His laugh wasn’t a laugh at all, and his hand slid down to his still-leaking slit, catching a bulging bead of white — and then he brought it up, slipped it between her parted, swollen lips. “Always good,” he breathed, as he watched her suck and gorge on it, his eyes swallowed in darkness. “Always this spell upon me, ach? Make me forget duty. Even forgetfun.”
Oh. Gwyn’s swirling, scattering thoughts couldn’t seem to settle, couldn’t stop searching those eyes. Those secrets. Herspell, he’d said, and he’d said that before, too, hadn’t he? After that first time on the Bautul altar, he’d called himself bewitched,ensnared…
He abruptly twitched all over, shaking his head, as if to thrust the thought away — and when he met her gaze again, he was smiling, though the darkness seemed to linger in his eyes. “For you are hungry witch,” he said lightly, in a voice that sounded more like his. “Greedywitch. Wish me again inside you, ach?”
Gwyn fervently nodded, following his pinecone wherever he wanted, supporting him, adoring him — and in a sudden, shocking swath of movement, he flipped her over on her knees, shoving her thighs wide apart. And then he slammed himself back inside her, with a rising, curdling howl that nearly drowned out her own.
The room was fully dipping and swirling now, the colours of their craving and longing streaming before Gwyn’s eyes. Joarr’s hand curling tight in her hair, yanking her head back as he rammed in again and again, driving her, spurring her,fightingher. And then halting, howling more agony as he again emptied himself inside, the surges of hot liquid flooding her even fuller than before —
But even as he slightly softened, he didn’t stop. Kept grinding, circling, prodding, his claws now dragging down Gwyn’s shuddering back, until he’d fully swollen again. And then he did it all over again, and then again. Pushing her, filling her, growling his frustration over her while Gwyn gasped and shook and welcomed it, pleaded for more, more, more, while his red flashed in her vision, his pain become her own…
And when he finally yanked out, his breaths audibly straining, Gwyn could have shouted at him, begged at him, wept — but instead she only held herself still on her trembling hands, waiting, feeling his thick hot bounty pulse and spurt from within her. Pooling from her used, inflamed, stretched-open heat, streaking down her spread thighs, pouring onto the altar below.
And was Joarr watching, or had he even noticed, because that shuddering, swelling hardness was now… sliding up. Searching for — forthere, for the one part of her he hadn’t yet taken, not today, not ever. And Gwyn was already shivering, nodding, spreading herself wider, needing him inside, needing to show him…
He moaned as he nudged it open, as that slick searching head carefully breached her — and then slowly, surely impaled her. Plunging her full and deep and utterly glorious, conquering her very innards with his swelling, shuddering strength. Holding her there, locked and trapped, full of his seed and his son, whole, safe.
And as he steadily drew out, and then pushed back inside, it was like the colours juddered, and then shattered apart. The red shimmering into white and yellow and purple, into Joarr’s body sagging down over hers, covering hers, driving it into the altar. His hand yanking her hair hard and powerful, pain flickering and tickling as her head jerked sideways, exposing her neck toward him. As she felt — histeeth.
And as much as he’d often teased her with his teeth these past weeks, taunted her with the promise of their danger, he’d never once followed through on those threats. Not wanting her to need it, her distant thoughts pointed out, or misuse it — because oh, it felt so good, their sharpness scraping close, his breath inhaling deep —
The pain flashed hard and bright as his teeth sank down, firing red back into the rest of the colours streaming before Gwyn’s eyes. But it was beautiful, it was perfection, it was utter, sheer relief. And she nearly sobbed with wonder as his hips again drove down, his mouth sealing tighter against her skin, his hard swallows gulping in perfect time with every plunge of his furious strength within her.
It was beyond thought, beyond reality, it was like galloping high into the starlit sky beneath the driving fervour of her beautiful, raging rider. Like all of the colour, all the power all the anger all the ecstasy was streaming into her at once, her orc desperately gulping her lifeblood even as he sought to bury himself ever deeper within her, to flood her with his truth and his weakness and his life, to fill her so full of him she would burst —
And then she did. The light and the rapture pouring out of her like a sun, flaring wide in the bright orange scream, in the pulsing, devastating surges of agony, ecstasy,divinity. Of all the world’s rages and miseries rushing away, leaving only light and beauty behind, and a clarity that shone so strong it rang aloud, resonating in Gwyn’s ears, in the very core of her impaled, flooded-full soul.
She was here. She was his. She was…herself.
And then Joarr poured her full one more time, his growl against her neck so deep it seemed to thunder within her already-bursting body. And Gwyn was both sobbing and laughing as she welcomed it, became it,adoredit.
She could feel his breaths heaving against her, his mouth slowly releasing its hold on her throat, his tongue briefly skittering against the wounds he’d made. And then he shifted behind her, as if to pull away — but they were somehow still clamped together, as if Gwyn couldn’t bear to let go.
It meant she was up on her knees again, on all fours on the altar, as Joarr’s hands finally held her still, and drew himself out. And as the hot molten proof of what they’d done again poured out from inside her, streaming and spurting from both gaping-open places this time, anointing the altar beneath her, while her silent, watching orc bore witness.
And then, all at once, quiet. A hushed, soundless stillness, broken by not even a breath. Until Gwyn somehow remembered she could move —herself— and slowly shifted around, and met Joarr’s eyes.
And he looked —shocking. His hair all on end, his mouth streaked with red, his face both flushed and deathly pale. And his eyes, his eyes were empty black hollows, drowned alive by his hunger, his misery, his…guilt?
And here, still swimming in the glory, the euphoria, Gwyn couldn’t bear to see him like this — and before she’d even realized it, she was tucked close against him, circling her arms around his waist. “Hey,” she murmured, soft. “It was fun. Right?”
He didn’t reply, but his hand stroked up and down her sticky back, and she felt what might have been his face, pressing against the top of her head. And his body was still twitching, perhaps with aftershocks, and Gwyn clutched him tighter, felt him slightly settle beneath her touch.
“You no,” he said finally, his voice so hoarse, “feel pain, from this?”
He’d leaned back as he spoke, not meeting her eyes — because his gaze was intent on her neck. On where — Gwyn’s shaky hand lifted to touch it — it did still sting a little, but not nearly as much as she might have expected, or perhaps even wanted.
“No,” she whispered back, smiling ruefully up at his face. “It waswonderful, Joarr.”
But he didn’t smile back. Didn’t meet her eyes. And as Gwyn blinked at him, she realized that this was his mask. His gaze so still, so empty — and her thoughts had flashed, sudden but certain, back to their first night together. How he’d looked exactly like this. How she’d pushed at it, seen through it — and then ordered him to leave, and never come back.
But this time… this time she couldn’t even bear to follow it. To call it out, to learn where it led. To allow that low, bubbling whisper to finally surface, to breach her, to ruin everything. No. Not yet. Not after this.No.
So she didn’t try to meet his eyes, and instead nudged him back down on the altar, away from the mess. And thankfully he didn’t argue, exhaling as he settled against it, and then dragged Gwyn close. One arm strong and rigid around her back, the other resting so casually — too casually — against her still-flat waist.
He didn’t speak again, and neither did she. But she was still herself, and he was still here, hers, in this moment. Still the father of her son. Still maybe — maybe — her mate.
And that had to be enough, had to be, for now. So Gwyn finally took a long, shuddering breath, closed her prickling eyes, and sank into a dark, dreamless sleep.
