Loki sat up between my legs while I reeled from the aftershocks of ecstasy. Every three breaths or so, my nether regions would twitch uncontrollably and all the muscles would clench. He smiled as he watched me.
"And you doubted my abilities," he remembered with a smirk.
"No one has ever done that to me before," I answered softly. "I had given up hope that anyone could."
"Then your lovers were sadly inadequate. The powers of a God are hardly needed to bring pleasure to a woman."
You had a pretty good advantage, I thought pointedly at him. Mortals are not generally gifted with telepathy.
Loki raised both eyebrows and chuckled.
"These numerous lovers of yours, did you bring them pleasure?"
I blushed, suddenly flooded with memories of all of them in the throes of ecstasy.
He narrowed his eyes at me. "That would be a yes," he supplied. "You were able to give them pleasure, so why could they not do the same for you?"
"I'm different." I looked away from him in shame, although I couldn't roll over since he was still between my legs. "I... have a problem." I hated the word frigid. It implied cold, and I knew I wasn't cold. It also implied that I was incapable of the warmth of emotion, of the heat of passion that would allow me to climax.
"They use that word to describe you?" he asked, leaning forward to grasp my face gently by the chin and turning my head so that I had to look at him. He released my chin before allowing his skin to turn blue and spreading his arms wide as if to present his Jotun form to me. He chuckled savagely with self-loathing before whispering, "It makes you wonder what word they would use for me."
I lowered my hands from above my head and reached for him. It was difficult, since my wrists were still bound with the green silk scarf, but I touched him on the chest with the tips of my fingers. There were dark blue markings on his chest and stomach, a little raised from the rest of his skin like tribal tattoos. He bore similar markings on his face. I ran my fingers over them, feeling the different texture. His skin was still warm.
“Sexy,” I answered in a whisper, arching my back so that I could touch him with the palms of my hands. Untie me and I’ll show you what I think of you.
Loki gazed down at me, his eyes still Jotun red, but his expression softening.
“You cannot mean that,” he corrected me.
"You're the God of Lies, not me," I replied softly. "Can't you see how handsome you are?"
His brows furrowed and his eyes hardened. "Do not call me that. In fact, never let me hear those words escape your lips again." He moved out from between my legs to sit on the edge of the bed and stare down at the floor.
"Of course," I immediately conceded. I propped myself up on one side and maneuvered over so that I could see his face. "I had no idea it would hurt you."
He shook his head as if to negate my concern. "Hurt is the wrong word. You are only a mortal, incapable of hurting me. But you must understand: lying is a skill I happen to possess. I use it to achieve my ends. But it does not define me. It is only a tool in my hands, not all that I am."
"So calling you the God of Mischief probably isn't a good idea either, I would guess."
He turned toward me and smirked slightly. "At least that title is slightly more accurate, and a trait I would be more inclined to admit to."
"Ah, I know," I mused, smiling up at him. "I should call you the God of Sex."
His smirk turned into a lecherous grin. "And how should I go about earning that title?"
I let my imagination drift for a moment while looking up into his eyes. The Jotun red slowly turned back to a vivid green as he read my mind, and his eyebrows raised over skin that was fading back to a pale peach.
"Oh, really?" he asked. "Well, let us see about releasing you from your bonds, then." He waved a hand in midair over the scarf holding my wrists and it loosened enough for me to get my hands out. "I can see we have much work to do."
