by Renee Jordan
“Magnus,” I purred. “Mmm, but you feel so great against me. So sexy. Please, wash my dirty pussy.”
Another hot thrill raced through me as I said that word.
Magnus pressed the loofah against my vulva. I shuddered and moaned, my body tensing as he caressed my hot folds. The loofah tickled me as he rubbed it along my vulva. My pussy clenched and my clit throbbed.
I let out a happy moan. My eyes closed. The shower caressed my breasts with hot water as Magnus washed my dirty pussy. My hips shifted, rubbing my slippery butt against his hard cock. He groaned and rubbed harder at my sex.
A hot shudder rippled through me. “Yes! That's good. Wash my dirty pussy, Magnus.”
“Always,” he growled in my ear.
His hand on my thigh moved up to squeeze my breast. His fingers kneaded up to my hard nipple. Fingers wrapped around the nub. He pinched and rolled it. Electricity shuddered through me. I bucked in his arms. My fingers clenched against the tiles. I leaned my head forward, resting my cheek against the cool tile.
My body was on fire.
Every caress of the loofah fanned the flames. I writhed my hips and ground against his hard cock. I rose on my tip-toes and his cock slipped down and popped between my thighs. The loofah fell with a wet splash to the floor as I undulated my hips and rubbed my hot pussy up and down his cock.
“Mmm, now I'm cleaning your dirty cock,” I purred. The hotter my fires grew, the naughtier my words became.
“There's a better way to wash it,” he growled in my ear.
My pussy clenched. “Yes, there is.”
Magnus's hips moved. His hand guided his cock, rubbing the tip between my folds. He found the entrance to my depths. I rose on my tip-toes as he drove into my sex. Hot pleasure raced through me. His hand tightened on my breast as he held himself deep in me, so thick and wonderful.
“Magnus,” I purred as he drew back and then drove himself in again.
His thrusts were hard and fast. Our flesh slapped wetly together. I moaned louder, my voice echoing through the bathroom. His cock plunged through my depths. Pleasure churned through me. His strokes were so strong and virile. He took me hard.
Like a man.
He was so much different from my previous two lovers. Magnus took me hard. He wasn't afraid that I was some delicate object that would break. I bucked back into his thrusts, eager for his groin to slap into my curvy butt.
“Yes, yes! This is the best shower! Mmm, you need to wash my back more often!”
One of Magnus's hands kneaded my breast while the other caressed my clit. My pussy clenched about his thrusting cock as his rough finger circled my nub. Pleasure shot down to my toes as our bodies heaved together.
This wasn't love-making. This was sex. Hot, passionate, wet, shower sex.
The steam billowed around us. Hot water ran down my body. I was wrapped up in Magnus's strong arms and taking his thick cock. I bucked and groaned, my arms braced against the wall. I think I loved this man. We barely knew each other, and yet it felt so right.
“Magnus!” I gasped as my orgasm suddenly rippled through me.
I came hard. My eyes fluttered and my feet slipped as I thrashed. Magnus held me upright. He supported me as my pleasure consumed me. I writhed about his plunging shaft. My head tossed as I reached the peak of my climax.
I stood atop my pleasure as long as I could, holding it inside me and savoring Magnus's body pressed against mine.
And then it crashed away. I was left with buzzing bliss. Gentler waves of pleasure rippled through my body as Magnus drove his cock over and over into my depths. His lips sucked at my neck. His hand tightened on my breast.
“Raven,” he growled. So bestial.
My big wolf drove into me and flooded his hot come into my depths. I smiled and savored it, leaning into his chest as he trembled, caught up in his own climax. His breath exploded out of him in ragged gasps.
I looked over my shoulder. Our lips met. I closed my eyes and kissed my man as the hot water sprayed over us.
Chapter Twelve
Magnus
“Be careful,” Raven said, her arms wrapped around my neck, her nose brushing mine.
“I will,” I promised her.
My clothes had dried while we slept. I wore my jeans and vest, my combat boots pulled on over thick socks. I didn't feel the cold swirling in through the open front door. When Raven returned me to life with her kiss, she had filled me with fire.
The flames still simmered in me, a great anger I could summon and become a wolf shifter. Did that make me a werewolf? Or was it more like a berserker of Norse legends? They were said to achieve the mindless rage of the wolf or the bear. Maybe they had actually become werewolves or werebears.
I broke the hug with Raven as we stood by the front door. I gripped the shotgun we found in the master bedroom's closet, buck shot loaded in the magazine. It was a hunting shotgun, holding a clip of three red shells with a fourth chambered in the breech.
I stepped into the wan sunlight and peered up the street. The snow was undisturbed. Things were disconcerting. Mounds of cars moved when I looked away. Up the street was a busy intersection. It was almost like that game children play where one turns his back and everyone slowly creeps up, but if the kid turns around and sees you moving, you're out.
I never saw the mounds moving.
I trudged up the street through the knee-high snow, shotgun barrel pointed down, the butt resting lightly against my shoulder. The snow crunched beneath my feet. There was no moving quietly through this world. But that had to work both ways. My ears were attuned to any sound.
The world was silent. There weren't even animals. No small tracks of squirrels or birds dotted the snow. No larger prints of wolves and bears, and definitely nothing that belonged to the wolf-ape that attacked us.
Was that a giant or a troll we fought? Or a creature forgotten by time? Norse Mythology was only written down by Christian scholars. Everything was distorted through the lens of the Christian's religion. It was hard to say what had been lost or even what some of the true beliefs were. The Norse and other pagan, Germanic tribes, despite having their rune alphabet, were not cultures that produced works of written literature. They made songs and poems, past down orally by skalds, their bards.
I reached the busy intersection. I couldn't read the street sign. The green rectangles were caked by snow. Before me, the tall skyscrapers of downtown rose into the air. Thick icicles, some that had to be as long as I was tall, dangled from any of the buildings' lips, and snow accumulated in the frames of windows.
The city was silent. No hordes of pedestrians streamed down the sidewalks. No roar of cars and honks of horns echoed down the canyon-like blocks. And no monsters seemed to prowl across the windows. I glanced at one of the tall buildings nearby.
I needed a vantage point.
There was no danger in crossing the street. This world only changed when I wasn't interacting with it. I moved between the mounds of cars. Curious, I brushed the snow off of a windshield. There was no driver but a cup of coffee covered by a plastic lid steamed in the cup holder.
“And yet the cars still move when I look away,” I muttered as I kept crossing the road.
I found the door to the building and passed through the revolving door. Snow fell from my boots, leaving a powdered trail across the marble. My footsteps boomed, echoing through the reception area. Green, potted plants grew near the windows and a receptionist desk sat empty. Every time I looked away, the chair swiveled to a new position.
The elevators worked. I rode it to the top floor. Corny music played as the red, digital display counted the floors we passed. Twice, the elevator stopped, the doors opened and closed, and then the elevator continued on.
Were there people riding this elevator with me, separated only by the dimensional barrier?
My hands tightened on the shotgun. I was ready to leave this world behind. I wanted to kill whatever left us stranded here. Not that ape-demon; the monster had
to follow us here. Something else had happened to us when she kissed me. Someone sent us here.
Unless it was a byproduct of her power. I didn't think that. Raven never mentioned that she felt like she brought us here. She was confused by what happened. I concentrated on the memories of that moment. I had been floating above her, watching her grieve, hearing the beautiful words she spoke. I had wanted to touch her, to tell her to keep running, but I had been so helpless.
I hated it.
A great anger filled me. I had failed to protect her. It was a stupid emotion. That thing was a monster and my gun didn't even hurt it. I had only been a regular human. I couldn't do anything to stop it. But if only I had ridden my bike better, we might have escaped.
And then she kissed me. Fire flowed into my body and snow had swirled around us.
Not fire swirling but snow. Raven was a creature of flames. The Norse poets called a Valkyrie's sword her fire.
What brought us here? Was it the ape-demon? No. He claimed we fled here. Something was interfering. I didn't like it.
The elevator dinged and I reached the top floor. It looked like the executive offices for some company. Everything looked expensive and wasteful. I found an office door marked “Ryan Winstein – CEO” and entered his corner office. The tinted windows covered the entirety of two walls and snow-buried Seattle was laid out before me.
I marched to the window and saw light playing in the distance.
~ ~ ~
Raven
Dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt liberated from a teenage girl's room, I began gathering supplies for us. If we had to venture out into the snow, we would need food, spare clothing, blankets, and any other items I could scrounge up.
It was a frustrating process. I had to hold onto the object or keep it in my sight. If I didn't, it would vanish. I had never done anything so frustrating in my life. I had to keep my toe pressed against a cardboard box as I rooted through the pantry for easy-to-eat, non-perishable foods for us. If my toe slipped away for a second. Poof. Gone.
I did, however, discover something interesting. I could duplicate items. Once I had my act together, thanks to a length of rope tied about my waist and connected to a cardboard box, I made duplicates of an aluminum water bottle. I picked it up, tossed it into the box and when I looked back, a brand new one rested in the cupboard.
I wanted to be ready to go when Magnus returned from his scouting.
Fear twisted through my belly as I worked. Any moment I paused in what I was doing, I would picture Magnus lying broken on the ground again. I knew he could handle himself. The man was amazing. He rode his bike at a charging monster to save me. He stood there firing a pistol at the beast without flinching.
Magnus would be fine.
“That is an interesting style,” a man with a smooth baritone said.
I gasped and spun around. Instinctively, my flaming sword swept into being. A man in a gray, immaculately tailored suit stood in the doorway. It was the type of suit you could only buy in Italy. Perfect craftsmanship. A crimson pocket square added a splash of vibrancy.
The man who wore it was as equally immaculate. His hair was black and slicked back, his eyes an intense green. No stubble adorned his strong jaw. He stood straight, confident, and arrogant, a powerful smile curling his lips.
He was a man that knew he had power and knew how to flaunt it. He stepped into the kitchen, his intense, green eyes examining me. I was shocked by the hot wave that rippled through me. His eyes ended on the sword and his smile grew more confident.
I pointed the sword at him. “That's close enough.”
My heart thudded. Who was this man? Why wasn't he the least bit afraid of a flaming sword brandished before his eyes?
“Who are you?” I demanded, keeping my voice like steel. I couldn't show weakness to this man. I couldn't betray that burning ache that had just seized me.
I needed to control myself.
His hand reached out—his fingernails perfect, not ragged like Magnus's—and pushed my blade to the side. He took another step. My breath quickened. His eyes locked on mine. I needed to look away before I drowned in those verdant depths.
“Who are you?” I repeated, my hand tightening on my sword. I couldn't let him come closer. What if he was an enemy?
“Loki,” the man answered with an urban diction. His voice was cultured. This was a man that would gladly spend an evening at a Wagnerian opera or listen to a concerto by Bach.
“I know that name,” I said, my words cracking. My throat was so dry. I licked my lips. “You're a...a trickster. You can't be trusted.”
“Can any man really be trusted?”
His cologne tickled my nose, a spicy musk that caused me to take a deep breath. The heat increased. A blush spread across my cheeks. I was glad I wore a bra. My nipples were so hard. Why was this man turning me on?
You know, besides being a sexy, billionaire hunk.
I already had a sexy hunk. I didn't need a second.
“You are such a lovely woman, Valkyrie,” Loki smiled. “I can see Sigrid in your face.”
I wasn't surprised he knew my mother. Loki was a god. In those superhero movies, he was Odin's adopted son. But he was always a bad guy, someone that couldn't be trusted.
I fought my moan as his finger stroked the profile of my neck. “Yes, you greatly resemble your mother, Raven.”
“What do you want, Loki?”
“To talk.” His finger drifted down towards my chest; my nipples tingled. “To idle away the time in pleasant company. Have you never had that urge to find some companionship and unburden yourself of all the little thoughts and ideas bouncing through your mind?” He leaned in to my ear. “To share those deep, dark desires.”
“No,” I said, stepping back. This was getting out of hand. I moved the sword, the point low, aimed at his belly. “I have no secrets I want to share with you.”
“Are you sure?” That smile was so confident. “Don't you want to get a taste of what I have to share? You might find them...revealing.”
“If I could believe what you say,” I said. “I know about you, Loki. You're the bad guy.”
He laughed. It was a rich laugh rising from his gut. His head leaned back and his mouth went wide. I felt so foolish. Was I mistaken? Could I really trust what those superhero movies said about Loki? They clearly were inspired by Norse Mythology, but how much of it was accurate?
“A bad guy.” His smile was broad as he shook his head. “I have been called many things. Liar, thief, trickster, savior, betrayer, husband, lover, cheater, gambler, murderer, healer, seer, bard, poet, orator, leader, hero, and villain. But never something so pedantic as 'bad guy.'”
“Well, which are you?” I asked. “You can't be all those things. Not a murderer and a healer, a liar and a seer. You couldn't be a hero and a villain. That's just not possible.”
“Raven, I am all those things and more. I am Loki. I speak only truth and tell naught but lies. I scheme, I plot, I help, and I hinder. I am friend to all and enemy to everyone. And I'm here to be your friend.”
“And my enemy?”
“And more.” He took a step closer. “I can be what you want me to be. I could save you. I could give you secrets. I could tell you why you're here. Or I could be the treacherous ice breaking beneath your feet about to plunge you into the icy depths.”
“Why do you keep contradicting yourself?” I demanded. “What can you possibly hope to gain from me by telling me you're an honest man that lies. Do you expect me to trust you?”
“Do you want to trust me?” Loki asked. “I can see your eyes moving, the color spotting your cheeks, the way your hips shift. You want to trust me. You want me to be like your little berserker who's out stumbling through the snow. You want me simple. Easy to understand. But I want to be an enigma. A riddle you have to solve.”
He pushed my sword aside. I backed away from him. The counter stopped me. He loomed over me. My heart thudded in my chest.
; “Raven. What a name to be given. It matches you. Black hair, graceful figure, intelligent eyes. But a raven is a creature of death. A bird that ghosts the battlefield looking for its meal.” He leaned in, his body pressing against mine, and whispered in my ear, “And you have glutted on yours.”
“What?”
“Magnus. You killed him, Valkyrie. By choosing him, you led him to his death. You visited his corpse on the battlefield and you feasted with your lips.”
“That's not what happened. I saved him. My kiss brought him life.”
“Only after it brought him death. That's all Odin gives you. Death.”
I wanted to move. His body pinned me against the counter. He was so strong. My hand wanted to let my sword go and embrace him. He was dark, dangerous, unpredictable. He was so much like Magnus. They may dress differently, but at their core, these men were almost the same. Bold, powerful, confident.
But I couldn't trust Loki. I could trust Magnus.
I fought down my desire and put my hand on Loki's chest, pushing him away. He allowed me to. His smile was all promise though. My body flushed again at the remembrance of his strong feel. I can show you things your Magnus hasn't dreamed of, his green eyes seemed to whisper.
I shuddered and clenched my hand tight about the sword. I brought up my blade. This time, I wouldn't let him push it to the side. I would be strong.
“What do you want with me?” I demanded. “Besides to speak such nonsense.”
“Why to answer your questions, Valkyrie. You have been thrust into this world by Odin without instruction or guidance.”
“What?” I demanded. “What do you mean? Odin didn't thrust me here.”
“How do you think you crossed over?” Loki asked with a smile. “Who do you think plucked you from the street and cast you into Utgard? You didn't think it was random chance?”
“I...” My eyebrows furrowed. Why would Owen do this to me? He was such a sweet, old man. He was sad, almost broken by age. It was hard to think of him as a god. As Odin. “You're lying.”