Page 72 of Protective Pucking Orc

He rumbled his approval and rolled his hips, grinding against me. His free hand slid down my body, over my breast, down my stomach, until his thumb found my clit.

The first touch sent sparks through me. The second made my thighs shake.

“I love watching you,” Dakvaar murmured, his voice rough. “Love feeling you come apart on my cock.”

He wasn’t just talking dirty. Through the Bond, I could feel his genuine awe, his pleasure in my pleasure. Every gasp I made, every tremor that ran through me—he felt it echo in his own body, and it wound him tighter.

“Move,” I begged. “Please, Dakvaar, I need⁠—”

He moved.

Not the frantic rutting from the night before, but something more controlled. More devastating. He pulled almost all the way out, until just the head of his cock was inside me, and then thrust back in with one smooth, powerful stroke that made my vision white out at the edges.

Again. And again. Each thrust deliberate, hitting that spot inside me that made my toes curl, his thumb working my clit in tight circles.

I could feel his restraint through the Bond, the way he was holding himself back, drawing this out. Making it last.

“Don’t hold back,” I gasped. “I want all of you⁠—”

His control snapped.

Suddenly he was fucking me in earnest, his hips snapping against mine, the sound of skin on skin obscenely loud in the quiet room. He released my wrists and hauled my legs up over his shoulders, folding me nearly in half, and the new angle let him sink even deeper.

“Fuck!” I cried out, my hands scrabbling for purchase on his forearms. “Dakvaar— Dios mío!”

He was relentless, pounding into me, his cock hitting places I didn’t even know I had. The piercing dragged against my G-spot with every thrust, and his thumb never stopped its maddening circles on my clit.

Through the Bond, I could feel his pleasure building, the tight coil of need in his belly, the way my pussy gripped him, the primal satisfaction of being buried inside his Mate.

My orgasm hit without warning, slamming into me so hard I screamed. My pussy clamped down on his cock, pulsing, milking him, and through the haze I felt him swell inside me.

“Mine,” Dakvaar snarled, his hips stuttering. “My Mate—taking my cum—fuck, dkaar⁠—”

He came with a roar, his cock jerking inside me, and I felt every pulse as he filled me. Hot and thick and so much, claiming me from the inside out, marking me as his in the most primal way possible.

And through the Bond, I felt his triumph, his satisfaction, his bone-deep rightness at being fully Mated, at filling his female with his seed.

It pushed me into a second orgasm, smaller but no less intense, and I sobbed his name as my body trembled beneath him.

When we finally collapsed together, sweaty and panting, his cock still buried inside me, his cum leaking out around us, I’d never felt more complete in my life.

This. This was what being fully Mated meant.

And because of that connection, I also knew when he was worried.

It was three days after the home game when Dakvaar came home from practice preoccupied. I’d been thinking about the text I’d received from Maggie that day—Look, you know I love you, but if you can’t tell me WHEN you’re coming back, I’m going to have to hire a new server to take your shift, we can’t keep juggling this indefinitely—but immediately knew something was wrong.

“What’s up?” I murmured, taking his duffel from him.

I could see that he’d intended to brush off my question, pretend nothing was wrong…and I saw the moment he changed his mind. He glanced at Rosa—occupied in the living room teaching her dolls to skate—and sighed.

“Jord’s girlfriend, Holly, has a cousin who works at the hotel. You know the guys have been looking out for signs of Anthony?”

My heart jumped, and I wordlessly nodded, allowing the bag to drop slowly to the floor.

He winced and dragged his hand through his hair. “A male checked in two days ago that matches his description—complete with a broken nose and old bruising around both eyes —and he’s been asking questions around town about a woman and a little girl living with a hockey player.”

“Ay chingados,” I whispered.