CHAPTER 1 - AUTHENTICITY IS KEY

If life takes a left turn into the unexplainable, would you allow yourself to enjoy the journey or insist on trying to make sense of it?

The morning sun warms my skin as I swing gently, sitting sideways in my hammock on the sand by the dock. Like the water lapping at the nearby shore, the words pour in effortless waves of inspiration. With a grin, I click the enter button and send the first chapter to my beta-readers. It's my newest story idea, Hidden, part of an exciting universe of stories revolving around the idea that gods and beings from mythology are real and living hidden among us.

A shadow on my face disrupts my concentration as the loss of warmth sends a shiver down my back in the cool fall air. My gaze flicks up from my computer screen, and I squeak, jerking my body back and setting the hammock swaying.

The dark silhouette of a male is only a couple of metres from me, the sun creating a halo around him.

My heart races, and it takes me a minute to close my gaping mouth. Thoughts spinning, I narrow my gaze to focus on the here and now, yet half my mind is still partly immersed in my fictional universe and its wealth of individuals.

I lick my lips with a mouth gone dry and attempt a weak chuckle. "Are you real, or are you one of my characters?" I ask the tall figure before me.

I'm only partly kidding. He's standing in front of me, so, of course, he's real, right? Right? Because if he isn't actually there, how is he casting a shadow on me? Although, maybe I've fallen asleep, and this is a dream? In dreams, it's perfectly fine to speak with my fictional characters.

After all, one hazard of being a writer is getting lost in one's imagination and I've definitely had fun creating my latest male protagonist from a blend of gods from numerous new-world and old-world pantheons. Who wouldn't want to write about a shapeshifting trickster powered by sex, stories, and chaos?

But no, I still smell the freshly cut grass, feel the light breeze stirring my hair, and the warmth of the sun contrasting with the cooler air. I bite my lip. This has to be real. It's too vivid to be a dream.

And now he must think I'm nuts. I roll my eyes at myself, barely holding back my snort. It's probably the Amazon delivery guy needing a signature. Although, speaking of crazy things, how did he get through my backyard and all the way to the water without my noticing? I'm not that oblivious when writing, am I?

Looking at the evidence in front of me, maybe I am.

His head cocks to the side as he considers his answer.

Squinting, my eyes start to adjust to the difference between the bright sky behind him and his face and body in shadow, but I still can't quite make out any details of his features. Judging by his silhouette, he is tall and athletically built, but leanly muscled, not bulky. The sun reflects off parts of his clothes with a metallic glare, while other areas have a sheen suggesting leather.

With every new visual clue, my heartbeat quickens. Armour? Leather? A quarterback's build? That's not... no, it's not possible. Thoughts swirling, my gaze flicks from my computer screen's description of Asgard's Dark Prince to the male in front of me several times in succession. It can't be. Really?

"I believe—"

My breath breaks in a small gasp as he begins to speak in a sexy posh accent, the same lilt I've chosen for my Asgardians. No way!

"—that I would consider myself real in some planes of existence and one of your characters in other multiversal realities... since you decided to write a novel including the God of Stories," he says in his purring baritone.

He walks closer in a predator's prowl, full of confidence and swagger, stopping only when his legs bump my crossed shins in the hammock.

I know my mouth is hanging open, but I can't help it. Finally able to see him fully, he is heart-stoppingly gorgeous—my imagination brought to life. Thick, shoulder-length black hair frames his pale angular face. Thin red lips turn up in a half-smile and penetrating green eyes, cat-bright and by no means tame, are set off by long, dark lashes. I can barely wrap my mind around the sight of him here, in front of me.

His hand reaches for me and long narrow fingers catch my chin, tilting my head up to meet those intense eyes. "You called to me, little writer," he adds as he takes in my features. Everywhere his gaze travels, it leaves shivery prickles of sensation in its wake.

Gooseflesh breaks out over my skin, and I rub my hands over my upper arms.

"Should I..." I swallow and lick my lips in an attempt to speak past a suddenly dry mouth. "Should I apologize for that?" My voice cracks a bit at the end.

His smile slowly broadens, and his eyes turn mischievous, half-lidded and crinkling at the corners. "That depends. Are you willing to pay the consequences of attracting my attention?" His thumb caresses my cheek where he still holds my chin, sending shivers along my spine.

I gnaw my lower lip before answering. "What... what are the consequences?"

Releasing me, he licks his own lip, biting it as he presses my laptop closed and moves it to the ground. With fingers wrapping around each of my ankles, he uncrosses my legs and steps between them. He leans over, with his hands gripping the fabric on either side of the hammock by my head. He pushes into my space until his breath tickles my face with every exhale.

"I demand authenticity. I am a God, after all, and not just of Stories, as you are well aware. Your imagination alone is insufficient to provide the inspiration and accuracy you require to adequately represent me within your stories. I have high standards. If you are going to describe how I look, my appearance, my expressions and reactions, then I insist you give me your time and attention to do your research properly."

I can't help but tremble with him so close, so overwhelming to my senses, and oh god, so very male. He's everything I find attractive. His scent is a combination of freshly cut conifer forests, hand-tanned leather, and citrus fruit, sweet like oranges. His aura radiates strength, dominance with an edge of danger, and heat. Even with my moratorium on relationships after finding my ex balls-deep within another, it makes my libido sit up and take notice. Deadly to panties everywhere, he exudes sex appeal in spades.

I nod my agreement, not sure I can utter a sound. Or worse, that my words will come out in a squeak.

"Oh no, little writer. I need to hear your voice. Your verbal agreement that you will give me your time and attention," he demands, his tone a low growl and his eyes not leaving mine.

Barely able to suck in more than shallow gasps, my body is flushed and achy with desire.

"Yes," I manage in a breathless whisper. I try again. "Yes," I get out, a bit louder.

The flash of a satisfied smile, so quick I almost miss the expression and then he is in motion.

One hand fists my hair at the nape of my neck, partly bracing my back, as the other arm scoops under my ass, lifting me effortlessly out of the hammock to press my core tight against his body. My legs wrap around his hips instinctively.

He's undeniably aroused, large and rigid against the thin protection of my yoga pants. I can barely focus. His mouth hovers just out of touching distance of mine. If I move my face a fraction, I could press our lips together. Despite the pull on my hair, I strain towards him, wanting, no... needing to close that distance. God, it's been a few years since I kissed someone. I haven't wanted to. Not like this... this yearning that's a fire inside me.

He tugs my head back a bit further, a small smirk betraying his amusement as his eyes glitter with restrained lust.

"You understand that means if you are writing a scene where I ravage a character's tiny pussy with this thick cock"—he grinds aggressively against me, and I moan at the flare of heat within me—"fucking her hard and deep, pounding her until she can't walk, or making her cum so many times she passes out, I expect you to experience it first. You have to know how it feels to gag on it when I shove it down your throat, to know what I taste like when I fill you full of cum, what it feels like to drip down your thighs. I'll make sure you enjoy it, of course, but I will tie you up, tease your body, control your pleasure, and teach you the value of walking the tightrope of a little pain to enhance the pleasure. Are you sure you understand and agree to all that?"

I swallow, blinking up at him. No one has ever spoken to me like this before, and fuck, it's hot. It's got me so aroused I'm positive he must be able to feel how wet I am, soaking through my panties, my pants, and into his leather as he continues to grind his cock against me. My pulse throbs, a second heartbeat in my sex. Between his actions and filthy language, he's going to have me orgasming fully clothed.

"Oh god... Yes, I understand," I whimper.

His eyes darken further. "Oh, and I will fuck this tight little ass as well. Say 'Yes, Loki' so I know you agree, little writer."

Heat expands as my inner thighs tremble. I swallow hard. "Yes, Loki."

His mouth lowers, nipping my lower lip. "You are mine, little writer. Time for your first lesson."

A/N: If you've enjoyed this snippet, please write a review on Amazon. You can get the full episode on Amazon for $0.99 USD, or keep an eye on my socials or webpage as I frequently have ebook giveaways when you can snag the download for absolutely free!