Son of Mischief (Loki/Asgard Fanfiction - Selig's Story)

Chapter Forty

Selig closed the door softly and turned to her, crooking his finger at her. "Come here, beautiful girl."

A sudden shyness swept through her, much like it did on her prom night. Her belly did the funniest flutter, sending her blood rushing through her as she gazed up at him. His eyes glittered in the low light, his smile was equal parts feral and promise, and as he leaned back against the door, she'd swear her knees actually felt wobbly.

She stepped closer and when he caught her hand with his fingers, she actually shivered. "Are you cold, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, his thumb grazing hers.

"No. I'm fine."

He tugged, drawing her into his arms. "Are you sure? I could probably warm you up."

"Oh, I'm sure you can, Prince Selig."

A low chuckle rumbled from the depths of his chest. "I like how that sounds when you say it, sweetheart."

"Prince Selig?"

His eyes closed briefly and he pushed up, away from the door, to loom over her. "Beautiful girl..."

She laid her hand on his chest, his coolness sinking into her. He was so solid, a thick layer of muscle beneath her hand, beneath his cool skin. Her Selig. A beautiful boy who grew up to be an absolutely gorgeous man.

He bent toward her, his lips gentle and teasing as they claimed hers. Her fingers twisted in the soft cotton of his dark green tunic, her lips parting at the gentle nudge of his tongue. They tightened in the fabric as his tongue teased hers with sensual slowness. His arms tightened about her waist, pulling her firmly into him.

Her free arm wound about his neck, her fingers slipping into his silky hair once more to twist and hold on, and when he pulled back, his eyes blazed sapphire as he murmured, "Oh, beautiful girl, you have no idea how much I want you."

Celia couldn't help but return his smile, unclenching her fingers from his tunic to slide her hand down over his flat stomach, to the front of his black leather leggings. "I beg to differ, Your Highness," she whispered, curving her hand against the very pronounced, telltale ridge of his erection, "but I know exactly how much."

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathed as she grazed along that ridge with her thumb. He rocked against her, her breath catching as he ground against her hand.

A sensual grin played at his lips as he gripped her tunic by the hem and tugged up to whisk it over her head. He bent toward her, his mouth hot as his lips pressed into the curve of her shoulder. He nipped, then soothed with his tongue, and worked his way across her shoulder.

Nip.

Flick.

Kiss.

Her eyes closed, heat swirling through her as he crouched to brush a kiss along her collarbone. Down over the rise of her left breast. She shivered against him, sliding her fingers into his hair as he eased that breast from her bra and trailed smoking kisses down over her nipple. A flick of his fingers and her bra lay at her feet.

"Selig..." she breathed, his lips closing about her nipple, his tongue doing a leisurely rotation about it to make her back arch as tingles shot through her.

He flicked his tongue against the sensitive bead, teasing and torturing her in the most sensual way possible. Her head spun, her back arched, and she shivered as he gently nipped her. "Oh!"

He lifted his head. "Too hard, honey?" he asked softly.

Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. "Oh, no," she breathed, trying to pull him back to her. "Don't stop, Selig..."