Love's Choice by Renee Jordan Page B

over. I writhed atop of him, using my legs as leverage. His hips thrust up, almost bouncing me along his cock. My breasts and nipples rubbed into his chest. My black hair fell in a curtain about our faces. I pressed my forehead against his and lost myself in his blue eyes.
    Pleasure rippled through my body. I spasmed about his shaft. I moaned his name every time the rapture engulfed my mind. His hands squeezed my ass. He guided me on his cock. He growled and snarled my name.
    My back arched as another wave of bliss shuddered through me. I thrust my breasts forward. His lips found a nipple. My pussy clenched hard about his cock as his sucking mouth added another wave to my passion.
    “Magnus,” I moaned, stroking his face. “My wolf.”
    His fingers tightened on my ass. He pulled me down on his cock. He growled about my nipple. His passion flooded me. I squeezed my eyes shut and savored the pulses of warmth filling me. I shuddered atop him.
    I think I loved this man. No. I did love this man.
    I collapsed on his chest, the pair of us panting. A wonderful musk filled my nose. Salty and tangy, thick with our excitement. Our love. I rested my head on his chest. My eyes closed. I was safe in his arms. He would protect me in this dangerous world we had been thrust into.
    I fell into my dreams.

Chapter Ten
    Magnus
    Raven was still in my arms when I woke.
    The wind howled through the window. It was dark outside. Night had fallen to this world. Utgard. The Outer World of Norse Mythology, where the monsters, trolls, giants, ogres, and other beasts lived. It was supposedly cut off from Midgard, our world, by a fence made of the toenails of the giant Ymir when his body was fashioned into the world by Odin.
    I never thought Utgard actually existed. Why would I? It was a fairy tale told by men trying to understand the dangers of their world. I also never thought Valkyrie existed either, and yet one slept in my arms. Her black hair was piled in a mess about her face. Her breasts rose beneath the covers, her head pillowed atop my arm.
    My arm tingled, her head pinching nerves and putting my arm to sleep. But I didn't want to move my arm or her head. I didn't want to disturb her sleep. I studied her beauty. I brushed a single lock from her high cheekbone and smiled. She was a fierce, Scandinavian beauty even in sleep. Lord Byron's poem was perfect for her.
    A violent tremble shook her. Raven's eyes fluttered behind closed lids. She dreamed. A girlish whimper escaped her lips. A child's whimper. About what did she dream? Some horror from her childhood?
    “Raven,” I whispered. “It's okay.”
    She trembled again. Pain crossed her sleeping face. Her eyebrows scrunched and a grimace crossed her lips. I shook her shoulders. “Raven. It's just a dream.”
    With a gasp, her eyes opened blue. Vibrant. Tears built in the corner. She looked around in the dark, her body shifting. I held her to my chest. She sobbed my name and clung to me. I stroked her hair as her trembles subsided.
    “Just a dream,” I whispered. “Nightmares are banished by the light of dawn, mere shadows that dance and play, yet have no substance.”
    “Who said that?” she whispered.
    “I did,” I answered.
    “So your words don't always fail you?” Raven asked, her body relaxing in my arms.
    “Not always. Sometimes the terrible poems I wrote come back to me.”
    “A poet, a biker, and a werewolf. You are a lot of contradictions rolled into one man.”
    “All men are contradictions,” I answered. “We are diverse urges locked in one flesh all pulling in different directions.”
    “See. That's what I'm talking about.” She sat up, the blanket slipping down to expose those round breasts. “You look and dress like the meanest, most bad-ass biker around, and yet you say such beautiful things.”
    “I loved to read when I was a kid,” I answered with a shrug. “I still do. It beats watching TV to pass the time.”
    “I like watching TV,” Raven said,