Page 21 of Thor

Instead, I found myself lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling as Amy's words echoed in my mind.

"When's the last time you let anyone see the real you, Mandy? All of you?"

Never. That was the answer. No one had ever seen all of me. I kept my life in neat compartments—professional Mandy for work and the MC, responsible sister Mandy for Amy, and secret Little Mandy hidden behind a locked door that no one even knew existed.

My thoughts drifted to Thor. The way his large hands handled the steering wheel with surprising gentleness. How his voice deepened when he said something important. The solid wall of his chest when I'd been pressed against him on his motorcycle.

Heat bloomed low in my belly, a slow-burning ember coming to life. I shouldn't be thinking about him this way. He was a Heavy Kings enforcer. Duke's right hand. A dangerous man who lived in a world of violence and illegal activities.

But I couldn't stop. The memory of his body against mine on the motorcycle flared bright and insistent. His broad back between my thighs, the rumble of the engine vibrating through both of us, my arms wrapped around his waist as rain lashed against us. I'd been scared and exhilarated, every nerve ending alive with awareness of him.

Almost unconsciously, my hand slipped beneath the waistband of my pink shorts. I should stop. This was inappropriate, unprofessional. But the house was empty, and the need pulsing between my legs didn't care about professional boundaries.

I closed my eyes and let myself imagine those large, calloused hands on my skin instead of my own. What would Thor do if he saw me like this, wearing my Little clothes, vulnerable and needy? In my fantasy, he didn't laugh or turn away disgusted. Instead, his blue eyes darkened with desire mixed with something else—understanding.

"Princess," fantasy-Thor growled, the nickname taking on new meaning as he recognized what I needed.

My fingers moved faster, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves as wetness gathered. In my mind, Thor's strong hands held me down, gentle but firm. He took control, something I never allowed anyone to do in real life.

"Let go," he commanded in my fantasy. "I've got you."

The image shifted, intensified. Thor discovering my Little room, but instead of rejection, his face showed fascination. He picked up a stuffed animal, looked at my coloring books and pastel decorations, then back at me with heat in his eyes.

"Is this what you need, princess? To let someone else be in charge sometimes?"

I gasped aloud in my empty bedroom, fingers working frantically now. The fantasy was too perfect, too consuming. Thor accepting all of me—the competent accountant and the Little who sometimes needed care and protection.

In my mind, he lifted me onto his lap, his hand replacing mine between my legs. "You can be small with me," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I'll keep you safe."

The mixture of dominance and tenderness pushed me closer to the edge. My back arched off the bed as the pressure built, my free hand gripping the sheets. I was close, so close.

Fantasy-Thor's voice deepened further. "Come for me, princess. Show me how pretty you look when you let go."

My release crashed through me with unexpected intensity, waves of pleasure making my thighs tremble and my breath catch. Thor's name escaped my lips in a broken whisper as reality blurred with fantasy for those few perfect seconds.

As the aftershocks faded, I lay panting on my bed, eyes still closed. When I finally opened them, the empty room confronted me with cold reality.

Shame crept in, followed quickly by confusion and longing. I'd never included my Little space in sexual fantasies before. It had always been separate, innocent, a refuge from adult complications. But Thor somehow bridged those worlds in my mind—the man who called me "princess" without knowing what that word meant to me, who offered protection without making me feel weak.

I stared at the ceiling, my body still humming with satisfaction even as my mind raced with worry. I had spent years keeping the different parts of my life in separate boxes, never letting them touch or overlap. It was how I maintained control, how I survived.

But in less than twenty-four hours, Thor Eriksson had somehow inserted himself into all those carefully separated compartments—my work with the MC, my personal life with Amy, and now even my most private fantasies. The boundaries were blurring, and that terrified me more than any outlaw biker ever could.

Chapter 5

Thor

Motorcyclesweresomucheasier to understand than people.

The transmission parts lay spread before me on the workbench like a steel jigsaw puzzle. Grease blackened my fingernails and webbed the creases of my knuckles—battle scars from a war I actually enjoyed fighting.

I twisted a gear shaft, feeling the satisfying resistance of metal against metal. Motorcycles made sense. They didn't hide their damage or lie about what they needed. Unlike people, bikes were honest—break them down enough times and you learned their language.

Guns N' Roses played low from the ancient speakers mounted in the corners of the garage. The familiar guitar riffs of "Sweet Child O' Mine" blended with the metallic ping of tools and the occasional hiss of the air compressor. Iron Kings Auto was my kingdom—a temple of mechanical precision where everything had its place.

Mandy, on the other hand, was a puzzle I couldn’t solve. I got this feeling from her, like there was more to her than met the eye. It was Little energy, for sure. Did she know she was putting it out? Was she a little? If she was, did she want me to know?

My hands moved automatically while my mind whirred. This particular Harley needed a complete transmission rebuild—the kind of job that drove most mechanics crazy but settled something in me. I'd ordered the parts special, had them shipped overnight. The customer—a retired vet with more respect for his bike than most people had for their marriages—trusted me to bring his baby back to life.

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