“This isn't just any shirt,' he told her. 'This shirt was worn by he-who-must-not-be-named in the first of the Twilight films.'Lara's mouth fell open. She blinked several times. What was he talking about? Voldemort wasn't even in Twilight.”

“Actually, the Burmese don't refer to her by name. They just call her "The Lady." It's like Voldemort in Harry Potter, "He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“He blinked a few times, each motion so slow that he was never quite sure if he’d get his eyes open again. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. Funny how he was only just realizing it. Funnier still that he couldn’t seem to summon any concern for her maidenly sensibilities.She might be blushing. He couldn’t tell. It was too dark to see. But it didn’t matter. This was Honoria. She was a good egg. A sensible egg. She wouldn’t be scarred forever by the sight of his chest.”

“She smoothed the long sleeve of her tight, orange t-shirt. “What? You’ve never seen a woman wear more than one shirt before?” Odin’s mouth closed and opened a few times before words finally came out. “She’s like a fuckin’ seven layer burrito someone forgot was in the back of the fridge for six months.” She had to laugh. How could she not with such vivid imagery coming from someone who dressed like he was going on an unholy crusade at any moment?”

“A hand in her hair, wrenching back her head. "What's my name?"She scratched trails down his back. He didn't even wince. "My name, kitty. Say my name.""Mr. Mud Stick, Muddie for short," she said, even as she rubbed herself against the hard thrust of his denim-covered erection, the roughness of the fabric an exquisite sensation. She would've liked naked skin even more, but he wasn't budging."Say it, or no cock for you today."Her mouth fell open. "Fuck you.""You'll be doing that shortly.”

“Apparently Big Guy has become the new Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”