Immortal, Insatiable, Indomitable

He magnified each feature of her exquisite face, every strand of spun-fire that framed it, every slope and curve and pore. Her broad, clear forehead bore the mark of intelligence. Her elegant nose and firm jaw spoke of character and strength. Her lips, dainty and dimpled, would be edible smiling or serious, but now, flushed and parted, they invited his ferociousness. Of her body, he could see only the capable, square shoulders, and the heavy breasts, hugged loosely by something out of place and beige.

But it was her eyes, gleaming like Asgard’s moons and as verdant as its seas, that had excesses storming through his mind, sending blood like molten steel to his erection.

He’d thought he’d seen it all. Every kind of beauty, on the mortal and immortal planes. He’d been right. Until now.

Until this woman.

Even the gods hadn’t been so ambitious as to dream of beauty like hers. Nature, in his experience, had never come close.

And her effect on him wasn’t due to a spell or a power.

She was human. Mortal. He even felt that her life force was unstable. She wouldn’t have a long lifespan.

He should take her while he could, then.

He imagined himself walking to her, then without saying a word, pushing her back on that bench she was sitting on and mounting her.

He hadn’t done anything close to that even when he’d been a barbarian and behavior like that was the norm.

He wanted to do it to her now.

Now that was desire. Although of something south of the heart.

And it was reciprocated. She wanted him to ravish her.

She was coming to him, the demand for his possession, his pleasures, rising in urgency with her every step closer.

How he would answer it.

Kara neared the man, only the crush of sweating bodies slowing her advance. The emptiness between her thighs throbbed harder with every step.

But along with arousal, anxiety intensified, too.

It would serve her right if he did something obscene when she reached him. Her off-the-charts, out-of-character behavior in walking up to a man who looked like a…a marauder, with drool no doubt trailing behind her, deserved at least a breast grope.

What would she do if he did that, or worse? Slap him? Run away? Rub herself against his rock-solid gorgeousness and beg for more? For everything?

That was it. She’d lost whatever had been left of her mind.

Don’t do this. Turn around, walk away.

If she didn’t, she’d blow away whatever normalcy remained in her life. After her “family’s” recent revelations, she barely had any left. This was just the guy to end “normal” once and for all.

But she could be imagining things. He might be just another mediocre guy, and she’d soon get this will-siphoning lust out of her system with some quickie that didn’t involve actual sex or the removal of either of their clothes.

Yeah, sure. Like she’d been imagining things when she’d thought there was something seriously wrong with her. Her “foster family” had set her straight on that.

Next to what they’d revealed, walking up to the most incredible and lethal-looking man she’d ever seen with the intention of asking him to fuck her brains out seemed tame.

To make things worse, he hadn’t moved an inch to meet her halfway, just kept staring at her. If you could call that denuding/dissecting/devouring gaze a stare. And if she trusted her senses at all now, she would swear he was getting…bigger.

She was only a dozen feet from him when he suddenly looked away.

Mortification scalded her.

He gazed with even more intensity at whatever had caught his attention. So he looked at everything that way. It hadn’t been for her. He might even be here with someone. He…

He had men converging on him. Lumbering, black-leather-clad men whose heads were shaved in patterns that looked like gothic runes.