Page 27 of Conquered (Highgate Preparatory Academ:y Compendium)

Loki's waiting with Jax, chatting as I make my way down, but as he sees me, he abruptly stops talking mid-sentence. His mouth literally pops open, and I have to suppress a squeal of delight at seeing him so lost for words, although I can’t stop the wide grin that comes over my painted lips.

I catch his gaze, which is a raging inferno of jade fire, as he takes me in.

My eyes flick briefly to Jax, and what I see there makes my steps falter a little so that I have to grab the bannister.

His piercing blue gaze is also swirling with an intense heat as he admires me.

I get caught up in the blue flames until Loki steps up in front of me, blocking my view when I reach the bottom of the stairs.

“Damn, Pretty Girl! I didn't think you could get any more beautiful,” he groans, licking his lower lip and rubbing his jaw with a strong manicured hand. What is it about a well kept hand on a hot man that makes you go weak at the knees?

As usual, I feel my cheeks flush pink with his compliment.

“Are you ready to go?” I manage to get out, squirming under his scrutiny.

Which is fucking ridiculous seeing as he's seen me naked and had me screaming his name, coming apart under his fingers and tongue.

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” He beams, holding out his arm for me to take.

We head in the direction of the dining hall, his forearm warm under my palm. The school has a no going off campus Monday to Friday rule so our dinner date has to take place here.

As we enter the hall, my breath is taken away and I look round with wide eyes.

I am blanketed by stars. All the lights are off, bar one that highlights a single table next to one of the window walls.

As most of the walls and ceiling are made of glass, and given that we are in the middle of nowhere so light pollution is minimal, the night sky sits above us, full of pinpricks of light.

“Loki,” I breathe, glancing back at him. “It's beautiful. How...” I'm at a loss as to how he organised everything so quickly. And also, why are there no other students here?

“I have my ways,” he boasts with a wink, leading me to our table and pulling out my chair. “I hope you don't mind, but I ordered dinner for us.”

Gerald, the waiter who always serves our table during the day, brings our plates over, setting them down in front of us. Loki is sitting by my side so that we're facing the window, but can still turn to speak to each other.

I see that we have a bowl of orange coloured soup to start, and I moan aloud as I take a spoonful. It's carrot and coriander, which happens to be one of my favourites. I look up to see Loki grinning at me once again.

“You like your food, don't you, Pretty Girl?” he teases. “I like that you're not afraid to show it, like many of the girls that go here are.”

He takes his own spoonful to those lush lips of his. Damn, I've never been jealous of a spoon before!

“So, tell me more about yourself? I still don’t know everything,” he asks me, smiling that beautiful smile of his which makes my heart race.

“Well...I was born in North London, a place called Islington, and lived with my mum.

I loved the city. It's so vibrant and full of life and bursting at the seams. And there are so many different people and cultures.” I smile fondly at the memories, seeing all my favourite places in my mind.

“I guess you've maybe been there?” I ask him, remembering that everyone in this school is as rich as Midas, so obviously well travelled.

“Once or twice. But I want to hear more of what you loved about it,” he invites, a soft expression on his face as he gives me his rapt attention.

So, I tell him. I talk about all of the wonderful museums, the parks, and the green spaces.

About growing up in the city, how we used to smoke weed outside the old town hall and go to a dingy club called The Dome in Tufnell Park when we were fourteen.

I describe the time I stole my mum's whiskey and got rat arsed—I had to explain that this means I was very drunk.

I share the story of when I went to the theatre in the West End with Mum and a friend to see Grease, and the street performers at Covent Garden market we used to see.

“Sounds like a great way to grow up,” he remarks, a distant empty stare in his eyes.

“But you must have had an amazing childhood?” I ask, ducking my head to meet his gaze, ready to discover more about him. “I mean, I'd never even gotten on a plane before coming here.” I look at him, and he seems to have clammed up, his arms crossed and a flush creeping across his cheeks.

“Yeah. I mean it was great,” he starts, hesitantly, meeting my gaze.

“We had some amazing nannies and some hideous ones! This one woman, Edna, used to feed us cod liver oil every day,” he reminisces, mouth pinched and nose crinkled, which I can completely sympathise with. That stuff is fucking disgusting!

“Mostly, it was me and the girls, my kid sisters. My parents were always off on business of one sort or another, so we only saw them at Christmas really,” he trails off, looking away, but not before I catch a longing in his beautiful eyes that is so strong it takes my breath away.

He stays quiet, then Gerald brings our dessert; a divine smelling chocolate melt in the middle cake with custard and ice cream, successfully interrupting the sombre moment.

“Custard and ice cream?” I tease, gently nudging him with my elbow. “Only someone with a body like yours would come up with that combination.”

Relief fills me as the sad, lost look leaves his face, and is replaced with his signature grin.

“You like my body, Pretty Girl?” he drawls in a tone that makes my breath quicken, and I find myself gripping my spoon hard.

Heat banks in his gaze as he takes a deliberately provocative spoonful of his dessert, slowly licking it off with that clever tongue of his. I'd be lying if I said I didn't clench my thighs a little, remembering his tongue in other more intimate places.

He looks over at me, smirking, and then gets another spoonful, only to offer it to me this time. Tit for tat, Angel! I copy him and oh so slowly, take the mouthful, licking the spoon until it's clean. I even raise the bar by moaning a little, all whilst holding his gaze. Checkmate, motherfucker!

“I think we're done here,” he rasps, letting the spoon clatter to the plate.

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me up beside him, and then drags me away.