A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, with a good plot and the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly crowned king of Jotunheim, Loki...
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My lips, a predator's hunger, find the delicate curve of Annalise's neck, sucking, nibbling, tasting her on my teeth.
Her moans, a symphony of pleasure, cry out as her nails, sharp as claws, dig into my leathers, her needs matching my own in ferocity. She pulls me in closer, her desire to feel the more solid part of me apparent. This isn't the shy girl I've come to know, this is a woman unleashed, craving me as fiercely as I crave her.
"Loki," she groans, my name a desperate plea on her lips. "I want you."
My jaw clenches, the need to tear off her dress and claim her right here and now, is like a raging inferno within me. But I hold back, for I want our first time to be more than just wild passion, I want it to be a journey, a sensual exploration, a commitment to memory. I want to savour every curve, every freckle, every inch of her. And I need her to be safe. For while she says she wants it all, I can't lose myself entirely, I won't risk hurting her.
I lift her from the door, carrying her towards the fireplace with a single-minded determination.
"The cosy rug or our grand four-poster bed, darling?" I offer, secretly hoping she selects the rug. An intimate space beside the crackling fire, far closer than the confines of my chambers.
"The rug... then against the wall... then over your desk... and finally, our bed," she replies, and I once again clench my teeth, biting back my dwindling restraint.
She's making it nearly impossible to maintain my decision to go slow and gentle when her words ignite vivid images of the wild night she's envisioned. She knows what she wants, and her lusty dominance is a powerful aphrodisiac.
With a gruff growl, I lower her onto the fluffy carpet, her body sinking into the softness. I take a moment to drink in the sight of her, her hair fanned out, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. With the sultry look of her blue eyes, she's never looked more beautiful.
However, her expectant gaze, assuming I'm seasoned in the art of love making, fuels a sudden wave of anxiety. Will she see through my facade of confidence, revealing my inexperience? Am I even sure that I can quench the hunger in her?
My fingers, trembling with anticipation, begin to work at the straps of her dress. But what should be a simple task becomes an infuriating impossibility. Why did I choose to design this dress with decorative, working buttons? It proves I never expected to be nervously undressing her. But that's the effect she has on me; she makes my fingers quiver with eager jitters.
Gods, I pray she doesn't notice the anxiety etched across my face.
"Need help?" her little voice chimes, confirming she's observed my useless fingers struggling with the buttons. Meeting her gentle gaze, her tender smile calms the self-condemning screams within me that urge me to get a grip. "You're supposed to unfasten this one first, then the second," she guides patiently.
