Tramisgrated as Loki reincarnate (18)

[This novel contains explicit content]



I died with my dick in my hand and a corporate merger on my mind.



Not literally, of course—the dick part, I mean. I was fully clothed, sitting at my desk, reviewing acquisition paperwork for a company I was about to gut like a fish. One second I was initialing page forty-seven of the Henderson takeover, the next—nothing. Just darkness, pressure in my chest, and the fleeting thought: Thirty-six is too fucking young to have a heart attack.



Then I was gone.



No white light. No life flashing before my eyes. No heavenly choir or hellish flames. Just... nothing.



Until I wasn't.



I woke up gasping, sheets tangled around unfamiliar legs, morning light stabbing through unfamiliar blinds. And sporting the most painful morning wood I'd ever experienced.



"What the fuck?" I muttered, my voice cracking on the last word. Not my voice. Higher. Younger.



I sat up, heart racing, and looked down at hands that weren't mine. Smooth, unscarred, no Rolex, no signet ring. I flexed them, watching unfamiliar tendons move under the skin.



This wasn't my body.



I threw back the covers and stared at the evidence. Lean, muscular frame. No chest hair. And a cock that was definitely not the one I'd been born with—bigger, harder, and apparently ready for action despite my existential crisis.



"Am I high? Dreaming?" I touched my face, feeling sharp cheekbones, smooth skin. No stubble. "What the actual fuck is happening?"



(Welcome to your second chance, asshole.)