Ava's Thor(n) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Ava’s Thor(n)

  By

  R.J. Fletcher

  Ava’s Thor(n)

  Copyright© 2017 by R.J. Fletcher

  Book editing/formatting by R.J. Fletcher

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  ~Ava~

  This was it. The moment I had been waiting for the entire week. My hands were nearly shaking with the rush of adrenaline and surely from the release of dopamine in my brain every time I clicked the “Buy” button on my IPad. I settled warmly into my cushy couch with a bottle of wine in one hand and my other ready to flip through pages for the rest of the night.

  You see, I am a romance junkie. Like a hardcore romance junkie. I’ve read them all. Go ahead, just test me. Oh, you’re too shy now…mmhmm. I gotchu. Anyways, I had been waiting for the release of this book for months! Instead of dinner, I planned to gorge myself on a fantasy world where there was always a happily ever after. Sigh. They’re my favorite. I may be obsessed, but at least it’s calorie free. Hey, don’t look at my wine! I deserve at least that for nutrients.

  But it seemed like my excitement all came crashing down on the first page. My eyes honed in on those keywords I always dreaded and had been haunting me with every new book I seemed to get my hands on. Curly straight hair. Green eyes or some other light-colored bullshit. Milk-and-coffee skin. What the hell does that even mean? Oh, and let’s not forget: small button nose and the model figure. I’m so overwhelmed by the need to gag I just shut down my tablet.

  Another one bites the dust. I’m sure you’re thinking: what’s wrong with heroines like that? They’re people too. That they are, my friend; there is no denying that. My problem with these stories isn’t that they exist, but that lately that’s all I keep coming across. There are authors out there that refuse to write about women darker than a paper bag. Do you get the reference? Or with hair curlier than 3C. Hello, where my 4B and 4C sistas at?

  I’m an unapologetically Black woman, meaning no one would ever confuse me for being anything else. My hair isn’t an organized curl, and I can rock my Afro with the best of them. No, my features aren’t tiny or cute. I have a wide-nose, big dark brown eyes, and luscious lips- if I do say so myself. No one would ever mistake me as a model either because I’m only five foot two inches tall. But I have a rockin’ body. And for those of you who don’t know what that means…my ass is more than a handful, my tummy isn’t flat and never will be-I refuse to give up my carbs- and my breasts are small and perky. There is no shame in my game, and quite frankly, I am sick and tired of women like me being rendered invisible even in fiction. Are we not beautiful too? Hello. Did you just hear me describe myself? I’m gorgeous!

  I know what you’re thinking. If you’re so damn gorgeous, why are you at home alone on a Friday night reading sappy romance novels? The answer is simple: the world has yet to appreciate my beauty. You got your evidence right here in these books. Yes, I get my fair share of guys who want to roll around in the hay and fuck up my hair for a bit, but that’s always where their interest ends. I am always something to try, and so I’ve officially taken myself off the toy shelf. No more unreturned phone calls, no more ass fetishes, and no more men. Period. But like any red-blooded woman, I do yearn for the romance. So now do you see why this means so much to me? For these few moments a week, I get to bask in the unending and sappy happiness of a romance novel. It’s sad to some people; they may think I’m desperate, but I’m not.

  You see, outside this fantasy world, I have a great life. I’ve accomplished most of my goals. I am a highly educated marketing specialist. You heard it people! And it is quite honestly the best job I’ve ever had. Okay, I’m overdoing it a little bit, but it’s not the worst job either. I get to do what I love most- conduct market research and work with the best companies in the country, sometimes even the world. I know about everything in my firm, from the business to the gossip. And as we all know, information is power.

  And yet with all that power, I am now left bored on a Friday night. The television stares at me in all its prospective glory, but I still can’t help but look dolefully at the disappointing eBook on my tablet. I was hoping to at least get some action tonight, but it seems yet another author has left me to my own wiles. Grudgingly, I turn on the remote and settle into a ridiculous yet guilty pleasure reality show.

  ~Thor~

  “Thor!”

  I wanted to roll my eyes as this woman continually screamed my name. Mind you, my masculine pride definitely appreciates her energetic response, but if this woman did not stop squirming beneath me like an eel, I was liable to completely fall out of her pussy and onto the floor. Before I could do just that, I took hold of her petite shoulders in my hands to pin her down and slam my hips forward in short jabs. I could tell she liked the stimulation more at her entrance. I mean that is where all the more sensitive nerve-endings are. Color you impressed? I’m named after a God because I fuck like one. And that can’t happen if I don’t know a woman’s anatomy. It comes with the territory and reputation, and man do I love it.

  Pussy, that is. Not her.

  In fact, I can’t even tell you what her name is. Sahara? Zara? Ahara? It’s something weird like that. I can’t judge though. I mean, I am named after a Norse god. It’s as if my parents were determined to have my ass be the butt of jokes for the rest of my life. I look nothing like him. I’m not blonde, I don’t have blue eyes, and I damn sure don’t have any goals of looking like a meathead. Instead, I take pride in my jet-black hair and emerald green eyes. I take after my Danish ancestors in height and build, leanly muscled. But apparently none of that could help protect me from the practical convulsions this girl was having beneath me.

  We met in the club, as these occasions tend to happen. She wasn’t bad to look at in her skintight bandage dress and sky-high heels, not that she needed them. I’m sure she stood far above the average height for women in the U.S. as she seemed to be pretty close to my own height, and I’ve always towered over my friends and the general populace. With her wheat-blonde hair and come-hither lips, I decided she would be eno
ugh of a distraction for this Friday night.

  “Yes, yes!”

  I can’t help the deep sigh of pleasure. To her ears, it might seem that I am into it. But it is more a sigh of relief. As soon as she comes, I can be done with her. And that’s exactly what happened. Her convulsions come to the ultimate climax nearing the cataclysms of an earthquake. I swear I felt the ground shake from her exaggerations. I know I’m good. But nothing should feel that damn good you risk breaking your back or breaking your partner’s nose, right?

  Anyways, I come quite anti-climatically. Ha, get it? The most intense anti-climax climax if there ever was one. But hey, it is all just to pass the time. And immediately, like clockwork, I rolled over and reached for my pants. I’ve learned from experience it’s best to get going while the sweat is still slowly cooling on the girl’s skin. As she tries to catch her breath, I’d be catching mine while simultaneously shoving my legs and arms through my clothes. By the time her breath is even, I’d be out without a backward glance. That’s how it’s always been, and it’s worked for me so don’t judge. You get while the getting is good and then you get the fuck out. That’s my motto.

  “Thor?” She whispers into the dark emptiness of the room.

  My only response to her is the front door closing in her small studio apartment. We fucked. Enough said.

  Chapter 1

  ~Ava~

  “Are you going to be late again, today? I swear CPT was created just for you.”

  I rolled my eyes at Evie’s exaggeration. “Who are you talking to? Honey, you’re Afro-Dominican! So, not only are you on Caribbean people’s time, but you’re also Black and Hispanic. Three strikes, you’re out!” I yelled into the phone.

  But, despite my abuse of well-known stereotypes, she was right. I was going to be late because of the long line at my favorite coffee place that morning. Despite having done absolutely nothing all weekend, I still wound up waking up way past the blaring of the alarm and desperately huffed and puffed my way down the street. After the adrenaline rush of making it to the shop, I felt my eyes starting to droop right back to sleep. Oh, but how I needed the caffeine. It is truly the eighth wonder of the world!

  My platform heels tapped sporadically as my impatience grew. I eventually hung up on Evie, not in the mood for her complaining. We had been best friends since I began working at the firm. There was no one else who understood my sarcasm and who could appreciate my attitude. Maybe it was because we were one of the few women of color at Durand, Park, & Associates. Either way, we made eye contact during one of the employee orientations and decided then and there that we would wind up being best friends. What had begun as a superficial need to have an ally actually turned out for the best. Evie was quite literally my ride or die chick. And I was hers.

  My eyes kept reverting back to the ticking clock as I did the math in my head. This should only take me ten more minutes. If I leave by then, I’ll still only have five minutes left to rush to work. While I usually don’t make a habit of being late, I for sure wasn’t looking forward to the covert glances of disparagement as I scrambled into the office.

  But, despite my sigh of relief after finally receiving my steaming cup-of-Joe, I had a complete out-of-body experience as my body flew forward. Jerking from the force, my precious coffee sailed from my fingers and some of the dark, steaming liquid splashed onto the floor and the front of my neatly pressed work pants. As with any embarrassing accident, there seemed to be a silence that encompassed the cafe as people watched with rapt attention. As realization of what just happened finally settled in my mind, I could already feel the steam leaving my ears like Yosemite Sam. It is so on! I turned to the culprit, ready to wage war. You’re going down, Bugs Bunny!

  My invisible guns fell limply to my sides at the sight before me, however. Bugs Bunny has officially been re-casted as Loki, people! Why did no one give me a heads up? My mouth gaped open slightly, but I felt my sticky pants brushing against the soft skin of my thighs and came back to my senses. It’s still on! I stared up at this man- this gorgeous man- who just further ruined my day! However good-looking he is, that doesn’t excuse his pushy behavior.

  “What the hell is your problem!” My voice came out much louder than I had planned and further caught the attention of the line of customers and the workers behind the counter.

  As if to further irritate me, he held up his hands and gave me a sheepish grin. Oh, I could care less how sexy his lips are. “Sorry lady. I didn’t see you there.” He pointed a finger to the large bag hanging off his shoulder. What the hell? Is there a body in there? Serves me right, being attracted to a fucking murderer! “You must have gotten caught in the crossfire when I moved.”

  As if to add fuel to the fire, he walked past me to the counter, effectively dismissing my ire and ending any opportunity for me to buy another cup without having to get back in line. I must have been standing there gaping like a fish for several moments because when I finally came to, several customers were staring at me with a mixture of concern, humor, and annoyance. And I could hear his sexy, deep baritone after receiving his cup-o-Joe,

  “Thank you. Have a good day!”

  The warmth from his body heat and a whiff of cologne brushed past my senses in the direction of the door. But I wasn’t done with this man. Entering onto the street, I rushed to catch up with him and took a strong stance in front of his path with my arms crossed. I gave him my fiercest bitch-you-don’t-want-to-fuck-with-me look. Him being a goddamn giant didn’t help with the intimidation factor, but I refused to be deterred.

  “Give me your coffee,” I said simply.

  He looked down at me with a raised brow. “What?”

  “You heard what I said! Give me your coffee. That’s mine!” Without waiting for a response, I reached out towards his cup, but he was too quick.

  Taking a step back, his eyes narrowed- all humor gone. “Listen lady, it’s not my fault you dropped your cup. Now kindly put a lid on the crazy and get out of my way.”

  “You’re the crazy one if you think I’m going to stand in line for ten minutes, have my cup shoved out of my hands because of some stranger’s idiocy and not hold him accountable! Now, hand over the cup!”

  His bright green eyes narrowed as I refused to let him pass. Every time he stepped right, I stepped left. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Maybe I was dazed by how attractive this man was. Whatever the reason, he made the situation worse by calling me crazy. Never call a crazy woman crazy. You’ve read the handbook, haven’t you? He was just asking to be beat down.

  “You really are out of your mind!” The sexy giant accused, when he saw just how serious I was. “Fine! You want my coffee, here.”

  I hesitated a bit, shocked by how soon he had given in. But he was. Yes, Yosemite Sam for the win! He reached out with the cup of coffee in his hands. Even though my attention should’ve been on the prize, my eyes took in how large and well formed his hands were. I also noticed the tip of what looked like a tattoo peeking from beneath his long-sleeved shirt. It surprised me because otherwise, he looked so clean-cut.

  But I should have been paying attention, because as soon as I reached out to grab hold of the cup, his demeanor changed. A mischievous grin spread across his handsome features, giving me a glimpse of some pretty attractive teeth. And like the devil he was, he flipped his hand and poured the cup onto the concrete beneath us. It splattered, effectively ruining my pumps and the bottom of my work pants!

  I gasped in horror, jumping back to salvage what I could. My favorite velvet pumps!

  My senses were thrown even more into disarray when I felt his breath against my cheek as he whispered,

  “Next time, ask nicely.”

  And, just like that, he disappeared. What the fuck?

  ~Thor~

  The familiar bell jingled as I entered my parlor. After seeing her gaping in shock on the sidewalk, I walked like a peacock that had just attracted the finest honey of them all. What are female peaco
cks called again? Whatever, it served her right! Seriously, though, who does that? Now, I may have felt just the tiniest inkling of guilt having ruined her shoes, but that had never been part of the plan. No, seriously. I’m not that big of a jerk! Just as she was reaching for the cup, I realized just how ridiculous the situation was and couldn’t help myself. It wasn’t my fault she didn’t have the coordination to hold onto her coffee. Stop trying to make me feel guiltier! Okay, I get it. I should have acted more like a gentleman. Nah, who am I kidding? No one would ever describe me as a gentleman.

  I dropped the large gym bag on my shoulder to the floor of my office. It wasn’t that big of a space, but I was proud of the little tattoo parlor I owned and successfully managed for the past couple of years. Business had been going strong for quite some time because of my and the other staff’s talent. I prided myself on only hiring the best of the best. And while many customers asked for me after seeing my portfolio, there was never a shortage of staff members who could do the same if not better work. The walls were decorated with many of the award-winning designs we were lauded for. Every time I stepped onto the linoleum floor, I always felt my heart soar. Is this what love is like? If so, I’ve found my soul mate. And her name is Thor’s Edge Tattoos. And my baby is FIONE.

  “What the hell happened to your pants?”

  My daydreaming was cut short as I looked behind me to find Axel, one of the first tattoo artists I hired when I opened the joint. I followed his gaze and found the bottom of my jeans covered in the fallen coffee. Battle scars. I chuckled slightly at the thought.

  “Nothing. Just ran into some trouble.”

  Axel didn’t ask for any more information. Running his hands through his blonde frohawk, he shrugged, “Whatever, man. But you should probably clean yourself up before our new applicant comes in. I scheduled her for ten o’clock.”

  “Oh, damn. I completely forgot about that! Yeah, you’re right.” I reached into my gym bag; thankful I always carried an extra pair of clothes with me for emergencies. Or when I end up falling asleep in the shop. I may be a horn dog, but I’m also a hard-worker. Remember that. “So, you got a resume for me?”