he was, stretched out beneath her like some kind of boneless cat, watching her with those electric blue eyes of his at half-mast.
And then she didn’t care what he was doing because she pulled the great, thick length of him free. Her mouth actually watered, when she would have called herself no more interested in performing oral sex than she was in receiving it. Both could be pleasant, but she believed they got in the way of the good stuff that she knew how to ride straight to her orgasm.
And yet Margot wanted to lean forward and suck the thick head of him into her mouth. She wanted to lick him like a Popsicle until he melted, too. She hardly knew who the hell she was, practically drooling over the man’s cock like this.
But she was a reasonable, rational adult woman who owned her own sexuality and knew better than to expect Cirque du Soleil in bed, no matter how gloriously sexual and uninhibited Thor had claimed he was. And she wanted him inside her more than she wanted to taste him.
Margot told herself that it was giving in to damaging fantasies to imagine that she shouldn’t have to choose between the two when she knew that biology was biology and masculinity wasn’t made of Viagra.
Thor had tossed the condom down beside him when he’d stretched out on the bed, and she reached over to swipe it up then. She was aware of him watching her, but he didn’t move. He didn’t lift a finger. He didn’t even shift his hips when she tugged his trousers down another inch or so to the middle of his thighs.
And somehow that made everything hotter. He let out a breath when she rolled the condom down over his cock, likely because it took a minute to make the edges roll down smoothly over something that big.
“What do you want?” he asked again when the condom was finally in place. And when, to her shame, Margot discovered she was breathing heavily all over again.
“You,” she whispered.
“I think you can do better than that.”
Later, she promised herself, she would unpack why it was she wanted to do better simply because he told her she should. Why she wanted to please him. Because all the strange, new things that were tight inside her, winding around and around and making her so shivery, were tied in to that wanting. To her hot, melting pussy, her aching clit and that empty space she wanted him to fill so badly it made her nipples hurt.
“I want...” Her tongue still stung, reminding her that she’d bitten it. And that reminded her that this was research. Fieldwork. An experiment. This wasn’t her, really. This wasn’t who she was or had ever been, and that was probably for the best. “I want to fuck you, Thor.”
That wasn’t the sort of thing Margot had ever said in bed before, because she’d never been much for talking, much less using dirty, potentially offensive words. She wondered why that was when Thor’s blue eyes blazed. His hard mouth curled in one corner and his face seemed to tighten as she watched.
She didn’t need him to tell her it was the same greed that throbbed in her, too. She knew.
“Do your worst,” he told her, his voice low, dark and with a kick of wildness that seemed connected directly to her—deep inside her.
It felt like the storm outside, battering the windows. Battering her from the inside out.
Margot felt clumsy again, but that didn’t stop her. She crawled over him, basking in the heat of him, the clean male scent. She threw her leg over his hips, propped herself up with one hand in the center of his chest, then reached between them to wrap her fingers around the thick head of his cock.
She didn’t know what she expected when he shifted beneath her. Directions, maybe. Commentary, almost certainly.
But all Thor did was wrap his hands around her hips, his grip loose and his thumbs resting in the creases of her thighs.
And then did absolutely nothing as slowly, so slowly, Margot began to lower herself onto him.
It was as if everything slowed down with her. As if they were the storm hurling itself against his windows—and somehow every single speck of snow and ice as well.
Margot could feel everything. Everything. The way she filled herself with him, inch by thick inch, though she had to pause every other breath to let her body accommodate his size. She could feel the rough fabric of his trousers against her widespread thighs, and the hair that roughened his legs. She was too conscious of her own breath, loud and harsh, but she didn’t let it stop her.
She was trembling when she finally took all of him and was flush against him, and she knew he could feel it.
For a moment she could do nothing but sit there, with Thor so deep inside her all she could do was melt and quiver around him. She braced her hands against his abdomen to keep herself upright, but still. It was as if she was caught in that gaze of his. As if she was burning alive.
“This is my favorite handshake,” Thor murmured, a kind of inky, addictive darkness in his voice. “This is how you take the measure of a man, is it not?”
“I already know you talk too much.”
He smiled at that, but there was something entirely too knowing in his gaze. “Whereas you only talk to hide. But there is no hiding here, Professor.”
Margot wanted to object to that. She wanted to defend herself, somehow. Or make him take that back before it lodged inside her the way she could already feel it doing. She wanted to explain herself to him, somehow.
But that could wait.
Because he was stretching her. He filled her, hot and heavy, and that tight thing inside her pulled taut at last.
And she couldn’t ignore it. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t taking her over like its own kind of desperate fever.
She lifted herself up, then settled down again.
And she could feel that in her toes, her fingertips, her hair—and everything in between.
It wasn’t the least bit disappointing, she was forced to notice.
Thor didn’t say a word. His thumbs moved idly in that hinge between her thighs and her hips, but he didn’t try to take control. He didn’t wrap his hands tight around her and slam her down hard against him.
But the fact he could have done those things—that his ability to do it was written all over him and Margot thought she could almost taste it—only made it hotter when he didn’t.
And the way he watched her with all that glittering blue male arrogance told her he knew it. Not only did he know it, he was using it against her.
Deliberately.
Because she was the one doing the fucking, but that wasn’t what it felt like. She felt as if Thor was hammering into her, holding her down, making her scream and cry and writhe out this mad, red pleasure.
And every time she lifted herself up and slid back down, it was as if she could feel each and every one of those screams in the back of her throat.
Her breath was harsh and grew harsher. His matched.
Margot went faster and faster.
But
