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The language barrier is too big to overcome right now. I have to admit that. But while I now know that my new pet is anungez, I have no idea what my sensual lover turned captor is.
I don’t even know hisname.
I have his complete attention. He stays still on his side of the room, watching me closely.
I tap my chest.
His eyes light up when I manage to jab myself right in the boob. He hurries forward, reaching one of his mitt-sized hands out, ready to get a handful of tit himself next.
Uh-uh. Letting him touch me is what got me into this mess in the first place.
I hold up my hand. “No.”
He immediately stops. Cocking his head to the side, his hair spilling in front of his chest, he mimics the sound. “No?”
Oh, boy. How did I forget how gruff and deep andsexyhis voice can be? Just because I didn’t understand anything he said to me while we were fucking doesn’t mean that it didn’t do something to hear him. It’s like his voice was made for dirty talk, though he could’ve been saying anything at all when he kept calling me “Uxor” over and over again before.
But, just like back in the apartment, it seems as if some words and some gestures are universal. I said ‘no’ and he immediately drops his outstretched hand back to his side.
Of course, my gaze follows it as he does—and that just means I get another eyeful of his bobbing erection.
I gulp. Looking at it beneath the strange white light has me wondering not for the first time how the hell something that size ever fit inside of me. It’s a good thing I’d been convinced he was some kind of dream because if I knew then that he was real… I would’ve been afraid of being split apart by his dick.
Let’s try this again.
I tap my chest. “Kennedy. My name is Kennedy.”
He frowns.
Okay. Probably too much for a first lesson. “Kennedy.” I circle my finger around my face. “Kennedy.”
“Ah,” he says. He jabs his claws in my direction. “Ken-dee.”
Hey. Close enough.
“Yes,” I say, nodding so he puts that syllable to the action. I point at myself. “Kennedy.”
“Ken-dee.”
I point at him and wait.
“Loki,” he grates out.
Did I—
I point at me.
“Ken-dee.”
I point at him.
“Loki.”
—Idid.
I almost laugh as I realize the shadow monster’s name. Only the look of pride on his monstrous features as he repeats it one more time for good measure keep me from giggling. He says it in two distinct syllables—”low key”—but I’m one hundred percent sure that my demon shares the same name as the Norse trickster god—and the gorgeous villain in the Thor movies.
I clear my throat so that he doesn’t realize I think his name is amusing. At least we’re getting somewhere. I can stop thinking of him as a “monster” and a “beast’, and he can—
