was on the other side of that door. And I was fairly certain Óðinn knew that when he built the charm.
“It’s your favorite lover,” Loki said, from the doorstep.
I waited until I’d opened my door before snorting a laugh.
“That’s funny,” I said, frowning at him. “You don’t look a thing like my favorite lover.”
Loki only smiled.
Damn that incendiary smile of his. He’d probably charmed the skirts off more innocent maidens than all the rest of them combined. I stood up straighter, not wanting to betray the effect his smile had on the tight coil of arousal spooling in my core.
“What do you want, Lie-smith?”
Loki ran a hand through his fiery hair. His eyes sparkled like the first light of morning off the summer ocean, and his black pants were so tight they may as well have been painted on. Oh, why did he have to be so damned handsome? It made him ever so much harder to dislike.
“Good evening, Freyja,” he purred.
His ice-blue eyes dropped as he openly admired my curves. I was wearing an especially flattering dress, and I knew it. Still, heat surged between my legs as he ran the edge of his extremely talented tongue over his lips.
“I’ve heard there’s only one reason men visit your cottage when the sun sets,” he said.
I drew a quick breath, ready to tell him exactly where he could stick that arrogant, beautiful face of his, but he continued before I had a chance.
“For the exquisite pleasure of your unrivaled...conversation,” he finished, his wide-eyed smile the very picture of innocence.
I froze, my mouth half open. It was a joke, of course, but what could I do? Disagree with him? Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest, deepening the cleft of my cleavage. His eyes fell from my lips to my breasts, and a victorious little swell of heat raced over my skin.
“Why don’t you just tell me what you’re after?” I said, arching an eyebrow at him.
He stepped so close I could smell him, that faint aroma of salt and smoke that always hung around Loki’s body. His scent got stronger when he was turned on, a thought that sent a little flutter through my stomach.
“I need to borrow your falcon cloak,” Loki said, still smiling.
“What about the exquisite pleasure of my conversation?” I objected.
“You strike me as a woman who appreciates honesty.”
I laughed. “Then why would I waste my time with you, Lie-smith?”
Loki ignored the jab, as he always did. “I’ll pay for it, of course.”
I put my hand on my chin and considered it. Loki always had an excuse for wanting to borrow the cloak, and he always brought it back in perfect condition. Still...
Loki was talented, I had to grant. They said only Óðinn rivaled his skill with magic. He could transform himself, taking the shape of any animal. I’d heard he could even become a woman.
But Loki didn’t make things. Calling him the Lie-smith was another one of those mean little jokes he seemed to ignore; Loki hadn’t made a single magical item without Óðinn’s help. All that time with my cloak... I couldn’t help wondering if he was trying to unravel its secrets, to make his own magical items.
“What do you want with my cloak?” I asked. “Can’t you take the shape of a falcon on your own?”
He stepped closer, so his chest almost touched my breasts. “I like it,” he whispered. “It feels good against my skin. And it smells like your sex.”
My entire body hummed with approval.
“Stop it,” I hissed. “You cheeky—”
I barely stopped myself saying bastard. Loki didn’t respond to most barbs, but he was touchy about his parentage. Especially when he’d been drinking. And with Loki, you could never quite tell when he’d been drinking.
“I’m just being honest,” he said, his pale eyes flashing.
By the Nine Realms, did he have to be so hard to resist? Not that I’d ever been particularly good at resisting in the first place.
I stepped backward, trying to damp down the furious rush of heat surging through my body. Loki and I had slept together many times, and each time I told myself it was the last. Loki was dangerous; look what happened to Thor’s wife Sif. She fucked Loki once, and he cut her hair off after she’d fallen into a blissful, post-orgasmic sleep. Sure, he replaced it with magical hair of actual gold, and he got Thor’s hammer Mjölnir in the bargain, but still. He wasn’t to be trusted. Besides, I’d never quite gotten around to forgiving Loki for the time he tried to steal my necklace, even though he swore up and down he did it at Óðinn’s bequest. Which was ridiculous.
When I mentioned Loki’s repeated explanations to Óðinn, he’d laughed and said, “Darling, Freyja. They do call him the Lie-smith for a reason.”
I pursed my lips, suddenly wondering about the origins of that unpleasant little moniker. Who first called Loki the Lie-smith? Was it Thor? Heimdallr?
Had it been Óðinn himself?
I shook my hair back from my face and parted my lips, an action that usually reduced the intellect of any males in the room, and sometimes several of the females as well.
“And what are you going to offer me in exchange?” I asked. “Did you steal someone else’s precious necklace? Cut off someone else’s golden hair?”
Loki ignored those comments as well. Instead, he moved his hungry blue eyes over my body again, lingering on the swell of my breasts and the curve of my hips. I could almost feel the heat of his gaze, as if his stare were hot enough to burn off my dress and send sparks skidding across my skin.
“I can give you...” He paused to lick his bottom lip, then gestured down at his own hips. “Something you’ve never had before.”
I tried to laugh, but my mouth was too dry for it to be very effective.
“Very funny, Loki. But I’ve already had you. Many times. Or was I so forgettable you think we’ve never made love?”
I pouted at him, another action that usually made men stammer and blush. Not Loki, of course. His smile never wavered as he met my eyes.
“Trust me,” he said.
I bit my lip as my mind spun. With all my lovers, there’s a moment when intercourse becomes inevitable. It doesn’t e
ven feel like I’ve made a decision, any more than a swell in the ocean chooses to crash against the shore. There is a time for resisting, and then resistance fades, swallowed by hunger and lust, and I must have them.
Usually that moment comes once we’re both naked and his head is between my legs, or when the hard bud of her nipple is in my mouth and she’s writhing beneath me. Sometimes that moment doesn’t come at all; I’ve sent Thor home more times than I’ve sent him to my bed.
But that damned Loki...
Of all the men on Asgard, he’s the only one who can push me over the edge while we’re still fully dressed, sometimes before we even embrace. The hot pulse of need between my legs was already rising to my core, threatening to push me completely off balance.
“Come in,” I said, stepping well out of his way.
Loki walked through my front door, not taking his eyes off my body. Once inside, he settled his long frame into one of my chairs and licked his lips again. I had to stifle a moan. How well I remembered what that cool tongue felt like as it flickered across my skin.
Loki waved his fingers in the air and a thick, black length of velvet appeared between his fingers. My dress suddenly felt too tight, and the room too hot.
“You remember this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Of course.”
“Remember how it works?”
I nodded, not fully trusting my voice.
“Show me,” he said. “I want to be sure.”
He leaned forward, holding the velvet strap out to me. I took it from his fingers. The sexual heat building inside me surged at the feel of that cool, smooth fabric against my palms. I pulled the strap taut between my hands and cleared my throat.
“Release me,” I said.
The fabric vanished, leaving my hands hanging empty. Loki gave me a slow grin as the strap re-appeared, this time twined around his long fingers.
“Very good,” he said.
He stood and took a step closer to me. His woodsmoke scent enveloped me, and he bent low enough for me to feel his breath against my neck. My skin tightened as my nipples hardened beneath the tight lace of my bodice.
“Shall I use it?” he whispered.
With those four words, my resistance crumbled. I had to have him, consequences be damned. I needed his heat, his lips, his tongue. I needed the length of his cock buried inside my hungry cunt.
“Yes,” I moaned.
His lips moved across my neck as his hands wrapped around my waist. I closed my eyes, letting myself fall into his embrace. With another half step, Loki pushed me against the wall. He pulled my arms up, over my head, and then wrapped my wrists together with the velvet band. The band pulled taut, holding my arms above my head and pressing my back to the wall. I could pull as hard as I liked, I knew from experience, and the fabric would hold me tight.
I was bound. Bound by Loki the Lie-smith. The very thought made my insides coil with heat. By the Realms, how Óðinn would rage if he knew. They would all rage, from the warrior Thor to the musician Bragi. I could almost picture them, their accusing faces distorted with anger.
How could you, Freyja? How could you let yourself be tied up like that, left at the mercy of the Lie-smith?
“You like this, don’t you?” Loki said, his breath hot against my neck.
A low, animal moan slipped from my lips. Imagining their disapproval was half the fun of this little game.
“I can tell,” Loki whispered.
His body was so close I could feel his heat pouring through the tight, thin fabric of my dress. His hand closed around my shoulder, then dropped, dragging his long, delicate fingers down my ribcage.
“I could tell from the moment you opened the door,” he whispered. “You can’t hide how happy that sweet cunt is to see me.”
His fingers stopped, pulled back, then surged forward to press between my legs. The sudden pressure of his hand against my body made me gasp. My hips rocked forward, hungry for more. He laughed softly and stepped back, just out of reach. A moan of frustration rose in my throat, but I bit my lip, holding it in.
I’d have him tonight, all of him, and probably more than once. But it was too early in the game to let him know he’d won.
Loki’s hand dropped to his side, and he pulled a dagger out of nowhere. He glanced at the winking, curved blade in his hand, then tilted his head at me. His pale eyes sparkled.
“No,” I said. “Not the dress.”
He stepped closer, the blade glimmering between us. “That dress,” he growled, “is an affront.”
I shifted, partly to move away from Loki’s blade and partly in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure surging between my legs.
“Covering a body as beautiful as yours is an insult,” he continued. He was staring directly into my eyes now, and the intensity of his gaze left me reeling.
“Loki, I like this dress,” I said, with all the dignity I could muster.
His hand slipped around the small of my back. “More than being naked?” he asked.
I sighed and tried to roll my eyes. The effect was probably ruined somewhat by my hips rocking forward, trying to find something to rub against to relieve what had become a very insistent pulse of arousal.
“More than my lips?” he whispered against my neck. “More than my tongue?”
His hand slipped lower, cupping the swell of my ass, and he pulled me forward. Not much, but enough to let me feel the hard length of his perfect cock. Loki’s curved, enormous cock was so perfect, in fact, I suspected he used his magic to enhance it.
He stepped away again, leaving me panting for breath and straining against the velvet rope encircling my wrists. His smile was wilder now, and his flaming red hair drifted over his shoulders. His shirt and pants were tight enough to reveal every muscle in his body, and every inch of his gorgeous erection. The dagger flashed in his hands as he shrugged exaggeratedly.
“Well, if that’s how you feel, I suppose I can always show myself to the door,” he said.
I huffed loudly. “Damn it, do you always have to be so dramatic?”
His eyes flashed. “My darling, I can find you another dress.”
“Fine,” I said. “Do it.”
The blade sliced through the air, silent and faster than I would have imagined. The laces on my bodice slid open, revealing the curves of my breasts. Another flick of Loki’s wrist, and the sleeves of my dress fell apart. The fabric collapsed on my floor with a soft rustle. I sighed.
“This had better be worth losing that dress,” I said.
Loki’s eyes met mine, and he raised the flat end of the blade to press against my throat. It felt cold against the heat of my skin. He could kill me, I realized. He could slit my throat and leave me here, blood running down my naked body to stain the ruined dress at my feet.
The image exploded in my mind like a sudden flash of summer lightning, followed by a scorching rush of arousal through my sex. The fact that he could kill me shouldn’t have made me burn for his touch, but it did.
Loki rocked backward, lifting the blade from my skin to press it against his own lips. “Shhhhh,” he whispered. “We’re only missing one thing.”
With a delicate flutter of his hands, the blade vanished, replaced by another length of thick, black velvet. I recognized this one as well. When he met my gaze and raised an eyebrow, I nodded. A heartbeat later he slipped the cloth over my eyes and tied it, plunging me into darkness.
With my sight blocked, all my other senses were heightened. I could hear the roar of my own heartbeat, the rush of my breath over my lips. I imagined I could even feel the air swirling over my naked skin as Loki stalked around me. The ache between my legs intensified as my entire body prickled with longing. My breasts felt heavy, my nipples hard and tight. I tried to listen for him, to imagine where he’d touch first, but he was as silent as a cat.
“I thought you said you were going to show me something I’ve never seen,” I finally said, when the tension became too much for me to bear. “You
realize I can’t see anything like this?”
He laughed again, soft and low, and just in front of me.
“Patience has never been your strong suit, has it?” he replied.
Oh, stars. He was kneeling in front of me. His breath washed over my abdomen, sending sparks dancing across my skin. A moment later, the soft warmth of his mouth closed around my nipple, and I gasped something halfway between a moan and a cry.
Slowly, painfully slowly, his lips and tongue circled my breast, enveloping my body in waves of pleasure. Little whimpers began to slip from my lips as my hips rocked forward and back, forward and back, undulating as they sought the relief of Loki’s body. If my hands hadn’t been bound above my head, I would have grabbed him, pulled him to me, forced his lips or hands to my hungry sex.
But he waited until the whimpers became pleas, until I was almost out of my mind with need, until the bursts of pleasure his lips brought me became an undeniable tide, crying out for release.
Only then did Loki touch me.
I felt his fingers on my back first, tracing the curve of my shoulder blades as the ropes held my arms above my head. Despite the blindfold, I could picture his pale fingers against my dark skin, his expert caress intensifying my lust but promising no relief. I’d waited so long for his touch that the feel of his cool fingers against my overheated skin almost burned, and I moaned out loud as his hands dropped to encircle my waist. By the time he forced my thighs apart, I was begging for his touch with wordless gasps, each as sharp and bright as the blade of his knife.
My hips kicked out, reaching for him, but he ignored my twisting attempts to claim my release. Instead, one hand closed around my hips, forcing me to hold still, while his other hand traced the inside of my thigh. I whimpered as he reached the lips of my hungry sex, brushing me as lightly as a butterfly’s wings.
“Loki!” I burst out as I felt his hand withdraw. “Oh, fuck, Loki!”
He murmured some wordless retort, but I didn’t have a chance to respond, because his hand was back on my sex, this time cupping me gently. His thumb brushed the throbbing nub of my clit, and my legs gave way. The thick strap wrapped around my wrists jerked me upright, but I hardly noticed. My body was evaporating, falling apart under the maddeningly gentle brush of the Lie-smith’s fingers.
Winning Freyja's Cloak_A Short Erotic Fantasy with Loki Page 1