As Loki peeled open his heavy eyelids, the first thing he was aware of was a terrible throbbing headache and sickness. Quite a lot of sickness in fact.
By Odin's beard, his stomach was turning somersaults and the headache was monstrous. Not even being smashed into the floor of Stark's tower by the mindless green beast had caused his head to throb so painfully.
Trying to gather his scattered thoughts, he sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing his temples with his fingertips. His bleary eyes took-in his surroundings. He didn't trust his memory. There was large blank spaces, and the headache and nausea was slowing him down considerably. Even thinking seemed to hurt.
How in the name of Frigga had he ended up in this state? He cast his mind back, and after a few moments his coherency began to return.
Of course.....Natasha-fucking-Romanoff.
She had done this to him.
With concentrated effort, he somehow managed to lever himself up from the bed and stand without heaving. He was a little unsteady, his long legs wobbling like jello and his feet felt like two breeze blocks.
He realised he was still shirtless, and worryingly, very much alone. His assailant was nowhere to be seen.
Damn.
His need for revenge prompted him into action. Hurriedly he retrieved his shirt and slipped it on as he made for the door in a slightly haphazard, lurching motion. The lingering affects of the drugs were not unlike being drunk, so it took all of his focus to walk in a straight line, as though he wasn't accustomed to having legs yet.
Outside the sun was blinding but a cool breeze was rolling in from the sea, so thankfully it wasn't unbearably hot.
Shielding his eyes with a hand, Loki turned this way and that. The resort was unusually quiet, he noted, but more importantly, there was no sign of Natasha.
Muttering a string of expletives under his breath, he began making his way along the sandy pathway without any particular plan or destination in mind. He had no idea where she'd gone but he had to begin looking for her somewhere.
By the nines, he would tear the whole damn place apart with his own bare hands if he had to, but find her he would.
Just then a voice called out to him, though in his confused state it took a moment to register that the speaker was addressing him.
"Sir! Excuse me, sir!"
Loki spun around unsteadily on his heel, only to find himself almost face to face with the irksome cabana boy yet again.
Had it been the previous day when he'd bribed him? He had no way of knowing and couldn't be certain. Heaven only knew how long he'd been unconscious for.
"Well?" Loki snapped impatiently.
The boy looked flustered. He was visibly nervous, and with good reason. Loki's wild eyes were fierce and frightening, and he practically radiated anger.
"Sir, the lady from the bungalow...."
Loki took a step towards him, his dark brows forging into a deep scowl. "Yes? What about her?"
"She asked me to tell you that she's in the fitness suite."
Loki's frown deepened further still. "Fitness suite?"
The boy nodded, indicating in the direction of the grand hotel. "Yes sir. It's on the fifth floor in the main complex."
"And she specifically asked you to tell me this?"
"Yes sir."
Without another word, Loki set off towards the large, opulent building. His gaze was fixed straight ahead as he took long, purposeful strides, focused solely on walking.
Why would she send word to him, letting him now where she would be? It was beyond his comprehension. He reluctantly had to admire her gall. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, and as she was possessed with strong intellect he was inclined to believe it to be the latter. And yet, to have drugged him like she had, it would've made more sense for her to flee the scene. To escape his wrath whilst she still had the chance.
There was no plausible explanation for her bizarre behaviour.
Unless....she wanted him.
Now that was a tantalising, if not highly unlikely, theory. If she desired him, then why would she have sedated him with a cocktail of potentially lethal drugs?
The more he pondered the matter, the angrier he became.
Dishevelled and slightly disorientated, Loki entered the hotel almost blind with rage. A red mist had descended before his eyes, clouding his vision as well as his judgement. He was growing increasingly irritated, his rapid heart thudding in sync with the incessant dull pounding in his skull. He could barely contain his fury as he impatiently paced back and forth, waiting for the elevator.
Meanwhile, five floors above, Natasha was partaking in her usual morning exercise. She always rose early to do yoga, and then practised the ballet routine she knew by heart. It was habitual. Having been taught this discipline since early childhood in the Red Room, ballet dancing helped her to relax, whilst simultaneously keeping her body supple and her mind focused.
Though admittedly, it was proving more difficult this morning. Her nerves were jangling due to the anticipation of awaiting her so-called ally. Her mind kept wandering back to him, the mysterious Loki, wondering when he would awake from his drug-induced slumber. The lethal injection she'd administered would prove fatal to any ordinary man. Indeed the dose had been measured in accordance with Jose Comineza's hefty body weight, so to all intents and purposes Loki ought to be dead as a result of his much slender stature. But as he had so grandly proclaimed, he wasn't like other men. So whether or not she'd succeeded in killing him remained to be seen.
And she did not have to wait much longer to find out.
Intuitively, she'd left a message with a cabana boy, in the event of Loki waking up. She was brazenly curious, wanting to see how he would respond. His anger was the still kind. She had recognised that. Cool, calm, and calculating, until provoked beyond the limits of his patience. His barely-suppressed temper excited her, and their sparring was tempered with an element of eroticism. Admittedly, she rather perversely perceived their fighting as some form of foreplay. Even though it went against all of her training, she longed to take things to another level. To see how far she could push him. To ignite his passion further.
Yes she was well aware that she was playing with fire. But what did she stand to lose? Her virginity? Suddenly that seemed like a very enticing prospect. So what if she surrendered herself to him? Would that be so disastrous?
Not at all.
In the grand scheme of things, having stayed awake all night to do some serious soul-searching, she'd come to the conclusion that succumbing to a man's advances would not affect her work performance. Upon deep reflection, she realised she no longer cherished her chastity. Loki had stirred-up feelings of desire and wanton lust, so why not give herself to him?
He was after all, a fine, beautiful specimen of a man. The sort that didn't come along very often, if ever.
Besides, she was tired of feeling like only half a woman. Before this year was out she would turn twenty, and she was still a virgin. Perhaps it was time to break free from her cocoon of girlish innocence and indulge herself. Her dalliance with Loki made her want to explore her sexuality and experience the original sin, the pleasures of the flesh, in all it's glorious complexity.
The sound of the gymnasium door suddenly being flung open momentarily broke her concentration, but she concealed it well. Stubbornly, she refused to turn and look, choosing instead to continue her twists. The tiny hairs prickled at the nape of her neck. Her brow began to perspire. Her keen instincts sensed his presence. He seemed to alter the very air around him, sucking all the oxygen out of the room.
Upon seeing her dancing, Loki allowed his eyes to drink her in. The way she twirled gracefully about the room on her tiptoes, dressed in black tights and a leotard, the tightness of the material clinging lovingly to every feminine curve, caused a primal stirring deep in his loins.
He was incensed by her blatant nonchalance. She was ignoring him deliberately, which only served to rile him further. This had all been strategically planned. He could see that now. She'd purposely left word with the cabana boy, knowing full well that he'd seek her out in a berserker rage. If she presumed that she was safe here, in the hotel complex, then she was sorely mistaken. Being in a public building would not stop him. In fact her blasé attitude stoked his fury. She seemed to be deliberately mocking him, flaunting herself, taunting him with her exquisite little body.
He despised her audacity, and hated himself even more for wanting her. He found himself growing hard. The urge to slam her to the floor and force himself into her, relishing in her whimpers for him to stop, became unbearable.
Agitated, he stormed across the floor, trying to shake off his arousal by pushing all carnal thoughts back into the dark recesses of his twisted mind.
She had attempted to assassinate him. Fury bubbled through his veins like molten lava, but it was his lust that was like a tempestuous volcano on the verge of eruption. He wanted to tear her limb from limb, or at the very least snap her slender neck. However, that seemed like such a terrible pity to waste such beauty, such fierce intelligence...but alas, she had to pay for her actions, and pay dearly.
Beauty be damned. He could kill her.
"Agent Romanoff." He snarled, top lip curling like a rabid dog. "No more games."
Hearing her real name spoken so harshly brought Natasha to a sudden halt. She dared meet his gaze, but the way in which her eyes dropped down to his mouth, did not escape his notice.
"Fine by me." She said stonily, resting a hand on her hip. "How about you start by explaining just how exactly you seem to know who I am?"
"I owe you no explanation. You on the other hand, owe me an apology."
Her pride spiked, resentment and frustration leaking into her usually deadpan tone of voice. "Oh really? You don't think you owe me an explanation? Just who in the hell do you think you are--?"
"Enough!" He growled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But now might be a good time to beg for mercy, before I completely lose my patience with you!"
"Beg?" She laughed humourlessly. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."
"Then suffer the consequences." In three strides he closed the distance between them, but defiant to the last, she stood her ground.
In a matter of seconds they became a tornado of hands and arms and legs, grappling and battling each other furiously. Blows were exchanged and blocked, but Natasha was skilled enough in combat to recognise when an opponent was deliberately pulling their punches. He was toying with her. Holding back. Which she quickly realised was a good thing, as he was without question amazingly strong and fast.
Similarly, Loki was undoubtedly impressed by her abilities. She was a worthy sparring partner, but still no match for the strength and agility of an enraged Demi-God.
"What are you?" She demanded breathlessly, as he managed to outmanoeuvre her, successfully grasping her from behind.
"I'm your worst nightmare." He rasped. "And I'm afraid you're going to have to die for your insolence."
She yelped in protest as he painfully twisted one of her arms up behind her back, his free hand closing around her throat. All her attempts to back-heel him in the shins proved futile, all it did was provoke him into pinning her aggressively to his lean body, preventing her from lashing out.
"Sshh." He hushed her menacingly, his large hand tightening around her neck. "It'll do you no good to struggle."
Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She could sense he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. They were so large, so strong and masculine, capable. He could easily snap her neck with a simple squeeze of those long, elegant fingers.
But as she writhed in his clutches, temptation swelled through his body. Her perfectly-formed rear was pressed neatly into his groin, and as she strained and struggled against him, his sex stiffened to full arousal. Loki tried in vain to ignore the throbbing, masculine heat coiling between his legs, but his stomach cramped with lust.
And now Natasha felt him. She could feel him, hard and needy, straining against the fabric of his trousers, pressing against her ass. She swallowed hard, and stilled, as he succumbed to his desire, his iron grip forcing her to stand on her tiptoes. Forcing the curve of her buttocks to cradle the rigid erection between his legs.
The sound of her heavy breaths echoed through the empty chasm of the gymnasium. Oh god, she was so completely aware of her own body, of his body. She felt his need, just as he felt her willingness.
There was no more deliberation, no decision to be made. Her next words came on a breathless whisper, stealing his own breath clear away...
"You can."
You can.
The words resounded in his ears, like the sweetest music he'd ever heard. With just those two simple words, there was a glimmer of hope. An elicit promise to put an end to his suffering. Even though it would mark the beginning of hers, as he had no intention of being gentle.
"Choose your next words wisely, Miss Romanoff, because I'm going to give you precisely three seconds to reconsider. If you haven't voiced an objection by the time I count to three, I'm going to take you right now, right here, against this wall. And I won't be delicate."
Her sharp intake of breath pleased him. It was the only indication that his crude threat had any impact on her whatsoever. Other than that, she remained stubbornly silent, even as he began his countdown.
"One...."
Sweet Niflheim. Dare he believe it? She was surrendering to him willingly. Granting him permission to take her. Or was it a cruel trick? A tactical distraction in order to stall for time? If it were, then her time was quickly running out.
".....two....."
Excitement lurched inside his chest. The tension heated his insides, every nerve ending prickling with anticipation. He'd never sampled a mortal woman before, and never had he wanted to until her.
Well, now she would pay. He would finish what she had started.
".....three!"
Within an instant, he'd pushed her up against the back wall, and she gasped as he used an exploratory finger to trace her sex through the thin layer of her clothing.
"Does my rage excite you? Are you wet for me?"
Words failed her. Even now she was reluctant to give him the satisfaction of hearing her say that it did, and that she was.
"Very well, let's see shall we."
With a quick and impatient tug he ripped the seam of her leotard, tearing a hole in her tights. His actions thrilled and terrified her, and she held her breath, trembling, as she allowed him to inch her legs apart.
Somehow she managed to find her voice. "Just...just so you know....I haven't ever--"
"Quiet!" He hissed close to her ear, as his fingers dipped inside the torn material, searching for the forbidden flesh.
To his astonishment she obeyed, and he'd cut her off abruptly before she'd completed her sentence. For the love of Valhalla, he wished he hadn't been so hasty and let her finish. Now his imagination was running rampant.
She hadn't ever what? Been ravaged against a wall? Fucked a God?
Surely she hadn't been about to confess to never having had sex before? If so then this would be all the more pleasurable for him, though not so much for her.
Still, the possible confession fuelled his passion. He would plunder her very core, steal her virginity and leave her ruined for all other men. His possessiveness was irrational. He could make no sense of it, especially when so little blood was flowing to his brain right now.
She gasped again as he teased and stroked along the slick, hot, entrance of her body, opening her like the petals of a flower that bloomed under his touch.
By the nines she was so ready for him. So wet, so warm, inviting and willing.
She heard the tell-tale sign of his belt being unbuckled, and then felt the tip of his cock nudging it's way into her sex like a heat-seeking missile.
Bozhe moi.
Natasha bit down hard on her bottom lip as his sturdy length entered her in a sharp, wet glide. The penetrating pain was so intense it made her eyes water. He was hard as steel, and filled her inch by inch so completely she felt he was stretching her to breaking point.
"Take it." He hissed, pushing further until his engorged cock was sheathed to the hilt in her exquisite female heat. "All of it."
Taking her right leg in his hand, he raised it up to the barre, affording him a better angle. Her flexibility enabled her to rest her foot on the conveniently placed handrail that ran along the back wall, which provided her with the extra support to help steady herself as he slowly pulled back then sank into her again.
He groaned unashamedly, volatile excitement erupting in him, combusting with anger and lust and yearning. Natasha failed to stifle a whimper, a whimper that grew progressively louder as he began to move with more purpose. Her keening made him feel powerful, strong, and savage. And she felt incredible. Initially her tightness had caused him discomfort, but as he drove into her with increasing momentum he felt her walls stretching to accommodate his size, easing around him as he pumped away at her relentlessly.
"So tight..." He growled in approval, not sure if he'd thought or spoken the words aloud. "....so...so tight, and so wet."
He knew he should slow, be merciful to her virginal flesh. But she was so hot, and tight, and it made him mindless. Pleasure skittered across his skin in delicious spasms, seeping into his every pore, nerve ending and muscle, every fibre of his being, reaching as deep as his very bones.
Natasha's pulse thrummed a frantic rhythm. She could feel it in her wrists, the base of her throat, and where they were joined. Their perspiring bodies fused together. He was buried so deep inside her, she could no longer tell where she began and he ended.
Encouragingly, she arched back into him, tilting and rocking her hips against his in an attempt to meet his thrusts.
"Yes...that's it...that's good." He let out a hissing breath.
He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. He was lost to the sublime sensations, lost in this wild symphony of flesh.
Looking down, his eyes feasted on his pulsing cock sliding in and out of her tight channel, glistening with her wetness. The sight of him fucking her drove him wild, pushing him beyond the limits of all self-restraint.
"Fuck." She moaned the word out, as Loki used the barre as leverage and took up a punishing, brutal pace. Riding her with unbridled abandon, a carnal aggression, that bordered on mania.
Natasha cried out in blissful agony, but quickly snapped her teeth together. She was coming apart at the seams. He was tearing her in two. She felt like she was being impaled, lacerated inside, her delicate, sensitive lining pulverised.
His impressive size, his powerful, strong, fluid movements knocked all the air from her lungs. Reaching down, he stroked and manipulated her swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. She felt an inimitable tightening deep inside, and her groin flooded with a tingling warmth that consumed her from the inside out.
Her limb-melting climax hit suddenly and without warning, erupting magnificently slowly in the most spectacular orgasm of her life. The heady pulses of pleasure wracked her petite body, threading their way down her trembling legs into the very soles of her feet.
"Loki--!" His name tore from her lips on a ragged sob. Hearing it almost made him come undone instantly. But he managed to keep a modicum of self-control as he rode her through her climax, his hand covering her mouth to stifle her cries.
"Do try to be quiet, Natasha. There's a good girl....If people hear you, I'm not going to stop." He gave a salacious laugh that sounded filthy and course.
His explicit warning, the pure, physical sensations, were indescribable. Her entire body throbbed and glowed. She felt internally bruised and tender but utterly euphoric. As her orgasm gradually ebbed, her stifled little moans filled his ears, spurring him on to delve inwards with increasing ferocity, each thrust harder, reaching deeper than the last.
Well what did she expect? She should not have spread her legs for him. He fucked angrily. He was angry. His passion was vicious, unrestrained, and unforgiving. His hips kept on moving in a constant, forward-thrusting motion. She writhed in his arms, jerking with the force of his rapid movements. But he held her in place, tightly, possessively. He was all around her and inside her. His masculine heat, his energy, enveloped her.
A sheen of sweat gathered on his chest where it pressed against her back. Her body was so warm, so flexible, so toned.
"Natasha, I'm going to come." He whispered hoarsely, gritting his teeth. "Inside. Deep inside you."
She gasped and moaned her pleasure as he made his series of last, frenzied, desperate thrusts.
"Fuck! Coming--! Yes!" He punctuated each word with an excessively hard thrust.
His release came in hot spurts, flooding her with liquid warmth. He groaned and shuddered, thrusting two more times before finally stilling, now satiated and spent.
Their breathing was hampered and strangely in unison. Pausing only for a few moments to collect his strength, he carefully withdrew his waning length. She winced, barely able to stand as his hips drew away from hers. As he rearranged his clothing accordingly, she struggled to support herself on her own legs.
It was then he noticed the glistening strains of crimson on his shaft, a stark reminder that he'd taken her virginity.
"You'll want to clean yourself up." He said calmly, beginning to take charge. "If you use the facilities in here, I will take a shower back at your accommodation. I shan't be long. Rest assured I'll be gone before you return."
She felt a peculiar pang of disappointment in her chest. It gathered there, spreading to her guts, making her feel quite sickened. She'd even go so far as to describe herself as feeling inexplicably saddened.
She was being ridiculous, she knew that. What else had she been expecting? For him to stick around? Maybe suggest going to dinner, or hell, at least for a few drinks?
And holy shit she could use a drink after what they'd just done.
But it wasn't likely to happen. He was making it blindingly clear there was absolutely no way he'd be interested in offering, and her pride wouldn't permit her to suggest it to him. She'd sooner die first.
For some reason she avoided making eye contact with him, instead she straightened her ripped clothes as best she could, so at the very least her naked ass wasn't on show. Thank God for the bag she'd brought along to the gym with her, which contained her yoga shorts.
By now Loki had already turned to leave, stopping at the door only long enough to cast a final glance back, and say maliciously...
"Oh, and there's no need to thank me for relieving you of your purity. You're welcome, Miss Romanoff. The pleasure was all mine."
Her watery gaze lifted long enough to see the smug grin on his arrogant face, but for the first time in her life, she was at a complete loss. Unable to think of a witty comeback or suitably scathing reply.
And then it was too late anyway. He was gone.