He was speaking again, this time a harsh, fluent string of words that Gwyn didn’t even slightly recognize, and her jolting, scrabbling thoughts pointed out that this was the orcs’ black-tongue. Because this was an orc, an honest-to-godsorc, and he was easily lifting her, and setting her on the hard kitchen table behind her. And — she couldn’t help a strangled moan — guiding her knees wide apart, exposing her to his greedy, glittering eyes.
But she didn’t even try fighting it, and she could feel her traitorous body clenching as he looked, could hear its wetness, perhaps just as slick as his. Brazen and utterly shameful, surely, but the orc’s watching eyes showed only hunger, or maybe even appreciation, as another low, heated growl burned from his throat.
He spoke in the black-tongue again, the words a grating beautiful melody in Gwyn’s ears — and in a single, silent movement, he sunk to his knees before the table. His warm hands spreading her thighs even wider — exposing her to his face, his eyes, soclose— and leaned in, and inhaled, sharp and deep. He was —smellingher.
It was entirely illogical, both the doing of it, and Gwyn’s body’s response to it. Trembling and twitching before his eyes, and then almost seeming to open more, willingly, eagerly, as if her most secret parts were flowering for him. Inviting him, beseeching him, to come closer, to breathe deep, to drink.
And then, ohhell, he did. The touch of his sinuous black orc-tongue gentle at first, delicate, as though tasting a delicious morsel, savouring it — and then smoother, broader, deeper. Almost as if he had suddenly determined to lick her all over, to taste every petal of her, and oh it felt good, shockingly good, the pleasure wheeling and jolting and skittering down Gwyn’s spine.
“Fuck,” she choked out, and in reply the orc laughed again, the movement vibrating his slick, licking tongue. Making her clench and gasp even harder, louder, while that invading orc-tongue explored further, deeper. Actually delving itself into her now, drinking her from the inside out, while those lips kissed and suckled her, ohgods.
There were prickles firing in Gwyn’s hands and feet, light sparking behind her eyes, and her hazy gaze was trapped on the sight, on the impossible truth of this moment. Of her own thighs spread wide apart, held there by an orc’s clawed hands, while his harsh grey face eagerly buried itself between. Licking and sucking with shameless abandon, even as his glinting, half-lidded eyes held to hers, still studying her, learning her. And now gleaming with mischief as he briefly drew away, spread her wider, higher —
And in one deep, strong movement, he licked from one end of her crease, all the way to the other. Slow, succulent, merciless, as she scrabbled and choked, pushing and pulling, needing more, more,more. While the orc just held her there, mocking her with his satisfied black eyes as he did it again, again,again.
It was unthinkable, it wasimpossible, and it was without question the most thrilling, most arousing moment of Gwyn’s entire damnedlife. And her hands had somehow even found the chaotic mess of his hair, her fingers sinking deep within it, dragging him closer while the hunger staggered and soared —
But then, without warning, he stopped. Leaving Gwyn panting and quivering, while he lazily pulled himself up, and looked at her. His taunting black eyes lingering on her too-flushed face, and then to her hard, peaked nipples, and then down between her sprawled legs, where it felt heavy, swollen, bereft.
“Good,” he said, through his decidedly wet-looking mouth, and Gwyn replied with a helpless, frantic groan. Making him laugh again, the arrogant bastard, and one of those hands slipped up to tweak her nipple, rolling it between deft, familiar fingers. “Now we mate.”
He said it like it was a fact, a foregone conclusion, and Gwyn couldn’t help another helpless moan, a glance down at that long, sleek, dripping prick. So close now, jutting between her spread legs, aiming toward her wet, hungry heat as though compelled. And maybe it was, or she was, because she couldn’t stop watching as their bodies slowly, finally came together. As that slick smooth head settled just slightly against her, just beginning to part her around him…
“Oh,” she gasped, as he let out another string of black-tongue, low and guttural and hoarse. Because oh, it felt good, it felt like a rampant mad euphoria, and somehow Gwyn’s sparking hands had dropped to touch him, grasping at the smooth skin of his lean hips, needing him closer, ohgods—
But he didn’t come closer, his eyes still held to the sight of it, black lashes blinking, his mop of black hair hanging low over his forehead. His big hands now gripping the table on either side of her, his shoulders lithe and defined, the muscles clenched taut all through his chest and abdomen. And it occurred to her, disjointed but certain, that he wasn’t nearly as hideous as she’d first supposed, and also —
Her unthinking hand had snapped to his face, tilting his chin up to look at her, and without hesitation or resistance, he did. His eyes oddly still, liquid, deep enough to get lost in, blinking at her under those eyelashes, so thick and black against his scarred, sharp cheekbones.
Gwyn’s words seemed to have escaped her entirely, floating away into the night, but suddenly, there seemed no need of them. Only this, two hungry lonely bodies in the dark, relief and pleasure finally fusing, her hand on his face, his strength between her legs.
And without thought, without intent, Gwyn pulled that face down, and pressed her lips to his. Kissing him, again, kissing anorc, onpurpose— but in this moment these were the only words she had, spoken through silent lips and tongue. And he was speaking back, his mouth so clever and surprisingly gentle on hers, whispering of pleasure, of kindness, of regard.
You are quick. Sharp. Wise. Hungry…
When he pulled away Gwyn was breathing hard, and so was he, those eyes locked to hers. And then one of those black brows rising, asking,Still? And her head nodding in return, her hands pulling on his hips,Yes, please, please.
He nodded too, those eyes blinking one more time — and then in a surge of burning, blazing movement, he was there.Here. Taking her, plunging into her, impaling the open flushed flower of her body all around his huge, raging orc-prick.
It was pain and bliss and deliverance, it was the unalloyed power of a lithe, sensuous, virile body taking its greedy pleasure from her. Now arching forward and back, curving and driving into her without thought, without control. Only frantic fluid desperation, green and life and shouting ecstasy inside her…
Gwyn was meeting it, meeting him, her arms and legs clutching against his back, yanking herself onto his battering invading heat with a frenzy she couldn’t understand or explain. Only needing this, craving this like she’d been starving for it, like breaking herself on the hot huge poker of his prick was her life’s one true salvation…
The fluid body over her moved faster and faster, harder and rougher, every muscle standing out from his skin as he burned and raged inside her. Feeling even tighter, closer, friction rising and pulling, her body shouting for relief, for release, white stars behind her eyes as he plunged in one final time, the world pitching and screaming —
And then he exploded inside her. Spraying out fierce and raw and wild, all pulsing chasing fury to every nerve under Gwyn’s skin. Filling her with power, with hot surging life, with a flood of sobbing, soaring pleasure.
When it finally stilled, it was Gwyn who was still shaking. Still quivering around his slowly softening heat, while his body above hers remained solid, unmoving, but for the slow rise and fall of his breath.
He wasn’t looking at her now, his eyes dropped down to their joined bodies — and with an easy, unhurried movement, he slid himself out of her. His length smaller now, spent, the sight of it distracting enough that it took her an instant to notice that he’d put his hand flat between her legs where he had been, almost as if to hold the mess inside.
It felt very full, Gwyn realized, and sore. Increasingly so, in fact, and no wonder, because he hadn’t been gentle, and neither had she. And what was he doing with this, holding that hand there against her, while his other hand reached to the side, snatched for something from the nearby shelf, and sniffed it.
It was one of the cloths she used for compresses — usually soaked in a herbal tincture of some sort — and she stared blankly as the orc’s hand tossed it onto the table, and next snapped for one of her bottles. It was diluted chamomile, which Gwyn often used to soothe injuries and lacerations — and after another long sniff at the bottle, the orc yanked out the stopper with his teeth, and dumped the tincture onto the cloth. And then he drew away his hand from between her legs, and gently pressed the damp cloth there instead.
Gwyn’s already-hazy thoughts were distantly protesting — surely orcs didn’t know how to usetinctures?! — but she couldn’t seem to protest, or even move. Just kept staring, blinking, while the orc’s surprisingly careful hands brought her thighs back together, holding the cloth in place.
With that, he leaned slightly backward, his gaze flicking up and down her still-naked body. Not betraying even a trace of hunger or interest now, but only that same intense focus, that watchful control. As if Gwyn were a problem to be solved, a challenge to be conquered. A target that he’d been watching, and studying, and… and…
