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Nearly a week passed before they discharged me from the medical wing. But I had needed the rest. It had taken hours days after I'd woken up to move my head. A day to sit up. Two more days to stand and walk. But finally, five days after the incident, the healer assigned to me assured everyone that I would be okay to leave. Due to their advanced medicinal practice, my injuries healed much faster than they would have had I been back on earth. I felt almost as good as new.

But my arms and back looked far from that. I'd been forced to see them the day after I'd woken up. And it had taken everything in me not to start crying right there. They would be that way forever. Long, thin, pink scars crawling up my arms and meeting at my back, where splinters of wood had lacerated my skin after the roof had collapsed.

But I'd grown used to them, having had hours with nothing to do but stare at them.

Now, I was just happy to be leaving.

Loki—who I'd later discovered had been visiting each night while I slept so as not to anger me—accompanied me to my rooms the day I was discharged. I clutched his arm the entire way there. Not because I needed to. I was feeling fine, physically. I just liked to be near him. Despite all the anger he'd caused.

We finally made it to my room, and I relaxed at the familiar sight of it. Loki closed the door behind me, waving an arm at the folding screen.

"You can get dressed and washed up, a bath should be drawn back there for you."

"Thanks," I smiled at him, squeezing his shoulder before I padded across the floor of my room.

I stepped behind the folding screen and peeled off my nightgown, discarding it in the corner. In my peripheral, I noticed the basin of water. Sighing gratefully, I lowered myself inside, letting the hot water envelop me. The servants had used lavender and citrus bath oils and the smell of it was sweet and warm.

"You're sure you're feeling quite alright?" Loki asked me absentmindedly as he waited.

"Well enough," I responded, "I don't think I'm gonna set this room on fire and cook us alive, if that's what you're worried about."

He chuckled. "I'm worried about you not me, if you can believe it."

"I don't think I can," I joked, "It's not in your nature."

"I can be caring and sincere," he said, feigning offence, "Why, just the other day I said nothing about my brother's ridiculously ostentatious new cape."

"How caring and sincere of you."

A few silent moments passed, and I decided to rise out of the tub. I could've stayed forever, but I didn't want to keep Loki waiting. I slipped on some laced undergarments and stockings, reaching for a blue dress hanging over the screen.

It was then that I realized how quiet it had been for so long. Cautiously, I peaked around the edge of the folding screen to see what mischief Loki was causing.

My heart leapt into my throat when I registered the sketchbook, open in his grip. There were quite a few drawings in there. Many of him. The embarrassment hit me like a tidal wave, and my cheeks were crimson before I could even open my mouth.

"Loki, put that down," I said, rushing out from behind the screen, completely disregarding my state of undress.

He smirked at me, holding the sketchbook high out of reach. I could see that it was open to a sketch I'd done of him.

I lunged for it, but it disappeared in a flash of green. I'd never get used to him having magic powers. But then again I guess I had them too.

"Loki give it back," I demanded.

"I think Id quite like to save it, so I can look over it later," he said, "You seem captivated with drawing me, dear."

"Don't let it go to your head," I crossed my arms, "Plenty of artists find themselves fascinated with drawing things that are displeasing to the eye."

"Ah, but it seems that as an artist, you are taken with drawing things that are devilishly handsome," his smirk widened, as he turned his back to me. There was a flash of green and I saw the book reappear. He flipped a few pages, coming to another sketch of him, "And lots of it. Oh, my, does this one have little hearts?"

I snatched the book from his hands, scanning the page. I hadn't put hearts around it, had I? He laughed delightedly, and I realized he was messing with me. There were no hearts.

I punched him in the shoulder, holding the sketchbook to my exposed chest. Loki's attention finally fell on my current outfit of choice. And instead of becoming flustered like when he'd seen me in my sheer nightgown, a hungry look came over his face. His smirk faded, and he looked down at me.

"I suggest you put on something more decent, darling," he purred, "I may not be able to control myself otherwise."

"This is my room," I said defiantly, standing on my toes and locking eyes with him, despite the drop in my stomach at his tone, his words, his eyes, "If you don't want to see me like this, you're more than welcome to leave."

"Don't mistake me, love, I adore seeing you like this. Tell me, am I more than welcome to stay, as well as leave?" he leaned down as he spoke, until his lips were positioned directly beside my ear, warm breath on my exposed throat.

"And what if I give you an answer you don't want to hear?" I asked, the corners of my mouth turning up a little, "That would certainly kill your ego."

"Ah, but I think that we very much want the same thing."

"And what is that?"

"May I show you?" he asked, "My mouth has many purposes besides talking."

A shiver crawled down my back, as I lowered my head and nodded, permitting him to do what he liked to me.

"Do your worst."

He walked to the door, and I heard the distinctive click of a lock being turned. He turned back to me.

I didn't miss the devilish smile on his lips before they met my own. His hands slid down my back and landed on my hips. He immediately maneuvered us so that our places were switched, my back now facing the desk. He lifted me by the waist so that I sat on the desk and he stood between my legs.

One hand remained on my thigh, while his other snaked up my side and landed on my throat, where his grip tightened enough so that he was fully in control of our kiss. And then he stopped.

His hand remained on my throat, pinning me in place against the wall. His eyes trailed hungrily up my exposed body, a smirk curling his lips.

"This seems hardly fair," I said, swallowing hard, "I'm nearly naked and you're fully clothed."

"That won't do," Loki clicked his tongue and shook his head, "But I'm sure we can have you fully naked in a matter of minutes, dear. If that's what you wanted, you only needed ask me."

He met my eyes, his lips slightly parted and a few strands of his black hair coming loose around his face.

"Though I would very much prefer if you beg me."

"You wish," I rolled my eyes, turning my head away. His grip on my throat tightened to angle my head toward him again.

"I don't wish. And I don't ask. I give orders, love, I command." He leaned in close, nose an inch from mine. "Beg me."

"Loki, my dearest and most beloved, would you do me the honour of being disrobed by your hand?" I mimicked his accent, sarcasm colouring my words.

"Oh, now that was hardly sincere."

I gave him a challenging look, my brows furrowed and my mouth curling into a small smile.

"I don't have to beg you," I said, "In fact, I'm sure I can have you on your knees begging for me in a heartbeat."

He chuckled, shaking his head and locking eyes with me.

All of a sudden, he lifted me by the hips, clearing the distance between the desk and the bed with a few quick strides, before throwing me against the mattress.

Teasingly, he removed both of my stockings, making sure to let his fingers trace the sensitive skin of my upper thighs  each time. Then, beginning at my collar, he started to plant kisses, occasionally biting and eliciting a yelp from me. His kisses moved lower, my chest, my stomach, my pelvis. He lifted the hem of my underwear, looking up at me and locking eyes as he did so.

A mischievous smile overtook his features. And he stopped, sitting up and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. I sat up too.

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, I very much will. We can stop here and be done with the thing. Unless you'd like to plead otherwise," he responded, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I bit back my dignity, flushing. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please, don't stop."

He smiled. "There you are."

He pulled off his shirt, revealing the corded muscles of his arms, and the sharp lines of his abdomen. The wings of his shoulders angled up as he crawled back on top of me. The skin to skin contact was exhilarating. He lifted me with one hand, and unfastened my bra with the other, pulling it away and tossing it aside carelessly. His eyes were fixated on my body.

The warm, caramel light of the fading sun streamed in through the windows, spilling over the sultry brown of my skin. My hair was twisted above my head in a bun, revealing my long, slender neck, and sharp collarbone. And I definitely wasn't ashamed of the size of my breasts. I wasn't ashamed of any part of my body. Under his hungry gaze, I felt confident. I felt desirable. I felt beautiful.

He began kissing my bare skin, sucking and biting in all the places he knew I would feel it most. I was so lost in the passionate movement of our bodies against each other, I hardly noticed when he began to pull at the hem of my underwear. My body ached with desire. I helped him to pull it off of me, and then to shuck of his own pants.

I gasped and bit his palm, arching my back at the initial shock of our bodies sliding together. But we quickly found our rhythm. I felt hot, dangerous, wild, and out of control. I felt wonderful. I dug my fingers into his back as he moved, and the noises that escaped my lips elicited a smile of self-satisfaction from him, over top of me.

When we were finished, he laid at my side, wrapping an arm around my waist. I laid my head against his chest. I knew he was smiling without having to look at his face.

"No one should ever be as proud as you are right now," I said.

"You love it."

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