Gwyn’s heart leapt, her shout nearly escaping her throat — but she’d somehow choked it back, just in time. Because Silfast’s axe had halted, frozen in place, its sharpened blade just kissing against Joarr’s bared neck. While below Joarr, the tooth fell to the earth, its cord cut clean.
Silfast swung the axe back up again, as his other hand snatched down for the fallen tooth. And then he tossed it over to Olarr, who easily caught it, and then strode to the nearby burning fire, and dropped it in.
The fire sparked and cracked, the tooth already consumed within — and there were more loud shouts and whoops, ringing through the air. And Silfast had reached toward Joarr, roughly hauling him up to his feet, and then actually even clasped him close, his huge hand clapping against his back.
And suddenly Olarr had piled on too, and Kalfr, and Eyolf and Iyolf, and that was surely Simon’s massive form, sending the whole lot staggering. And as more and more orcs rushed in, shouting their welcomes and congratulations, Gwyn felt a hoarse, joyous laugh bubbling from her throat, while the pooling wetness finally escaped her eyes, and streaked down her cheeks.
It was some time before Joarr was freed from the orc pile-up, and once he emerged he looked like a ruffled mess, his hair all on end, his face flushed. And there was evenbloodsmeared on his chest and shoulder — from where Silfast’s axe had nicked him, no doubt — but despite all that, his grin was broad and genuine, his stance easy and relaxed, his eyes catching warm and wicked on Gwyn’s.
She grinned back at him, her eyes still blinking, her hand still fixed over her heart. And when he twitched his head toward her — clearly saying,come— she immediately stumbled over toward him, and threw herself into his waiting arms.
“Congratulations, love,” she breathed, into his warm, familiar chest. “You did it. Youdeservedit.”
She could feel his shrug, dismissing it, even as his strong arms crushed her tighter against him. “Should never have gained this,” he whispered into her ear, “without you. Ach?”
Gwyn shrugged too, but clutched him even closer, inhaled the sweet rich scent of him. Felt his lean solid strength, the steady thud of his heartbeat, and — she shivered all over — that hard, familiar ridge in his trousers, jutting out thick and demanding against her.
She drew back, searching for his eyes — and found them dark, half-lidded, hungry. And as she kept blinking at him, her heart picking up speed, the audacious bastard casually dropped a hand down into his trousers, and pulled himself out.
Gwyn’s breath choked, her gaze now furtively darting around them — but the party had already resumed in full force, the assembled orcs once again talking and laughing and drinking. One pair of orcs — Baldr and Drafli — were grinding up against the goddess’ tree together, their bodies fully bared in the firelight, and she could see Natt leading Ella away behind a rose-bush, his hand slipping up her short skirt. Which meant that Gwyn was the only one watching Joarr do this, his hand now blatantly pumping up and down his swollen length, while his other hand slid down to caress his full bollocks below.
“Altar, you ken,” he said to Gwyn, his eyes lazy and mocking, as he kept brazenly stroking himself, flaunting himself for her. “You wish to be bared and used upon this, ach? Wish to bow and beg for your Seer, where all Bautul shall see?”
Oh,hell. Gwyn’s breath choked again, her face hot, her eyes darting between Joarr’s groin and his smug, taunting face. And would she really volunteer for this,again, with all these orcs indeed sure to start noticing at any moment, and…
“Ach, you yet have much to learn, Seer,” cut in a hard voice. It wasSilfast’svoice, goddess curse him, and Gwyn whipped around to discover him standing close beside her, his eyes watching Joarr, his mouth pursed. “Should a Bautul wish to have his mate upon the goddess’ altar, he ought to do this with all speed, before another orc chooses to take his place.”
With that, Silfast spun around to where Stella was standing behind him, her eyes bright with amusement — and she squealed aloud as Silfast grasped her by the waist, whirled her around, and plopped her on her hands and knees on the altar.
“See?” Silfast said, as he swiftly snatched off the flimsy shawl Stella had been wearing, and tossed it up onto an overhanging tree branch. “Too slow, Seer.”
Stella was gasping and shivering on the altar beneath him, her lush curves fully bared to the moon — but at Silfast’s light swat to her bare arse, she instantly stilled. And at the next swat of his big hand, she even arched her back, and lifted her arse, almost as if… presenting herself. Offering herself for his taking.
“Please, Silfast,” she breathed, her voice choked, pleading, entirely unashamed. “Please, grant me your favour.”
Silfast loudly harrumphed, his brows raised triumphantly toward Joarr — and then he reached down, yanked his huge, veined, blunt-tipped heft out of his own trousers, and coolly turned toward Stella’s bared, waiting body. And then, keeping his eyes on Joarr the entire time, he sank himself deep inside her, while she moaned and shuddered upon him.
Joarr was wearing an almost comical expression, of something between thwarted lust and pure bristling rage — and before Gwyn could breathe, or think, he’d grasped her by the waist, too. And an instant later, she was on her hands and knees on the altar beside Stella, with Joarr’s sharp claws digging into her hips.
“I amnevertoo slow,” Joarr said from behind her, his voice clipped. “I only wish to spur my mate’s hunger, ach? Wish her wet and longing for me.”
Silfast’s laugh was low and arrogant, rising over the hard, steady slap of his hips against Stella’s arse. “You cannot think mine does not long for me?” he replied. “Look how her sweet juices already cling to me. If you watch, mayhap you shall even see her spurt for me, ach?”
Joarr scoffed at that, his hands clenching tighter against Gwyn’s hips. “Mine oft does this,” he said thinly. “You can no scent this, all overmyaltar?”
Silfast laughed again, and did something that made Stella startle and moan beside Gwyn, her head rearing back. “I can only scent my own sweet mate,” Silfast said, with satisfaction. “Whilst yours” — he snorted, loud and jeering — “is yetdressed.”
Gwyn’s own indignation was sharply flaring, whirling up against her own hot, lurching hunger. And when she snapped around to glare at Silfast, he was smiling smugly toward her, even as he gave Stella’s arse a firm, purposeful slap with his huge hand, and plunged himself harder inside.
The bastard. And before Gwyn had even realized quite what she was doing, she’d fumbled for the buttons of her dress, and yanked it off over her shoulders. Leaving herself bared and exposed on an altar, in the middle of a party, beside her equally bared and exposed friend — and goddess, she didn’t even care. She only cared about the look of vague surprise in Silfast’s eyes, and — she exhaled, shuddering — the look of pure, potent hunger in Joarr’s. Thepride.
“Ach, for I wish her to long for me,” Joarr said, his eyes not once leaving Gwyn’s as he shucked his trousers, and kicked them off to the side. “Wish her to meet me. See me.Needme.”
And Gwyn was fervently nodding, needing him,adoringhim — and she somehow even arched up toward him, just like Stella had. Raising her bare arse, exposing herself, opening herself wide for him. Waiting.
Joarr’s hands had once again found her hips, his body leaning close, his eyes still glinting on where she was watching him over her shoulder. But instead of driving into her, as Silfast had done — as Silfast wasstill doing, grunting with each heavy thrust — Joarr slid a finger to trail down Gwyn’s open crease, his claw sharp, teasing, tantalizing.
“Wish my witch to beg for me,” he purred, as that claw lightly pricked against the swollen, too-sensitive skin. “Wish her to plead for my tending on her knees, where shebelong.”
