“I’m not agood woman,” she said bitterly. “I’m not beautiful, I’m barely even interesting. I’m a dotty, stupid, unfashionable, plant-obsessed lord’s daughter, with a penchant for self-destruction, and an appalling ability to fix my affections upon males who couldn’t actually care less about me!”
She could feel Joarr’s stare, boring down into her, and she choked a laugh, and wildly shook her head. “And the more time I spend with you,” she gulped, “the — the worse it gets. And the more I want to forget how you really see me. So I really should go now, before I —”
There was still no answer from Joarr, but his judgement felt like it was blooming, prickling, creeping down her neck with the cold rain. And wait, of course he was judging her, because he thought —
“And of course I’ll keep doing whatever I can for these women,” Gwyn added, her voice cracking. “They’re welcome to come see me in Varrahan anytime, or perhaps I could return here on a regular basis. No charge, of course, though I’ll still need to sort out Roy and my father, and…”
Her voice trailed away, her hands rubbing at her face. Because gods, she’d scarcely thought of Roy and her father this entire damned day, but they certainly hadn’t gone anywhere, had they? She still had what, twenty-one days? To save her garden, her entirefuture? And how the hell was she supposed to keep helping these women, for possibly months on end, until she’d dealt with her own predicament for good?
There was the distinctive sound of a groan above her, deep and guttural and impatient. And when Gwyn blinked up through the pelting rain, Joarr was still glowering down at her, his mouth thin, his chest heaving with his breaths.
“You wish,” he hissed, “to know truth of how I see you, woman?”
Gwyn grimaced, but felt herself rapidly, fervently nodding. Bracing herself for whatever he had to say, for finally getting this out between them. No convincing, no manipulating, no pinecones, nofun…
When suddenly, Joarrgrabbedher. Snatching her bodily up into his strong arms, and then striding deeper into the garden with swift, controlled steps. And before she could even find her voice to protest, he’d jerked to a halt, and thrust her back down again. Onto something soft, and horizontal, and unexpectedly… dry?
And when she twisted around to stare, it was that distinctive flat stone. The one that stood in the middle of the garden, covered in moss, beneath the wizened old tree.
And Joarr was kneeling directly here before her, far too large and close, his fingers rapidly working at her buttons. Because yes, he wasundressingher, his hands already yanking her dress open at the front, and shoving it off her shoulders.
Gwyn couldn’t seem to follow, move, find thoughts to think — and in another jerk of movement Joarr tossed her dress aside, leaving her fully bared on a rock, outside in the pouring rain. While he loomed ever closer, high on his knees on the stone, his wet black hair streaking rivulets of water down his bare chest, his eyes glinting with vivid, vicious anger.
“Younever againsay you are stupid,” he hissed at her, as both his clawed hands grasped at her bare thighs, yanking them brazenly apart. “Or all the rest of this. You no wish me to speak false to you? Thenyoustop this withme.”
What? Gwyn had somehow slid back onto her elbows on the moss, and she struggled to pull up again, to fire off some kind of answer — but he silenced it with another growl, sharp and fierce. “No,” he snapped. “I see. I learn. Iknow.”
And before Gwyn could counter it, correct it, he shoved her legs wider, eased his body closer. And then he ducked his wet head low between her thighs, drew in a breath, and —
Helickedher.There. Not light, not gentle — but bold. Blatant. Deep.
Gwyn jolted and gasped, her eyes shocked wide — and ohhell, he did it again. That long, strong, sinuous tongue dragging against her, slow and deliberate, in a steady, slippery stroke. And then again, and again, urging her to open for him, to falter and flutter against his onslaught, to flower for his taking…
Gwyn’s groan wrenched from her throat, her back arching, her fingers fisting in the moss beneath her. While her knees somehow fell a little wider apart, opening herself further, silently welcoming him deeper…
And of course he instantly obliged, that twisting, torturous tongue already stroking deeper. Seeking its way inside, flicking and flaring as it went, his throat audibly swallowing over the sound of the pelting rain. As if he were brutally determined to drink all her nectar, to feed upon her fruit, to consume her until she was empty, broken, ravished…
But instead of taking, somehow, he just seemed to keep… giving. That seeking, stroking tongue finding new depths to drink, new petals to urge open, new secrets to unearth. Even slipping further down her crease, now, to tease and tickle and taste her most secret place — and at her choked, breathless gasp, he actually chuckled, husky and hot. And then held her eyes as he slowly, purposefully pierced her there, that tongue slick, alive,impossible.
Gwyn’s head was thrashing back and forth on the moss, her fingers clinging painfully against it, the rain streaming onto her face, her breasts, her belly. As if covering her, cleansing her, while this orc drank her whole, driving her on, drinking so deep it felt like she was someone else, somewhere else, primed and plundered and pouring out more…
And then, oh gods, somethingsharp. Histeeth. Scraping so light, so gentle, only teasing at his threat, his bite. While that slick, tortuous tongue slithered out again, following his slow drag of teeth upwards, finding the heart of her again — and then plunging back inside. Twisting and twining ever deeper, spurring her harder, gulping her down, impaling her whole on his greedy drinking mouth —
The release was trampling, relentless, pounding over her in flare after flare. Her invaded heat pulsing at him, milking him, perhaps even spurting at him — and he just groaned as he kept drinking, sucking,giving. More and more and more, until she was finally quivering, empty, sprawled and spent, and he pressed one last, painfully gentle kiss there, before slowly rising up over her.
And Gwyn couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Could only look at his blazing eyes, his dripping-wet face, his hanging hair pouring water all around her. And when she felt that telltale nudge, that dip of hungry hardness catching against where his tongue had just been, she shivered all over, opened herself wider. Yes.Yes.
And he knew, just like always. Not once breaking her gaze as he canted his hips forward, and sank inside. Skewering her in one single, powerful thrust, filling her flushed, opened flower with his fierce, stabbing strength. Watching her as she writhed and moaned beneath him, desperately dragging for air, her swollen, invaded heat clamping and clutching at him, more, more, more —
His yank out felt almost painful, the emptiness aching in his wake — but the slam back inside was breath, life, filling Gwyn’s lungs, driving a harsh cry from her mouth. Her hands frantically gripping at his wet back — how hadn’t she been touching him? — as he ground himself deep, making her feel it, watching, taunting,knowing.
And then out again, gone again, only for a breath — and slamming back inside. Hard enough to chatter Gwyn’s teeth this time, her breached body clinging, crying out — and already he was dragging it out, taking it away. But then thundering back in, in perfect time with a distant rumble from above, the water pouring off his hair, his shoulders, streaming onto the moss all around Gwyn’s trembling form. But under him it was almost dry, almost safe, held in the curtain of his hanging hair, in the strong arms closing her in, the flash of his watching eyes…
Gwyn’s gasps and shouts kept rising, and in return he kept pounding ever faster, plunging himself into her again and again, driving her into the altar. Shouting back, without speaking at all, that she was his, always his, to open and drink and destroy as he chose. And the more she begged and screamed, the more he would feed her and fill her, he would drown her with his strength, with the furious swell of his seed —
And with one final drive of his hips, he reared up, his wet hair flying back — and the flood of his heat burst open inside her. Surging out in stream after stream, soaking her, filling her,plantingher — and her own pulsing, screaming body drank it up, dragged it in deeper and deeper, while his straining form over hers lit up in sharp white relief, and thunder rumbled the very earth beneath them.
And for a breath, it was utterly, impossibly unreal. It was the entire world shimmering away behind Gwyn’s blinking eyes, and soaring down into the hidden depths of her body, her soul. Into where she’d been fully pierced and planted by an orc, driven into the throbbing earth, watered deep by the blazing sky. Where she’d been seen, known, filled, not only by the orc still covering her, but by…
