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When my temper gets the better of me, I think about how much I probably stink. Loki wanted to take me? To keep me? Let him learn how smell a human can get when there’s no deodorant and her personal heated blanket has her sweating like a pig.
He likes it. When I’m sure I’m rank, he nuzzles my armpit and sighs happily.
That doesn’t mean I’m not sick and tired of my dress. And on one of my worst days, I think about ripping it off, shoving it at Loki to burn, while stomping around in my birthday suit. He does. Why can’t I?
Before it gets to that point, Loki realizes that I’m beginning to hate the printed dress I yanked on so many days ago.
While I yank at a loose thread on my dusty skirt, his brow furrows as he concentrates.
The air grows warm. That catches my attention. With his hand outstretched in front of him, I watch as he conjures something.
I’ve gotten used to these small displays of magic. It’s still amazing. Whether it’s flames to cook our meat or a comb for me to brush my tangled hair, the way he creates things out of nothing is amazing.
Even more amazing is his surprised yet proud expression every time he accomplishes it.
It looks like shadows, though it flows like a more tangible fabric as he weaves magic, creating—
A dress. A black, shadowy dress that can finally replace the golden yellow sundress that’s turned a dingy grey over the last week.
I don’t know how he does it. I don’t care. When he holds the dress out to me, I squeal and, before I even think of changing, I throw myself at Loki.
My hands go around his middle. Squeezing him tightly, I tilt my head back so that I can meet his glowing white eyes. “Thank you, Loki. Thank you so—oh.”
“Uxor mi,” he breathes, lifting his hand slowly toward my face.
It’s the expression on his face that has my breath catching in my throat.
I don’t even know when he stopped looking like a monster to me. In the days since Loki appeared in my life, almost like he was tailor-made for me—even if he is a demon from a world of shadows—I’ve gotten used to his features. I barely notice the slight ridges over his long nose, or the four polished horns arcing over his head until the flickering lights reflect off of them. Whether he’s standing there, solid and in his red skin, or going as dark as night with only his strange white eyes breaking up his shadowy form, he’s just… he’s justLoki.
Right now he’s solid, his long hair falling in front of his broad shoulders as he tucks his chin into his wide chest, staring down at me. The points of his fangs dig into his lush bottom lip as his hard features seem to soften.
I’ve seen him possessive. I’ve seen him lusty. I’ve seen him crook a claw, a seductive twist to his smile, as he called me to him. I’ve seen him curious. I’ve seen him confused. When we couldn’t really talk to each other with words, I’ve had to adapt. Between body language and reading his expression like they’re an open book, I had to learn my big demon.
Now I know that, when he says ‘uxor’, he doesn’t mean ‘fuck’. I think it’s a term of endearment. His name for me.
“Loki…”
With the curve of his claw, he tucks my hair behind my ear. His fingertip brushes against the shell. Regardless of his temperature, the gentle caress burns.
So does the rest of me.
I’ve slept with him. He had his mouth and hisfangson my most private parts. And, yet, it’s that touch that has me revving in place.
I drop my gaze from his eyes to his mouth. I’m not so sure why. It just seems the thing to do.
It hits me then that we’ve never kissed. He’s bumped my cheek, as if he knows our faces can touch as intimately as other parts of our bodies. Whether pressing lips together or stroking tongues is something that his people do or not, I never put myself in a position where I wanted to try.
Until now.
My lips part. Rising up on my tiptoes, I give him an opened-mouth kiss on the closest part of him I can reach. It’s near one rust-colored nipple. I kiss him, and he groans.
“Kiss,” I say.
Lifting my hand, I gesture for him to bow his head, bringing his lips closer to mine. Following my lead, eager to see what I’m going to do next, Loki does. I swipe my mouth across his, not remembering his fangs until I’m pulling back, then diving back in to pepper small kisses at the corner of his mouth.
I trust him. He won’t hurt me, and his fangs are just another part of him like his fingers or his cock. Licking the seam of his lips, pushing insistently with the tip of my tongue, I wait to see if he’ll let me in—or if he’ll think what I’m doing is strange.
Strange or not, Loki opens his mouth, letting my tongue delve right in.
