“He might be hiding down on the cliffside,” said another new voice, deeper than the last two. “You two, look that way, we’ll go this way.”
So there were at least four men, possibly more. And surely there was no denying that they trulywerehunting Joarr, right? But why? Wasn’t the peace-treaty supposed to prevent such things? And surely Gwyn would have heard of it, if orcs were still being hunted and attacked, or evenkilled?
But then again — she felt her head tilting — there had been all those women’s whispers, full of so many fears. And while most of those fears had been focused on themselves, Gwyn belatedly recalled that there had also been fears around this, too. Fears for the safety of the orcs, and their unborn sons. Whispers of aggression, of injuries, of war.
Gwyn’s eyes were searching Joarr’s, her forehead furrowed — and he kept gazing straight back, cool, unflinching, despite his still-heaving breaths. As if to say, no, this wasn’t unusual, no, he wasn’t surprised. No, the men weren’t keeping their peace-treaty, and perhaps… perhaps they never had been?
Gwyn’s thoughts flashed to her father and his horrid Council, to the foul laws they kept attempting to implement — and then to her great-aunt, who against all reasoning, had seemingly chosen to ally herself with the orcs. With this orc. This orc, whose steady eyes were still watching her, his head tilted, as though he could read her very thoughts as they passed.
And without intending to, Gwyn felt herself wince against his hand, her eyes almost… apologetic on his. Almost as if to say,I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this. I didn’t know. I didn’t… care.
And how Joarr followed it, she couldn’t quite say — but he did, and that was another wry twist on his mouth, a shrug from his bare shoulder under her hand.Whatever, it might have said.I’m used to it.
And perhaps it was the sheer casual bravery in such a dismissal, or the way his shoulder blade had shifted against Gwyn’s still-clutching fingers. Or, perhaps, the ongoing truth of his hand still over her mouth, his scent furling so heavy, so rich…
But whatever it was, something streaked through Gwyn’s belly, burning deep and low. Something that made her throat hitch, her lips slightly parting against his warm hand. Her eyes belatedly darting away, beyond him, seeking safety, perhaps an escape —
But there was no escaping this damned orc, especially when she was still clinging to him like this, her body trapped between his lean strength and a tree. And especially with his shoulder slightly shaking like that, as though — Gwyn’s mortified eyes darted back to his smirking face — he waslaughingat her, the bastard.
Gwyn grimaced into his hand, and attempted to elbow him, as well as she could with both arms around his shoulders — and gained for her trouble an even broader smirk, a spread of his long fingers under her arse as he hoisted her higher against him. The movement purposeful, almost proprietary, grinding her already-opengroin closer against his belly. As if he had every right to do so, as if Gwyn were his to do with as he wished…
Mine, he’d said, back in the garden, with that certainty blazing in his eyes.You bear my scent now.
Gwyn’s breath had dangerously caught, her eyes furtive and shameful on his — and his smirk curled higher, into what might have been an actual grin. Crinkling the corners of his glittering eyes, showing all his sharp white teeth, as his hand smoothly dropped from Gwyn’s face, and went to grasp at her bunched-upskirts. Her skirts, which were now the only thing between her bare groin and his bare belly, and —
“There’s no sign of him this way!” called a nearby voice. “Do we keep going, or come back?”
Gwyn’s whole body froze rigid, white ice streaking up her spine, and she scarcely heard the other man’s return call from the south, something about doing another sweep. Because Joarr’s easy, audacious hand had kept working at her skirts, and was now smoothly, purposely, dragging themupwards.
Gwyn gaped at his laughing eyes, his mocking, curving mouth — because good gods above, he wasnottruly suggesting this, was he? Suggesting this, here, now, while a band of men swarmed just below them, surely set onkillinghim?!
But the cool air currently tickling at Gwyn’s bare arse clearly said otherwise, and so did the way Joarr’s other hand grasped around her waist, supporting her tightly against him. So that his hand on her arse — which had previously been over her skirts — could slip up beneath, now palming hot and strong against fully bare skin.
An outraged gasp nearly escaped Gwyn’s mouth — damn,damn— but she bit her lip just in time, and purposefully dug her fingernails into Joarr’s shoulders instead. To which he shot her an approving, conspiratorial look — wait, he thought shewantedthis?! — as his hand now dropped to the front of his own trousers, and slid down inside.
Goodgods. Gwyn elbowed him again, hard enough to slightly knock him off balance — but his hand instantly snapped for the tree-trunk, steadying them again. His shaggy head now tilting as he studied her, and as the men’s voices called out again, even closer than before.
Gwyn furiously jerked her head toward the voices below, her brows raised high, as if to demand,Now? Really?Which Joarr met with another smirk, even more challenging this time, his own brows raised to match hers.
Yes, really, it meant.You don’t want to?
And this, surely, was where Gwyn needed to refuse, with wild and raging indignation. To attempt the silent equivalent ofHell no, you audacious bastard, I am not copulating with you in a tree, these men are hunting you, they might very well hear us andkillyou —
But instead, she held still, and looked at him. Looked at those fearless waiting eyes, all bright glittering black, speaking of clear provocation, of danger, of threat. Of…eagerness.
Because of course he wanted this. Of course he wanted to take a lord’s daughter in a tree, right above the noses of the men hunting him. That was just the kind of smug asshole he was, ready to leap at any opportunity, to take advantage, to stake his claim.
Mine.
And his mouth was quirking up again, betraying even more of that conspiratorial eagerness, light and teasing and alarmingly contagious. As if he and Gwyn were on a rare, exhilarating adventure together, and if she only followed along, she would find herself…
Smilingat him, like this. Rueful, and maybe disapproving, but eager, too. Saying, without speaking,Fine, you devilish snake. Prove it. Show me.
His replying flash of a grin was quick and genuine, lighting up his face. Turning it into something new, something that stole away Gwyn’s breath, firing a sharp, shuddering thrill of heat deep into her belly — at least, until another too-close shout from directly below froze her to stillness again, her eyes frantic on Joarr’s face.
But he didn’t even look slightly concerned, the bastard, and his free hand had again dropped, moving below Gwyn’s bunched-up skirts, tugging the last of them out of the way. And all at once, there was the blaring realization that her lower half was fully exposed under there, her legs spread shamefully wide, and that — her breath caught — he was — he was —
There. Touching her.
