Page 38 of Last Thrall of Asgard

Not yet.

“The same stories eventually get old and boring to hear again, if they are all you ever tell, and you never create new ones. I am a new story, here, now. And when you, the great god Thor, have finished your celebrations and recounting of the past, you will have the balls to move on to your next chapter, believing you can make new, better stories. Do you understand? Or are you too much of a coward to try?”

More lightning flickered across the blue of Thor’s eyes, and I wondered if this was the same stare-down the Midgard Serpent had faced before it died.

Thor yanked my hips, slamming me back upon the table. He renewed his fucking, and through the wildness on his face spread a brilliant smile.

“I am going to find new monsters to slay.”

“Yes.”

“New holes to fuck.”

“Yes.”

“New experiences, ones never known to me, that I might revel in as much as I reveled in all else!”

“Yes!”

“And I am going to make… you… come!”

The nextyesleft me as barely a squeak, and I came that moment into Thor’s mighty palm, as he stroked and fucked me in tandem. The heat of him filling me followed only a few mighty thrusts later.

“And…” Thor huffed as he sagged upon me, “I am going to have some of those same adventures in new ways… as a new man and new god, better than I was.”

“Yes,” I said tenderly, whispering against his cheek, “you are.”

Thor rolled off of me with a clatter of the plates and mugs around us. For the first time, his bold voice sounded almost wistful. “It was just… easier, you know? Living in the past rather than imagining an unknown future.”

“I understand, even though, for me, it’s the opposite. Just maybe don’t put all your friends to sleep the next time you need an outlet.”

Thor chuckled and gave my shoulder a hefty shove that caused me to spill the honey jar. What a mess we were, sticky with ale and honey, sweat and come. I wondered if Thor and Loki had ever been in this state together.

The trickster god would not leave my thoughts, but I knew looking for the dog I’d thought I glimpsed wouldn’t amount to much. Instead, I traced the image of Mjolnir on the belt still fastened to me.

“Should you ever pry your hammer from Sindri’s arms beneath this table, I would like to hear those new stories of yours.Someday.”

Thor laughed again. “Loki bested me like always, eh? The damn imp.”

“Damn indeed, butIbested you. And if I can, I intend to best him too.”

“Do you?” Thor lifted his head. “Now, that would be a feat worthy of a story.”

“Perhaps it will be. But first, please tell me there is a way to clean up around here?”

There was, and far more enjoyably than I could have guessed. Being in the mountain home of the dwarves should have madeit obvious. Off the dining hall was a great bathing chamber, with bowls and soaps for cleansing, and a natural hot spring for soaking.

Frankly, after feasting, ale, and the exhilaration of wearing that belt—and taking Thor’s cock—I was so content, I wasn’t even thinking about when Loki might next come for me.

The approach of feet made me lurch upright in the waist-high water. I felt hopeful, forced to admit my lie. Thor had cleansed himself more quickly and left me to soak, saying he had something to attend to. This had to be Loki, here to whisk me away.

My ginger hair, clean and wet, clung to my neck and shoulders. I tried to tamp down my excitement to see Loki again, feeling I had to be right in my assumptions of him, I had to be, as the door swung open—

To reveal a different god, an Aesir like Thor, given his similar stature and bulging muscles. He was handsome and powerful like Thor too, but his eyes captured me even more intensely, a light gray color that could have been silver. He had paler ginger hair than mine or Thor’s, shorn completely on both sides with a top fringe like Thorsten’s, and a long centrally braided beard.

He wore bracers and scanty undergarments that strained from the size of him, a match for Thor there as well, and he carried a large ale vat that he set down within the bathing chamber as if it were a no greater feat than transporting a mug.

By the time I’d recovered enough from my surprise to ask his name, his missing right hand gave his identity away.

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