It was a whole maze of little ropes and wooden platforms, curling and twining up and down through the trees. Likely meant to make picking their fruit easier, Gwyn’s brain absently noted, even as she grasped for the nearest rope, and stepped onto the next platform, and the next. Until she was surrounded by a cloud of leaves, fully enclosed by their green shimmering life, while birdsong lit up the clear morning air around her.
Joarr had followed close behind her, his movements silent, his face dappled in warm glints of sunlight through the leaves. And by the time Gwyn finally reached the last tree in the row, there was an odd lump in her throat, her eyes blinking at the world of surrounding green.
“You like?” Joarr finally said, his voice gruff — and when Gwyn glanced back toward him, he was holding out another plum, his brows raised. “Please you?”
Gwyn blinked at him, and then felt herself give a raspy, incredulous laugh. “Of course,” she said, as she numbly took the plum from his hand. “I — Iloveit, Joarr. It’swonderful.”
His sudden grin seemed to flash even more light through the green around them, and he kept his gaze on hers as he grasped for another dangling plum, brought it to his own mouth, and tore off a sharp bite. Spurting a trail of juice down his chin, which he licked off with a languorous swirl of his tongue, before tossing the rest of the plum into his mouth, and swallowing it whole.
“Then mayhap now some fun?” he asked, coming a slow, meaningful step closer, and jerking his head toward his back. “Come. Hold me.”
Gwyn again didn’t even try to protest, and instead finished eating her own plum as quickly as possible. And then climbed up onto his warm, powerful back, wrapping her arms and legs around his solid strength, just like she’d done when they’d been running in the forest.
And then, Joarr grinned over his shoulder, grasped for a nearby branch, and…jumped. Swinging with heart-stopping speed toward the next tree, and landing with perfect balance on a thin, moss-covered branch.
Gwyn’s arms and legs had spasmed around him, even as she gasped a breathless laugh into his ear — and after another grin over his shoulder, he leapt again. Almost as if they were weightless for an instant, hanging in empty air, before he caught the next branch, and again shuddered them to a halt.
His next leap took them higher, further up into the tree — and next out of the tree entirely, flying straight toward the nearby sheer wall of the mountain. Terrifying enough that Gwyn yelped into his hair, her eyes squeezing shut — but when they stilled again, he was balanced on a little stone precipice, his hand clutching a sturdy-looking vine twining up the mountain from below. And then he leapt off again, back into the wash of surrounding green, while Gwyn shivered, and stared, and marvelled.
She was truly disappointed when they finally returned to the ground — at least, until Joarr somehow produced a tiny, dark blue huckleberry, and popped it into her mouth. Swarming her tongue with its impossibly rich sweetness — gods, she hadn’t tasted one of these inyears— and she eagerly ate it, and then glanced around at the nearby plants. Because surely, this meant there had to be more?
“Wish for another?” Joarr cut in, the challenge sparking through his eyes. “Then come find me, ach?”
With that, he spun and sped off into the garden, disappearing behind a cranberry bush. Leaving Gwyn to huff a breathless laugh, shaking her head — but when he didn’t reappear, she accordingly followed after him, and peered behind the bush.
But wait, he — wasn’t there? Because somehow, that was him over there, multiple steps away, casually leaning against the garden’s ivy-covered wall. And actuallywinkingat her, the bastard, as he tossed another deep blue berry into the air.
Gwyn loudly groaned, but rushed off after him again — and this time, he scuttled up the wall, and disappeared into a thatch of overhanging leaves. And when she darted over to frown up toward them, she caught a movement well off to her right — and good gods, that was him, now standing in a patch of feverfew. Waiting there, grinning, as she stalked up toward him, and tried not to smile back at his smug, infuriating face.
But he only kept grinning as he popped the berry into her mouth — and then somehow produced another one, brandishing it in front of her eyes before turning and running off. Obliging Gwyn to chase after him again, truly panting with the effort now, while the amusement bubbled higher and higher in her chest. And when she finally caught him — crouching behind a rose-bush — she couldn’t suppress her gale of laughter, or her full-body shiver as he rewarded her with another berry, his warm hand lingering against her lips.
The next time she caught him, she was still laughing, and his hand lingered even longer, his fingers slipping into her mouth. His gaze sweeping over her flushed cheeks, her heaving chest, her surely sparkling eyes. And then dropping to where her hand had somehow gripped his forearm, almost as if needing to touch him, to keep him here before her…
“Once more,” he murmured. “And then” — his voice dropped — “morefun, ach?”
Gwyn’s breath hitched, her throat convulsing, and Joarr flashed her one more teasing, too-knowing grin before taking off again. And after another merry chase all through the garden, she finally found him leaning lazily against his hammock, and holding out his last precious huckleberry. His brows raised, his eyes intent on her mouth, waiting.
It meant he wanted her to come get it, oh gods. And instead of even trying to argue, Gwyn just nodded and stepped closer, and closer. Until she could gently bite the berry out from between his fingers, her lips brushing against his claws.
Joarr’s eyes seemed to darken in the bright sunlight, long lashes fluttering as he watched her swallow. And then he wordlessly reached both hands to grasp her waist, sweeping her up and around into the hammock behind him.
Gwyn’s heart kicked into speed, her eyes wide on his face — because yes, she knew exactly what he wanted, what he was doing. His hands already catching on her bare calves beneath her skirts, tugging her arse close to the hammock’s edge, spreading her legs apart…
“You devioussnake,” she breathed, but she didn’t even try to resist, let alone attempt an escape. As if all her willpower from earlier that morning had crumbled into dust, and all the excellent reasons to avoid his — hispinecones— felt thin and murky and very far away. She couldn’t trust him. He’d lied to her. He had one last chance. And…
And he was smirking as he stepped closer between her parted legs, his brows raised, his hands sliding steadily up her thighs. Moving up her skirts with them, exposing her bare skin to the warm dappled sunlight.
“You like,” he purred, his hands now skating over her hips, pushing the dress up further. “Wish me inside you. Ach?”
Gwyn sputtered, or tried to — but was utterly, abruptly silenced by the realization that she was already bared to the waist, with an orc standing close between her parted thighs. An orc whose clawed hand was casually dropping to his own trousers, shoving them downwards — until his long, swollen heft bobbed free, jutting out toward her.
It was at a perfect height like this, oh gods, and already easing closer — because wait, he wasmovingher. Becauseshewas the one in the hammock, and both his hands were spreading wide on her bare hips, swinging her straight toward his waiting, pulsing prick.
Gwyn braced herself, anticipating it — but just before it made contact, he swung her away again. Leaving her gasping, shuddering, untouched, while her disbelieving eyes caught and stuttered on the sight. On her own bare lower half, spread wide open for an orc, aimed straight for the protruding, dripping-wet pole of him. And perhaps even waiting for him to swing her back toward him, yes, oh gods, just like that. Just close enough to feel that slick silken head brushing just slightly against her, pulsing, seeking its way deeper —
But then he swung her away again, far too soon. His expression still impossibly cool, his brazen eyes flicking between her hot face, and her waiting, exposed, wide-open heat. Because he was clearly taunting her with this, the bastard, taking his time swinging her forward again, casually nocking that swollen head back against her starving wet heat. Playing with her,amusinghimself with her, his lips quirking up at her choked, breathless groan.
“You like,” he murmured again, as he held her there just a little longer, watching her wet, desperate folds clutching at the slick, jutting crown of him. “Wish me deeper in you. Wish to drain me dry.”
