But he was already drawing out again, taking his power away, almost slipping free of her — and then he slammed back inside. With even more fluent driving purpose than before, her body again snapping at the impact, oh gods, more, more,please—
And had she said that aloud, or perhaps even shouted it, because there was another dark, thrilling laugh behind her. And then the distinctive feel of a hand on her neck, gently gathering up her loose hair, while that driving heat ground in a harsh circle inside her —
And this time when he drew out, slow and deliberate, he also drew herheadback. Because yes, he had a handful of herhair, oh gods, and he was just holding it like this, holding her like this, her head up, her face toward the fire. Her eyes wildly blinking, her mouth making a choked, broken sound as he popped himself fully free of her this time, leaving her empty, wide-open, bereft —
His plunge back inside was a shock of sensation, a strike of sheer ecstasy. His hard strength buried all the way inside her, his groin grinding against her arse, his fist gripping her hair. Spiralling out the whirling pleasure, towering over the tease of rising pain, plundering her, hurtling her toward the depths —
And then he dragged out, and rammed in again. And then again and again and again, wringing first more shouts from Gwyn’s gasping mouth, and then rising to screams. That hand pulling harder, her entire body arched up and back, his hips slamming against her in a ruthless, raging rhythm. Riding her like he owned her, like he was spurring her faster and faster, like he was going to drive her until she broke —
And then, somehow, she did. The tension catching, crackling — and then reverberating out from her, from them, in blazing streams of vicious, clamping euphoria. Seizing him in it, crumpling his flowing rhythm, dragging him so hard it hurt — until he finally, finally capitulated, curling over her, crashing her full of his hot molten seed in spurt after shuddering, straining spurt.
Gwyn had no sense of how long it lasted, his taut body slick and sticky over her, squeezing out the dregs of its bounty in ever-slower, ever-longer pulses. Until finally he was empty, his strength gone soft inside her, his previously bulging bollocks hanging slack against her still-shivering heat.
And for an instant, it almost felt like she was floating, like the rest of the room had winked fully away. Like it was only this, her orc’s sweaty, sated, heaving body curled over hers, his hand still clutched in her hair, his own dangling hair tickling at her back. Like they’d battled through this trial together, and gained triumph, and truth, and perhaps even…peace.
Until. Until a heavy sigh skated against the skin of her neck, and she felt his grip abruptly releasing her hair, letting her head drop. And that warm sweaty body was easing up and off, he was pulling away from her, holding her hips in place, no,no—
But it was too late. Too late, because where his softened heft had been, there was suddenly — shame. Hot, sticky, liquid shame, spurting out strong from between Gwyn’s spread legs, streaking down her thighs, pooling on the furs below her. While Joarr’s hands just kept holding her there, as if he’d wanted to see this, wanted to show it to them…
To them.Them, the sea of unfamiliar terrifying orcs, standing close all around, and watching with glinting, eager eyes. Watching her. Watching everything,everything…
A sharp slash of ice streaked down Gwyn’s spine, choking her breaths, wrenching her to stillness. This couldn’t be happening. This hadn’t been happening. She hadn’t truly done this, like this, shehadn’t—
But yes, it was still happening,still, and Joarr’s clammy hands were still gripping her hips, still holding her where all the others could see. And she could hear him clearing his throat, could feel the unsteadiness of his breath on her back.
“Goddess of Bautul,” he said, in a voice that wasn’t quite his. “I… bring this woman before you. I offer her, as you ask. I… seek your favour… upon her.”
There was a quivering, suffocating silence in return, as though the room, the world, dangled on a knife-edge, waiting for a fall. Until before Gwyn’s blinking, streaming eyes, something in the fire loudly flickered and cracked, sending a bright shower of sparks out onto the stone floor beneath it.
It was as though the room collectively exhaled at once, its tension snapping away — and suddenly there was a rising hum of shifting bodies and murmuring voices, and even a few relieved-sounding laughs. And Gwyn twitched at the sight of a strange, hideous orc stepping closer toward her, ohgods— but no, he was looking at Joarr, and reaching a huge hand to clap at Joarr’s bareshoulder.
“Well done, Seer,” the new orc said, with visible satisfaction in his glinting eyes. “You have gained strong favour in this, ach?”
Joarr’s hands had slackened on Gwyn’s hips, and she felt herself reflexively flinch away from him, her tingling hands scrabbling for her dress, which had thankfully still been lying close by. And as she awkwardly yanked it on, fighting to hide her bared form as best she could, even more orcs approached, several of them smiling toward her this time.
“Welcome to our clan, woman,” said one hulking grey orc, with genuine-sounding warmth in his deep voice. “Bautul is honoured to count you among our own.”
“Ach, and mayhap next your son,” said another orc, with a toothy, teasing grin. “The goddess is sure to grant you this next favour also.”
Gwyn fought to stammer some sort of coherent reply, while her shaky fingers kept desperately fastening buttons. Did these orcs truly think she was part of theirclannow? And had that — had that been Joarr’sintentionin this?
Or — her prickling eyes snapped to where Joarr was now standing surrounded by strange orcs, accepting their congratulations with a cool smile — had it been aboutthis? About Joarr’s own reputation in his new clan? His own status?
Show me your hunger for me, as you walk amongst my kin.
More biting chills were shivering down Gwyn’s back, and she felt herself hunch as she crossed her arms over her now-clothed chest, as if to belatedly hide from the surrounding orcs’ view. Because yes, this had surely been Joarr’s plan, his own goal. Him blatantly using her to his advantage, for his own gain among his clan.
And as her brain swept back over it, her cheeks burned with even more heat, more shame. Gods, he’d barely even touched her in it, had he? There’d been very little kissing or caressing, no affection, no vulnerability. No, it had been Joarr getting his way, as rapidly and efficiently as possible, all while wielding all Gwyn’s most mortifying weaknesses against her. The claws. The teasing. Thehair.
“Are you all right, Gwyn?” asked a soft voice, and when Gwyn’s bleary eyes darted up, it was Stella. Standing here next to her horrid mate Silfast, her brow creased, her large eyes dark with worry. “Can we… help? Bring you anything?”
But Gwyn could feel this Silfast asshole watching her, his eyes glinting with too-keen awareness. As if he were just waiting for her to crumple and weep, or to tearfully call Joarr out on yet more of his miserable rubbish — and somehow, Gwyn managed to square her shoulders, and even paste a smile on her face.
“No, I’m quite all right,” she said, in her brightest voice. “Just taking it all in. Things are quite different here, you know?”
Stella’s worry vanished into a relieved-looking smile, and beside her, Silfast even gave Gwyn a curt little nod. Almost as if she’d somehow gained hisapprovalin this, though his dark, frowning look toward Joarr suggested that this sentiment clearly didn’t extend toward him.
And now Gwyn was looking at Joarr too, at his easy smile, his relaxed stance. At how he hadn’t even bothered pulling up his trousers, and how that part of him was still slick and dripping with what they’d done. Still flaunting her, even now. Still wielding her weakness for his gain.
