Page 33 of Thor

"Body position," he reminded me. "And a little more speed actually makes it easier."

After several more attempts, I managed a complete circuit of the clearing—starting, accelerating slightly, making four uneven turns, and returning to my starting point. Thor walked alongside me the entire time, close enough to help if needed but giving me space to feel the bike's movements.

"Want to try second gear?" he asked after I completed my third circuit.

My nerves had given way to excitement. "Show me."

He demonstrated the shifting motion, then stepped back to let me try. The transition to second gear was smoother than I expected, and suddenly I was moving faster, the wind rushing past my helmet.

For a brief, glorious moment, I understood the appeal—the freedom, the connection between body and machine, the rush of controlled power. I made another circuit, faster this time, my turns becoming more fluid as I gained confidence.

Thor's expression had changed, his usual stoic mask replaced by something that looked almost like delight as he watched me. When I finally stopped the bike and turned off the engine, my hands were shaking with adrenaline and my face hurt from smiling beneath the helmet.

"What do you think?" he asked, helping me off the bike.

"It's . . ." I struggled to find words that wouldn't reveal too much of my excitement. "It's not terrible."

Thor laughed—a genuine, unguarded sound that I'd never heard from him before. "High praise from Mandy Wright, CPA."

I removed the helmet, feeling my hair tumble free in a copper cascade. Our eyes met, and something passed between us—a shared moment of simple joy that transcended our complicated circumstances.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "For teaching me."

His expression softened in a way that made my chest tighten. "It was a pleasure. You're a natural."

I knew he was exaggerating, but the pride in his voice felt real. Thisallfelt real. Without thinking—without my usual careful calculation of every action—I swung my leg over the bike, set down the helmet, and threw my arms around his waist. "I did it!" The words burst from me with childlike enthusiasm.

Thor's body tensed at the sudden contact. For a terrifying second, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake. But then his powerful arms wrapped around me, returning the hug with careful pressure. His leather vest creaked slightly as he moved, and beneath it, I felt the solid warmth of his chest.

The awkward press of my helmet against his chest reminded me of our height difference—I barely reached his shoulder even stretching up. I should have pulled away immediately. The professional, compartmentalized Mandy would have stepped back, apologized for the inappropriate contact, restored the proper distance.

Instead, I lingered, absorbing his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek.

When I finally pulled back to look up at him, something in his ice-blue eyes stole my breath. The hardness had melted away, replaced by a softness and warmth I'd never seen before. It was like looking at an entirely different person—or perhaps the real person beneath the intimidating exterior.

"You did great, princess," he said in a deep, protective tone that sent an electric shiver racing down my spine.

Princess.

The word resonated somewhere deep inside me, in the carefully hidden place where my Little side lived. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. His massive hand moved to my shoulder, steadying me as though he sensed my sudden unbalance.

"You okay?" he asked, concern creasing his brow.

"Yeah," I managed, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. "Just . . . adrenaline, I guess."

His thumb traced a small circle on my shoulder, probably meant to be comforting, but it sent sparks cascading through me. We stood like that for a long moment, too close, the air between us charged with something I wasn't ready to name.

Then reality intruded in the form of my purse, which had been hanging from my shoulder and chose that moment to slip free. It hit the ground between us with a thud, contents spilling onto the dirt.

"Shit," I muttered, dropping to my knees to gather the scattered items. Lipstick. Keys. Phone. Wallet. And—my heart stopped—my unicorn keychain.

Not just any unicorn keychain. This one had a sparkly horn and rainbow mane, its plastic body worn smooth from years of worried touches during stressful meetings or difficult phone calls.

Thor crouched beside me, helping gather my belongings. His large hands moved with surprising gentleness, collecting items and placing them carefully in my purse. Then he picked up the unicorn keychain, holding it between his thumb and forefinger.

I froze, watching his face, waiting for confusion, judgment, or worst of all, pity. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. This wasn't how I wanted anyone to discover this side of me—especially not Thor.

But his expression showed none of those things. He simply studied the colorful plastic figure for a moment, his thumb gently tracing the sparkly horn.

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