“When you fight me, pet,” he said, his voice deadly smooth, “you shall be taught your place. You shall be trained” — his hand slowly, deliberately pulled up her tunic — “to yield to your lord. To please me.”
Oh hell, he’d exposed Rosa’s bare arse, and was now plucking off her tunic altogether, his fingers quick, adept. And then trailing their way down her back, until his claws were lightly teasing at her arse-cheek, flaring out wild arcs of sparking, spattering pleasure.
“I won’t,” Rosa gasped at him,goadedhim, the words taking almost every fragment of her resolve. “You utter prick.”
John’s low, triumphant laugh sent more heat scattering, anticipation prickling rampant under her exposed, vulnerable skin. And that hand gently drew away, leaving her shivering, panting, untouched, waiting,please—
His slap was gentle, careful, intent — but still a shouting firing mayhem, obliterating all else in its sheer, mind-melting strength. Hurling a full-body shudder down the whole of Rosa’s kneeling form, so powerful she could barely hear his laugh, husky, hot.
“You wish to be taught, pet,” he purred, as his still-lingering hand gently trailed away again — and then landed in another earth-spinning slap, just a shade harder this time. “You wish to be taken in hand by your lord. By anorc.”
Rosa’s shuddering form curled up slightly, almost as if to hide itself from the humiliating power in that claim — but suddenly both those hands gripped to her arse, tilting it back up and out, and then — Rosa moaned aloud — thrusting her bare thighs apart. Showing him far more than before, exposing the entire line of her crease, all her most hidden places bared and opened for an orc’s brutal punishment —
It made his next slap even more powerful, more dangerous, even as it was still gentle, careful. Even as — Rosa arched and keened — that hand lingered this time, tracing its claw all the way down her crease, before drawing back, slapping again, ohhell.
“Do you learn your lesson, pet?” his voice asked, mocked, as he again traced that humiliating line of her, so smooth, so proprietary. “Shall you better seek to please your lord?”
That, at least, dragged up a jolt of genuine fury, though it was distant, stunted, beneath the still-flaring pleasure of that single, deliberately tracing claw. “Ihavesought to please you,” she gasped, glancing over her shoulder toward him — which was a grave mistake, because the way helooked, his eyes both dark and deadly bright, his lips parted, his cheeks unmistakably flushed.
“I, um” — she had to haul in air, but she couldn’t look away, even as his eyes became mocking again, challenging. “I’ve worked fordaysfor you. I’ve tolerated a variety of unwarrantedoutrageousnessfrom you. And” — where were the words, the air — “ég er að læra Aelakesh, John-Ka.”
It was one of a few stupid phrases she’d asked Tristan to teach her —I’m learning Aelakesh— but gods, it had been entirely worth it, based on the look in John’s eyes alone. True astonishment, and then disbelief, and then —hunger. Pure, potent, blazing with bare, powerful longing.
And then he swatted her again, the asshole. His face gone fully blank again, fully revealing that she’d drawn out too much — but if she was being exposed like this, if she was provoking a damned devious orc into swatting her like a sulky orcling, he could surely damned well admit that he was getting off on her speaking his damned language.
“Mér líkar Aelakesh,” Rosa gasped, forming the unfamiliar words as carefully as she could. “Mér líkar við— John-Ka.”
I like Aelakesh. I like — John.
His eyes had widened, his nostrils flaring, and Rosa did not miss the heady, mouthwatering sight of his free hand, coming to briefly brush against his massively tented trousers. Which also — Rosa swallowed hard — betrayed a visible, growing streak of wetness down the front.
“Mér líkar við typpið þitt,” John breathed, his eyes burning on hers, his lips barely moving. “You like my prick. Speak this.”
Rosa had to lick her lips, suck in breath, her gaze desperately darting between his eyes and his groin. “Mér líkar við,” she said, as clearly as she could, “typpið þitt,John-Ka.”
John’s moan was reflexive, guttural, the very sound making Rosa’s bared body frantically clench and flare. To the point where — she had to force her trembling limbs to stay in place — she could feel a streak of wetness, oozing from her swollen groin, stealing down her thigh.
“Ég er,” John’s strangled voice said, his glittering eyes dropping, fixed to the sight, “svo blaut.So wet.”
Rosa fought for air, for consciousthought, over the blaring shout of her heartbeat. “Ég er svo blaut, John-Ka.”
His groan sounded dangerously close to a cry this time, his eyes squeezing shut. “Refsaðu mér,” he hissed, and his hand on Rosa’s arse drew back — and then slapped her again, hard enough to sting this time. “Refsaðu mér.”
The understanding ricocheted through Rosa, clamouring against the furious hurtling pleasure. “Refsaðu mér, John-Ka,” she breathed, as her bare arse seemed to thrust itself toward him, brandishing itself for him, begging him. “Refsaðu mér!”
His answering slap was almost painful, but it was everything,everything, even the way it skittered as it landed, and then slipped down to skate against her swollen, clenching, spread-open heat. Making her choke and gasp and keen, and even more, oh hell, when he brought his shaking fingers to his nose, andinhaled.
“Gods,” Rosa gasped, without at all meaning to, her eyelashes madly fluttering, her body again pushing back toward him. “Fuck.Ég er svo blaut, John-Ka.”
His whole form visibly, viscerally stilled, his hand hovering against his mouth, his eyes blacker than Rosa had ever seen them — and suddenly his hands dropped to his tented, wet-stained groin, and yanked out his cock. Huge, veined, glistening, and dripping a thick stream of shiny, succulent white.
Rosa nearly sobbed at the truth of it, its massive heft vibrating hard against his clawed fingertips — and then again when his hand snapped up to catch the thick white in his palm. And then he slicked himself all over in it, coating himself with its slippery sheen, the sight almost too powerfully primal for Rosa’s blinking, staring eyes. And then — she cried out, long, loud — he brought his still-dripping hand up, and rubbed that wetness deep and purposeful between her spread arse-cheeks.
And gods, he’d said he wanted this, and now that it was happening — was it happening? — the trepidation and anticipation and sheeryearningwere raging and shouting all at once. Needing this, craving this, how could she possibly do this, oh hell she had to do this —
“How do I say,” she gasped at him, “fuck me.”
And fuck the asshole, because he actually laughed, hoarse, genuine, frayed. “Ríddu mér,” he breathed, as he rose up to kneel behind her. His body so hot, so close, and Rosa let out a raw, high-pitched howl as that slick, smooth hardness slipped between her parted cheeks, just nudging at where it was — it wasn’t — supposed to be. And it washuge, and Rosa was not, and she kept hauling in air, fighting back the swirling seething panic —
