He freed himself and made her straddle him and slipped into her wet heat, and he barely lasted any time at all.
He nearly came inside her. He barely got himself out before that happened.
She snuggled in against his broad chest, her skirts askew. “It was tidier when you were finishing in my mouth all the time.”
He laughed. “That can be arranged. You can swallow me any time you like.”
She hummed. “All right. I’m a bit sore, anyway, so next time?”
“Sore?” He was ashamed of himself, but part of him liked the idea of it, liked that he’d been at her so many times with his thick, huge member that he’d affected her in that way. The idea she’d be snuggled in against his chest like this, still affectionate with him, happy enough to endure some discomfort to allow him to have pleasure in using her body, that… that was a heady sort of feeling. But he did not wish her to be in pain. “You’ll stop me the next time if it’s even a little bit painful, Aerhril. That’s an order.”
She sighed. “Well, it’s sort of a nice soreness.”
His voice was a rasp. “What does that mean?”
She let out a little laugh. “I don’t know. I love you, I suppose, that’s all.”
“Oh, Aerhril, I love you, too. I’m out of my head for you.”
“I know.” She kissed him. “And you did not even attempt to bring me, you know, you selfish brute.” She took his hand and guided it between her thighs.
“I am ever so sorry,” he said, and he was. He was embarrassed to have been preoccupied, in fact, but hehadgotten her off that morning and walked around all day without a release. He teased her tiny clitoris until it spasmed against his fingers and he held her tightly against him, and she babbled out that she liked his thick orc fingers and she called him ‘husband’ again.
He liked it. He felt a tenderness rise towards her, and he had not thought he could feel more attached to her, truly, but there was something incredibly powerful about her small form in his lap, his fingers on her most secret place, and her finding his orcness arousing, and her finding the idea of being married to him arousing.
However, another part of him tightened at the idea of it, and he didn’t know what to do about that, though, because it aroused him, too.
He was aroused at her elfness, at her softness, her smallness, the juxtaposition of them as opposites. She’d been turned down by Elrion because she’d been sullied by an orc, but it aroused Dathor to think he was sullying her.
Even as it throbbed somewhere else, for this joiningbetween them, clearly as natural and perfect as the sun rising, as right and true as a stream tumbling through the spring grasses, was not sullying. It wasn’t filthy. Just because he was an orc, he wasn’t tainting her.
So, some part of it hurt.
But some part of it made him ever so hard and eager.
He had urged her to say it.
He knew that it was partly so arousing to think of them as husband and wife because it was forbidden.
Things between them, they were complicated. Maybe they always would be.
Maybe that was why he let her rest and then he put his mouth between her thighs and licked her this way and that way and made her come on his tongue, made her wet and slick and ready for him, and then he whispered, “You can take me, can’t you, sweet elf wife? You can take me again. It’s a good soreness, is that not what you said?”
And she agreed, sighing, and she did take him, and what was more, she acquiesced to letting him finish in her mouth, and she swallowed his seed away, keeping it “tidy.”
But he knew he hurt her.
He knew and he did it anyway.
32
AERHRIL HAD NEVERbeen to Bilkwood, but then she had not done a great deal of traveling in her life, beyond from Renegahan to Foxglove Peak and back again. Though she sometimes looked out of the windows on the train to see the countryside she passed, the woods of the Silvarenna or the rolling fields of the Vale, as the train chugged its way north or south, she had never had the chance to explore anywhere else.
Dathor had never been to Bilkwood either.
The castle was tucked away in a dark wood, and the carriage traveled over a narrow road for many hours, until the sun went down, and it was difficult to see out of the carriage’s windows.
Eventually, they saw a light up ahead, and then the trees began to clear out, and there was a rush of a river running through the wood. A wide, wide bridge, wide enough for six carriages to go across at once, rose up over the river. It gleamed in the light of the moon and the round hanging lights that descended all around, from tree branches.
