Gwyn’s mouth made a noise much like a growl, which only twisted his smirk higher as he deliberately swung her away again. “You speak what you wish,” he said lightly, “and then, mayhap, I give more.”
Gods, he was enraging, devious, not to be trusted — and Gwyn growled again as he thrust her legs wider, and again swung her close. Digging himself just a little deeper as he kept watching, mocking, with those cool, half-lidded eyes.Waiting.
Her breath was coming in sharp pants, her body crawling with heat, with the prodding, pulsing heft jutted against her core. And she needed more, she was going to explode if she didn’t have more, and all she had to do was speak, speak…
“Closer,” she heard herself gasp, earning an indulgent smile from his mouth, a sustained flex of that hardness brushing against her. And then, oh, he indeed let her settle closer, let her feel even more of him, his head just spreading her apart around it…
Gwyn cried out long and loud as she convulsed upon him, craving him — and the bastard actuallylaughedas he pushed her away this time, the sound bright and warm, his head tilted back. Mocking her,again, and she belatedly bit at her lip, squeezed her eyes shut. Gods, why was she giving him this, why was she playing along with his ridiculous game, his gods-damned pinecones…
And then, oh hell, the bite ofclaws, digging gentle but purposeful into her thighs. Snapping her gaze back toward him, his laughter now vanished, his eyes purposefully distant again. As his fingertips kept carefully pricking those claws into her skin, sparking delicious pain beneath them, while her open heat kept clutching at nothing,nothing…
“Look upon me,” he said, his voice dark, “and speak more. AndthenI tend you, as you wish.”
Gwyn’s ragged moan escaped on its own, and she felt her traitorous head somehow nodding,nodding. While Joarr’s eyes flared with chilly satisfaction, his brows rising, waiting. Wanting her to speak.
“Inside me,” her betraying mouth choked. “All the way.Please.”
And yes, there, there was his approval, his twist of a smile. But still no laughter this time, as his claws on her thighs slowly, purposefully drew her closer, jutting his swollen heft back against her. Lining her up, holding her there, his grip flexing against her skin…
And in a single, devastating stroke, he drove her deep. Slamming all the way into her, skewering her,impalingher upon his huge, powerful prick.
Gwyn’s shout rang through the garden, the mingled shock and thrill ringing up her spine, and Joarr’s mouth quirked as he watched her, his hands holding her tight upon him, his groin pressed flush to hers, his strength buried to the hilt inside her. And already pulsing, filling further, leaking its seed deep within…
His hooded eyes dropped to watch as he slid her back again, and this time Gwyn was watching, too. That long heft now slick and glossy, its every vein and ridge shining in the sunlight as it slowly emerged from between her legs. As his hands pushed her just a little further away, enough that he slipped fully out of her, hovering between them. So he could again watch her greedy, empty heat gripping for him, begging for him, please…
“Again,” she gasped, and again he smirked as he slowly brought her forward again — and then rammed her full and deep upon him. The feeling just as powerful, just as impossible, dragging another hoarse shout from her choked, gulping throat.
“You like,” he purred, challenged, all cold control, as he again swung her away, his slick length once more bobbing free of her. “Wish to suck my strong seed inside you.”
Gwyn desperately nodded, frantic, far too hungry to be ashamed. And in reward he again lined her up, sank her deep while she shouted and clamped against him. While he kept watching with half-lidded eyes, so cool, so insolent, sowicked.
The hunger kept spiralling, pooling tighter and deeper in her belly, radiating out from his every plunge inside her. From where he was finally moving faster, guiding her smoothly up and down upon him, his claws sinking sharper into her thighs. Tangling more sparkling, exquisite pain into the wheeling whirling pleasure, ramping it higher, screaming it into her soul…
Gwyn was babbling and begging now, her hands and legs fighting to drag him close, to keep him there — and she could feel his full-body shudder as he picked up speed, slamming her down onto him, plunging her full again and again. Driving them raging and relentless toward the edge, to the precipice, closer, closer, trembling, teetering…
Her relief tore from her with a scream, with the fierce, shattering flares of her pierced-open heat upon him. Gripping him, milking him, dragging him to stillness — until he finally flashed out inside her, flooding her with burst after burst of his molten liquid seed. His low growl burning from his throat, his eyes clenched shut, his claws crushing her close against him as his hips circled, ground, emptied himself fully within.
When it finally stopped, Gwyn felt like the earth was swirling around them — or perhaps that was the hammock, still slightly swinging beneath her. Still moving with him, maybe, and she felt her dazed eyes searching his face, drinking up his closed eyes, the sheen of sweat on his cheeks, the heave of his breath. And there was the hope, swift and strangely powerful, that he would look at her, caress her, or even lean down and kiss her…
There was a beat of stillness, of Joarr’s eyes blinking open, catching on hers. And for an instant, she was sure he would touch her, tell her she was a good little witch,mine—
When without warning, he pushed her away. Thrusting her fully free of him, the hammock tilted high, so that — she gasped, fluttered her hands downwards — the mess he’d left between her legs would pour down toward the ground below, streaking thick white against the long grasses, even spattering onto his barefeet.
And he was watching it with visible amusement, his lips again quirking up, his cool eyes finally flicking back to hers. “Ach, witch,” he said, his voice light. “Raining again, you ken?”
Gwyn’s mouth made a noise much like a laugh, her head giving a wry shake — but something was clutching at her belly, at the emptiness he’d left behind. At how this was clearly over already, because it had just been…fun, for him. It had been this devious, manipulative, entirely untrustworthy orc remaining utterly in control of the situation, and giving her exactly what she’d wanted. Again.
And the worst part was, Gwynhadwanted it. Gods, she’d even demanded he show her more fun, hadn’t she? So why did she care? Why was it hard to make herself smile, or even to look at him?
She could hear him clearing his throat, perhaps about to speak — when behind them, there was a telltale crunching of stone. The door to themountain, Gwyn realized, with a horrified glance toward it, her body flinching to stillness in the hammock.
But Joarr didn’t even blink, and briskly yanked down Gwyn’s skirts, and tied up his own trousers. And then reached to lift her off the hammock before striding toward the mountain, pulling her along after him.
The new arrival turned out to be another orc — in fact, the bulky, friendly, neck-bitten one she’d met the day before, with the captain. Baldr, his name had been.
“Greetings again, new woman,” Baldr said, with a quick little bow toward her. “And Joarr. Please forgive my intruding, but some orcs have gained new wounds in the Skai arena, so Efterar seeks some henbane — if you might have some to spare?”
Joarr jerked a nod, and then spun on his heel toward the hut, leaving Gwyn to follow behind with Baldr. And despite Baldr’s warm, apologetic smile toward her, she couldn’t seem to smile back, or drag her stuttering brain away from this newest onslaught.Henbane, Baldr had said. For injured orcs. For this… Efterar?
