Winning Freyja's Cloak

by MacLeod, Samantha

  “P-p-please,” I gasped. “Oh, oh—”

  But even my words were evaporating. The pressure of his thumb against my clit increased, slower than I would have liked, but it was enough to keep me from stringing words together. His fingers began to move against the lips of my cunt. I was so wet by then that I offered no resistance. He slid inside me, his expert fingers finding the hidden spot that made my eyes roll back into my head with pleasure. Oh, I was going, I was going—

  His thumb pulled away from my clit. Before I could protest, the wet heat of his mouth engulfed my sex. The orgasm I’d been chasing since he first showed up on my doorstep with his maddeningly handsome smile and tight clothes finally drowned me, destroying words, destroying thought. I screamed as my body writhed, pulling at the tethers around my wrists.

  With a whisper, the bonds holding me upright vanished. I would have collapsed onto the floor if Loki hadn’t caught me in his arms and lifted me, like a child. My skin is almost always hyper-sensitive after an orgasm, especially one that tremendous, so the cool rasp of his arms around my back and thighs made me gasp out loud. He chuckled in response as he carried me away.

  The thick velvet still covered my eyes, but I guessed Loki was taking me to my bedchamber. The Realms knew he’d been there often enough to find his own way. A moment later he lowered me onto the soft surface of my feather mattress, and I knew I’d been right.

  “Turn over,” he said.

  His voice was low and gentle, with just enough authority to make my insides curl with anticipation. Perhaps I wasn’t quite ready to send him home yet.

  “Keep the blindfold on.”

  This time his voice was very close, so close I almost flinched. He must have been leaning over my side, looking at the array of bottles on my mantelpiece.

  Just like that, I guessed what the Lie-smith was after. Another flicker of arousal spun through my body. I shifted, rubbing my naked skin against the cool silk sheets covering my mattress.

  “Turn over,” Loki repeated.

  I heard the gentle pop of a cork being slipped from a bottle, and the scent of orange blossoms danced across my nostrils. A little purr of pleasure slipped from my lips.

  “You always like the orange oil,” I said.

  Loki didn’t respond. The sheets rustled and, a moment later, his hand closed around my ankle. Very gently, he pulled my leg to the side. I rolled over slowly, rubbing my breasts and thighs against the silk. The mattress shifted beneath me; I guessed Loki must be kneeling between my legs. I wiggled my hips a little, hoping he was enjoying the view.

  Again, he took longer to touch me than I expected. I listened to the hiss of his breath, the soft splash as he poured oil into his hands and then rubbed them together. The scent of orange blossoms grew stronger as the oil warmed between his palms. I bit my lip, trying not to let the anticipation kill me.

  When he finally did touch me, he began with my ankles. I moaned in frustration, eliciting another soft chuckle. His hands moved up my legs at a glacial pace, and the hot wash of relief I’d felt after my first orgasm faded before another wave of lust. I arched my back, rubbing the hard points of my nipples into the sheets.

  “My lovely Freyja,” Loki said.

  His hands were on my thighs now, and I was seriously beginning to consider bringing a hand to my own clit, just to relieve some of the pressure.

  “Do you still want something you’ve never had before?”

  It was my turn to laugh.

  Loki and I had spent hundreds of nights together, sometimes laughing, sometimes fighting, but always fucking. He’d had me in every way I could imagine; with his hands, his tongue, his cock. In my mouth, my sex, my ass. We’d shared lovers, and sometimes we’d even been part of an enormous group orgy with dozens of naked men and women, sweating and panting and coming together.

  After all this time, there was nothing we hadn’t done.

  “Oh, just fuck me,” I growled.

  “Of course.” I swore I could hear the smile in his voice.

  His oil-slicked fingers finally brushed my sex. I moaned and bent my knees, offering myself to him. A moment later the wet heat of his tongue pressed against my ass, dancing across the split of my cheeks.

  I flinched, grabbing the silk of my sheets in my fists. Oh, damn, I should stop him. This was dirty. This was filthy, this was wrong—

  Dark heat flowed between our bodies, making me pulse with need. His tongue dipped lower, forcing me open as his hand crept between my legs, brushing the bud of my clit. I was trapped between his hand and his mouth, wracked with pleasure so intense it was almost shame.

  Loki shifted, pulling his lips away from my ass. A moment later his long fingers slid between my cheeks, massaging the dark whorl of my anus. The ecstasy surging through my body deepened and intensified, as though all the sensual energy between us was drawing together, focusing on his fingers and the tight entrance between my cheeks.

  I no longer needed the blindfold. My eyes squeezed closed as my face sank into the silken sheets. I tried to breathe long and slow, relaxing every muscle in my body, letting myself unfold into the pleasure.

  Although I’ve never had a shortage of lovers, I don’t let many of them explore my backside. It’s one thing to spread my legs and ride a cock, or let a beautiful woman slip her fingers into the hot slit of my cunt. But my ass, where the potential for pleasure lies so close to pain? No, only the most patient and talented of my lovers are granted access to that terrain.

  “Very nice,” Loki purred as his finger slipped inside me.

  My body seized with pleasure. I was panting now, my heartbeat racing in my ears, unable to focus on anything but his touch, the feeling of being filled, so perfectly filled. He pulled out to rub more orange-scented oil into my skin, then entered me again, with more fingers this time. At the same time, he reached around me to press softly against my swollen clit. Heat rose in waves, emanating from the places he touched, filling every fiber of my body.

  Oh, fuck, I was close. I was already so close.

  “May I?” he asked. His voice sounded strained, as if he were working hard to hold himself back.

  “Yes,” I moaned into the sheets. “Oh, stars, yes.”

  The hot, hard head of his cock pressed against my stretched and oil-slicked entrance. I took a deep breath, then forced myself to exhale. It felt good to have his cock nestled between the cheeks of my ass. It felt—

  His hands tightened around my thighs, tilting them upward. A heartbeat later something hot and hard slipped between the wet folds of my cunt just as the head of his cock began to press into my ass.

  “What the—?” I yelped, pulling back.

  My hands flew to the blindfold, yanking it off my eyes. I spun around to see Loki kneeling behind me, a grin plastered over his face. Beads of sweat stood out above his brilliant blue eyes. My gaze dropped to the hard muscles of his chest, the flat plane of his stomach.

  And his cock.

  No, his cocks.

  Between his legs, the smooth, hard curves of two identical cocks rose to meet me from their nest of fire-red hair, one just above the other, their ruddy heads already slick with oil.

  I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again.

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” I finally managed to stammer.

  Loki’s grin widened. “Oh, my dear Freyja. You didn’t possibly believe you’d seen all my tricks, did you?”

  I stared at the twin curves of the two shafts, trying for a moment to decide which was the original and which was the illusion. Now this was wrong, it was every kind of wrong. Some dim, distant part of my mind screamed that I should demand he leave, kick him out of my bed and my cottage and my life and never let him return.

  But something else, something much stronger, coiled tight with need at the sight of those twin cocks, slick and hard and ready for me.

  “Now lie down,” Loki said, in that voice of smooth authority, “and I’ll fuck you into oblivion.”

  Well, how was a g
irl supposed to resist that offer? I sank onto my stomach, knees bent and ass raised, without so much as a whimper. Loki’s hand cupped my sex, pressing gently against my clit, as his thighs met mine. He tilted my hips slightly, letting the first cock slide into my cunt a moment before the second pressed against my anus. I exhaled slowly, trying to relax.

  There was a moment of pain, a bright, brilliant shot like a bolt of lightning, as the head of his second cock pressed through the oiled ring of my ass. And then there was an explosion of pleasure so intense the pain was forgotten, obliterated, as though it had never happened.

  The twin cocks moved slowly, hitting every pleasure center in my body, filling me so completely I thought I may burst. My hands clenched around the sheets, then relaxed as I lost control of my muscles. My eyes were open, but I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  “I’m close,” Loki growled.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I was too, I was soaring, I was about to fall, but I found I’d once again lost to ability to speak. What came out was just a series of whimpers and gasps, like an animal, growing louder and louder as his thrusts deepened.

  Loki’s voice rumbled above me. “I’m—Oh, damn—I’m—”

  His hand plunged into my hair, pulling my head back as his narrow hips slammed into me. Both his cocks pulsed at the same time, and I tumbled over the edge.

  My orgasm started at the place where our bodies met, then grew and grew, until it swelled over my entire body, destroying me with wave after wave of velvet pleasure. I screamed and screamed, my body pulsing in time with his. Even after the crest, my climax ebbed slowly, leaving me trembling with aftershocks when Loki pulled away.

  I collapsed face-first on the sheets, as stunned and incoherent as if I’d been dead drunk. Above the tremors of pleasure snaking across my skin, I was dimly aware of Loki’s body shifting beside me. His movements seemed as distant and inconsequential as the crash of the ocean waves on the beach outside my window; I ignored everything but the burning pleasure slowly drifting away from my body and the gentle rhythm of my breathing.

  I doubt Loki was expecting me to open my eyes. At any rate, I don’t think he meant me to catch the distant, unguarded expression on his face as he stared past me and through the open window above my bed.

  He’s already gone, I realized, as I saw his pale eyes watching the sky. He’s already up there, in my falcon cloak, a million miles from me.

  His visage ripple when he noticed me. The wide, seductive smile returned, the affable sparkle jumped back into his ice blue eyes.

  “It’s always a pleasure joining you,” he said, his voice as smooth and even as ever.

  Nothing touches him, I thought, with a shiver. Nothing any of us say to him, nothing any of us do with him. Nothing. The strange thought occurred to me that, someday, Óðinn would have to find him a wife. I wasn’t certain if I’d be jealous of her, or feel terribly sorry for her.

  I rolled away from Loki, pulling the covers up over my breasts. “It’s in the closet,” I said. My voice cracked as I spoke, and I had to clear my throat. “The very top. To the left.”

  An odd series of expressions chased themselves across Loki’s face, and it hit me again just how very handsome he was. I never had any chance of resisting him after all.

  Finally, his lips settled into a friendly smile. “I appreciate it,” he said.

  He stood, stretched his lean, muscular body, and crossed my bedroom in two strides. The smoldering fire on my hearth flared to life as he opened my closet. It was meticulously organized, as always; I don’t fuck around with things like clothes. Loki brought the falcon cloak out and unfolded it carefully, almost reverently. I watched as he opened the cloak and pulled it over his shoulders as he stood naked before my fire. It should have seemed ridiculous to see a tall, naked man wearing nothing but the gray feathers of my falcon cloak, but it was not.

  He shivered, and I knew he was testing the magic, getting ready to shift. Then, without a word, the air in the bedroom swirled, and Loki was gone. In his place an enormous falcon lifted off the floor, the beat of its heavy wings making the fire sputter and smoke. Loki folded his wings close and shot through the open window. I turned to watch the speck of his falcon’s body vanish into the gloaming.

  “Until next time,” I whispered.

  Excerpt from The Trickster’s Lover

  The Sem Guði Hátíð was slow going as my two windows rattled in their panes and cold rain streaked the glass. The lights flickered but stayed on; Chicago knew how to handle a storm. The only dictionary I’d managed to find translated Icelandic into French, so I had a second dictionary to translate the French into English. Some of the dictionary entries were supremely unhelpful, offering that the translation for the French preposition “de” could be “of, to, from, by, with, than, at, off,” and, under some circumstances, “out of.”

  There were familiar characters in the Sem Guði Hátíð , like Óðinn, Thor, and Loki, but there was also plenty of ambiguity. Haf, for instance. According to my Icelandic-to-French dictionary, this meant “ocean,” but was this the actual ocean? Was it the name of the god of the ocean? Or was it meant as a description, an attempt to evoke the vast size of the feast hall? Sometimes I was almost certain I’d understood a full sentence, but mostly it was like feeling my way through an unfamiliar room with the lights turned off.

  It was fascinating.

  I told myself I’d only work until midnight. When midnight came I made another cup of tea and said I would only work until one in the morning. Now the clock above my tiny half-oven blinked quarter to two, and I ignored it.

  “Girnud,” I muttered to myself, trying out the words. I rolled them on my tongue, imagining Viking ships and longhouses, imagining woodsmoke, the spray of salt from the ocean.

  “Girnud, löngun.”

  And then I was no longer alone in my apartment.

  There was, perhaps, a crackle of electricity in the air, a quick gust of cold on the back of my neck, like a melting snowflake.

  I looked up from the table. There was a very tall man standing in the middle of my apartment. I stood and stumbled backward, bumping awkwardly against the wall. Our eyes met, and my breath caught in my throat. He was unreasonably attractive.

  “Uh, hi?” I stammered, staring at his full lips and long, fiery red hair.

  He smiled, and my heart surged. Damn, what a smile. I fought the insane urge to smile back and tore my eyes off him, glancing at the door to my apartment. It was still closed, bolted, with the chain drawn. How did...?

  I turned back to him, and he moved a step closer. He wore strange clothes; they looked like leather, black with streaks of gold and red, with an enormous cloak rippling behind him. His fingers were delicate, and his ice-blue eyes seemed to be laughing. He bent toward me, so close our lips were almost touching. So close I could smell him. Woodsmoke. Salt spray. Cold, and leather.

  “Hello,” he whispered, his breath warm on my neck.

  My skin prickled, and I trembled as my body flushed with heat. I swallowed and tried to think. It’s the middle of the night, I told myself. And there’s a strange man in your apartment. I turned to face him, my gaze lingering on the soft curves of his full lips, wondering how they would feel—

  I shook my head to stop myself. You should not be thinking about kissing him.

  “What are you—” The words died in my throat as a jolt of recognition surged through my body. I know you, I thought. I’ve been reading about you since I was thirteen.

  “Loki?” I whispered, my voice sounding very small. “Loki... of the Ӕsir?”

  His eyes danced. “Very good. I am Loki, son of Laufeyiar.” He gave me another slow, incendiary smile. “And right now, I’m admiring you.”

  The room suddenly felt very warm. I took a deep breath. “That’s not possible,” I whispered.

  He tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “What’s not possible?”

  Neither of those things are possible.

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  More from Samantha MacLeod

  The Loki Series: Urban Fantasy Romance inspired by Norse Mythology

  The Trickster’s Lover

  Honeymoon

  The Briar and the Rose (TBD)

  EROTIC SHORT STORIES

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  Claiming Thor’s Hammer

  Winning Freyja’s Cloak

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  URBAN FANTASY & FANTASY Romance

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  The Night Watch (M/M/M/F fantasy romance)

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  About the Author

  Born and raised in Colorado, Samantha MacLeod has lived in every time zone in the US, and London. She has a bachelor’s degree from Colby College and an M.A. from the University of Chicago; yes, the U. of C. really is where fun comes to die.Samantha lives with her husband and two small children in the woods of southern Maine. When she’s not shoveling snow or writing steamy sex scenes, Samantha can be found teaching college composition and philosophy to undergraduates who have no idea she leads a double life as an erotica author.

  Read more at Samantha MacLeod’s site.