And oh, gods, he was giving it. Bearing down hard and hungry, opening her wide around him, seeking his way toward the back of her mouth. Until that smooth, slippery head was delving close against her convulsing throat, tight, hot, dangerous.
But Roy had taught Gwyn very thoroughly, for far too many years — and she drew in a fortifying breath through her nose, and then took the orc even deeper. Opening her throat, angling her head to make it easier, and the orc’s next nudge forward felt almost tentative, uncertain, as though afraid she might retch, or refuse…
Gwyn’s blocked throat made a noise that might have been a snarl, her hands somehow clutching the firm backs of his thighs, dragging him closer. Nearly shoving her face into the mass of coarse hair at his groin, and groaning again at the silent answer of a long, shuddering pulse down the full length of him, while a twinge of sweet heat slipped out deep in her throat.
The orc’s hand gently tugged at Gwyn’s hair again, sparking more screaming hunger in its wake — and it was only after another gentle pull that she realized he was pulling her off, back, away. So she went, moaning again at the draw of that hand on her hair, at the slight sputter of that impossibly sweet syrup on her tongue…
But he was holding her there, waiting, wanting something. Wanting to see her, perhaps, so she blinked upwards, held his glimmering eyes as she again slowly, deliberately sucked him deep. Almost revelling in the answering shudder against her throat this time, in the return of his steady growl, surely more menacing than before.
“Witch woman,” he gasped, the words husky and harsh. “You wish me to take this from you?”
Yes, yes,hellyes, and somehow Gwyn even managed a nod, even with his full length still jammed deep in her throat. And in return, his growl cracked into something more like a roar, both his clawed hands clutching hard into her hair, as he drew her off, holding there for a frozen, glorious instant — and then slammed himself deep, filling her throat with one swift, devastating plunge.
But Gwyn didn’t even gag, and only sucked harder, feeling her throat clamp and convulse upon him. And gods, he liked that, hewantedthat, his eyes fluttering as he dragged out, and again rammed back inside.
Gwyn’s moan was more like a cry, her tingling hands clutching desperately at his hard arse, gouging him even deeper — and with another ragged-sounding groan he complied, grinding and circling into her throat. And then yanking out again, his claws scraping sharp at her scalp, before driving back in, again, and again, and again.
And it was chaos, it was splendour, it was delirium. It was a furious, trammelling mash of pain and pleasure and sweetness, of twirling triumph and palpable power. Of this orc craving her, devouring her, his control utterly lost, the lust and the bare greed flashing in his deadly black eyes, and he was going to, he was, he was —
The blast came without warning, slick hot syrup surging into Gwyn’s mouth, flooding down her throat. Pulsing into her again and again, filling her with him, so sudden and so overpowering that she had to fight to breathe and swallow, to choke his thick liquid into her belly…
But gods, it was so much, so heavy, so sweet. Too much to possibly keep inside, and already it was bubbling out her swollen lips around him, dripping down her chin…
And gods, the orc. Just standing there unmoving, not breathing, his eyes fixed blankly to the sight. To his prick still filling Gwyn’s mouth, while his mess streamed from between her lips. Almost as though he were awed by it, as though it couldn’t truly be real…
But in a quick, fluid movement, his hand dropped down, and streaked his messy slick wide against her cheek. Almost as if to mock her for her failure, and Gwyn’s stomach briefly caught, her eyes trapped on his — and gods, he did it again. Streaking it on the other cheek, too, covering his hand in it, and then — she swallowed hard against the softened flesh still filling her mouth — carding his dripping-wet fingers deep into her hair.
“Mine,” he whispered, the word so low, almost inaudible. “You bearmyscent now. Ach?”
Oh. Gwyn couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t take her eyes off his — but somehow, somehow, she was nodding. Nodding, sayingyes, with an orc still in her mouth — and his hand again came to her face, wiping at the mess, streaking it through her hair.
And it should have been shocking. Repulsive.Laughable. But in this shivering, silent moment, it felt like something else. Something important. Something… sacred.
But even as that awareness hurtled through Gwyn’s thoughts, the orc’s eyes shifted. And then blinked, multiple times — and suddenly the hazy hunger had entirely vanished, and in its place was… surprise. Shock.Horror?
And in a single flashing movement, he snapped away from her. His head ducked low, his long fingers yanking up his trousers, hiding himself from her blinking eyes. As if he were disgusted with himself… or withher?
And then he spun on his heel, as if he were about to leave,again. He was going to abandon her again, after all that. And Gwyn couldn’t stop her shaking hand from reaching after him, while a choked, bitter noise croaked from her throat.
“What the hell,” she gasped toward his bare back, in a voice not her own. “You said you — you wouldhelp.”
The orc’s tall body had gone perfectly still, his hands in fists at his sides — but then Gwyn could see him making himself relax, his shoulders dropping, his clawed fingers unfurling one by one. And when he turned around, slow and sinuous, the familiar coolness was back in his eyes, the easy smile on his mouth.
“Ach, I did,” he said smoothly. “And then, you spurned this. You said you should never trust me, or move your priceless garden into thisdeadly, poisonous placeat Orc Mountain.”
Right. She had. And the orc was looking almost satisfied by that, almostrelieved. Almost as though he couldn’t wait to leave her,forever, and he was already turning away, she would never see himagain—
“Could you — show it to me,” Gwyn’s voice gasped, all on its own. “Take me there. So I can make an — informed decision.”
The orc’s form instantly froze, and even half-tilted away from her like this, she could see the grim clench on his mouth, the slow, resigned close of his eyes. As if he’d so nearly escaped, and now he was trapped, cornered, doomed…
“You wish me to take you toOrc Mountain,” he said, his voice mocking, bone-dry. “You. Daughter to Lord Anton of Dunburg.”
And if that was supposed to remind Gwyn of her place, or of the total inappropriateness of such a plan, it failed utterly, because her chin jerked up, the rebellion flashing behind her eyes.
“Yes, me,” she snapped back. “And you knew very well who I was when you offered it,andwhen you made yourself at home in my mouth just now. So are you going to keep your word? Or are you going to run off again like a frightened sneakingcoward?!”
And when the orc slowly turned to face her again, that mask had slipped back over his eyes, making them cool and empty. And his smile was so practiced, so brittle, that Gwyn actually flinched under the strength of it, her body again shivering at his feet.
