Page 74 of Thor

"I don't usually mix this side of me with . . ." She gestured vaguely between us, indicating the crackling sexual tension that we both felt.

"Neither do I," I said roughly. I'd never had anyone to mix it with at all. The few women who had shared my bed had seen only what I allowed them to see—the tough biker with the skillful hands. Never this. "But maybe that's what makes us work. All of you, all of me."

She rose on her toes again, and this time when her lips met mine, there was nothing chaste about it. The kiss started soft but deepened quickly, her mouth open under mine, inviting me in. My hands found her waist, pulling her against me as the kiss evolved from delicate tenderness to something hungry and insistent.

I felt myself finally step fully into the room, crossing the threshold completely. With one hand, I reached back and closed the door firmly behind me, the lock clicking into place. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet room—a declaration. We were sealed in this space together now, this secret place that existed outside the normal world.

Mandy's arms wound around my neck, her body pressing closer to mine. I could feel the softness of her breasts against my chest, the heat of her. My hands slid down to her hips, then lower, cupping her ass and lifting her effortlessly. She made a small sound of surprise and pleasure as her feet left the ground, her legs wrapping around my waist instinctively.

I carried her to the center of the room, our mouths still fused, her hands tangled in my hair. The soft rug cushioned my boots as I stood there, holding her, suddenly uncertain. This room had always been pure in my mind—a place of innocence and care. Not a place for the raw need currently coursing through my veins.

I broke the kiss, breathing hard, my forehead pressed against hers. "Not sure we should—"

"It's okay," she whispered, her fingers stroking my face, tracing the line of my beard. "I want this here. I want all of you, every part."

Her words unlocked something in me—permission to merge these separate selves into one whole person. The protector and the lover. The Daddy and the man.

She kissed me again, deep and demanding, her body moving subtly against mine. I felt the last of my hesitation crumble, replaced by a certainty that felt like coming home.

I lowered us both to the soft rug, laying her gently on her back, my larger body covering hers without crushing her. My hands, rough from years of mechanical work, moved to the clasp of her bra with surprising dexterity.

"These hands," she murmured, capturing one and bringing it to her lips. "So strong, but so gentle."

I watched her kiss my calloused palm, her eyes holding mine. "Only with you," I told her truthfully. The world knew Thor the enforcer—the man whose hands could break bones and bend metal. Only Mandy knew these same hands could tremble while turning the pages of a book.

I bent to press my lips to the swell of her breast, feeling her sharp intake of breath.

Her hands weren't idle, moving to the hem of my t-shirt and tugging upward. I helped her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. Her fingers traced the tattoos that covered my chest and arms, following the intricate patterns with a focus that made my skin tingle.

"So beautiful," she whispered, exploring the inked skin. "Like a map of your life."

No one had ever called me beautiful before. Hot, sure. Sexy, yeah. Dangerous, definitely. But beautiful? Never.

Her breasts were perfect—not too large, but full, with pale pink nipples that hardened as the air hit them. I cupped one, feeling its weight in my palm, watching her face as I brushed my thumb across the sensitive peak.

Her back arched slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips. "Thor . . ."

Hearing my name from her lips in this context sent another surge of heat through me. I lowered my head, replacing my thumb with my mouth, drawing the hardened nipple between my lips and sucking gently. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, nails digging into muscle.

When we were both naked, I took a moment to simply look at her. Her copper hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, the color vibrant against her pale skin. The curve of her waist flared to hips I could span with my hands. Between her thighs, a neatly trimmed patch of hair the same fiery shade as that on her head.

"Christ, you're perfect," I murmured.

She lowered her eyes, arms moving as if to cover herself. I caught her wrists gently.

"Don't hide from me," I said. "Not here. Not now."

She met my gaze again, vulnerability and desire mingling in her expression. "It's just . . . the way you look at me. Like I'm something precious."

"You are." The words came out rougher than I intended, raw with honesty.

I moved to the plush chair in the corner, pulling the handmade quilt from its back. With careful movements, I spread it on the carpet, creating a soft nest among the scattered toys and books. The juxtaposition should have felt strange—our naked bodies about to come together in a space designed for innocence—but somehow it felt right. As if these two parts of ourselves were always meant to merge.

I held out my hand to her. "Come here."

She placed her hand in mine, trusting me to guide her. I led her to our makeshift bed and gently laid her down, the quilt's soft fabric cradling her bare skin. Her hair spread across the patterned fabric like liquid fire, and for a moment, I just stared, committing the image to memory.

Then I joined her, my larger body covering hers carefully, supporting my weight on my forearms to avoid crushing her. The contrast between us was stark—her pale, smooth skin against my tanned, tattooed bulk. Her delicate frame beneath my muscled mass. I could have snapped her in two without effort, yet all I wanted was to protect her, pleasure her, cherish her.

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