Page 43 of Single Pucking Orc

And then he did it again, his enormous fingers gentle and careful, and his mouth everywhere, and she was shaking by the time she finally pushed him off, so overstimulated she couldn't have taken another second.

He crawled up the bed beside her, propped on one elbow, looking at her with the most absurdly pleased expression.

She pushed his hair out of his face. "You can be very smug about that."

"Can I?"

"Only for a minute."

He grinned, and then he knelt between her legs and ran one hand up from her knee to the top of her thigh, watching her face.

“You good?”

“I’m good.” She swallowed. “I want to see you.”

“You can see me.” He was working his pants open. “You can do whatever you want. I’m flexible.”

She laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Oh, I bet you are.”

She’d never said anything like that to a man in her life. It was exhilarating and horrifying in about equal parts, and he laughed back, delighted, and she sat up to get his mouth and the laugh together. He was huge and hard and hot against her, and he was kissing her again, and she wanted, all at once, to be on top of him.

They got his pants off, and she got him on his back somehow, which took effort because he was not a male who was used to being moved, but he let her move him. She found herself on top of him, straddling that ridiculous body, and he looked up at her with his hair loose around his shoulders and his mouth red from kissing her, and said, “This is a good one.”

“Rognar.” She put a hand over his mouth. “I’m very close to doing this and I need you to say something reassuring.”

He nodded. She took her hand away.

“You can’t hurt me,” he said. It was the truest thing he could have said. He was twice her size and she wasn’t going to break him, and she knew it down to her bones, the way she knew numbers.

“I’ve got you.” He put one huge warm hand on her waist and drew her slowly down, and his other hand went between them and he held her open while he pushed up and in, and the first inch of him was so big that her breath stopped.

"Oh," he said, with a reverence that made her want to hear it a hundred times, and she kept going down, because she was making the choice and she was trusting him and he was watching her like he couldn’t believe this was his to have.

He went in. All of him, filling her so completely that she made a surprised, shocked sound that made him smile because he knew why she’d made it and she loved him for knowing.

She moved. She had to. She couldn’t just sit there and let him be inside her and not move. She rose up and pushed down, and the breath went out of him. She put her hands on his chest and did it again and he said ah, fuck softly, and put his hands on her hips, and helped her.

He let her take him the way she needed to, and he took her right back, and it was nothing she’d ever done before. She did it forever, and when she came again it was with her head thrown back, her hands clutching at him, and his hands hard on her. When she opened her eyes he was looking at her with wonder.

She collapsed down onto his chest, boneless, and then he rolled her under him and she realized he hadn’t even finished yet. He’d waited for her, and the thought was so unexpected and so lovely that she almost came again just from that.

She hooked her legs around his back and he pushed her knees up and drove into her, and there was nothing gentle about it, and she didn’t want there to be. She wanted him exactly like this. She wanted his weight, and his heat, and the sheer intensity of him. He held himself above her on one arm and looked down at her and came with her name in his mouth.

When he was done he slowly lowered himself down onto her. He was heavy and hot and sweaty, and she had never let anyone stay like that, and she’d never wanted them to before. She ran her hand up his back and discovered the muscles there were shuddering slightly with aftershocks. He laughed into her neck.

“That was good.” He propped himself on his elbows and looked at her, his hair falling into his face. “You liked that?”

“I liked that,” she said, and it was true, but it wasn’t the most important thing. Because she knew, as soon as she said it, that the single best thing about this night hadn’t been the orgasms or the laughing or the things she’d let herself say. It was the look on his face right now, watching her.

“I liked that too,” he said. “I want to do it again.”

“Okay.”

“Soon,” he said, and dropped his forehead against hers. “But not tonight. I’m supposed to be charming and considerate and I’m not. I’m going to fall asleep on you in about three minutes.”

She laughed. She didn’t know why. She just felt like laughing.

He was as good as his word. He fell asleep on her three minutes later, his weight enormous and absolutely comfortable. She fell asleep with him still on top of her, and woke up in the dark to find he’d rolled them both onto their sides and curled around her. She couldn’t see his face. There was only his arm around her waist and his breath on her neck, his body solid and warm and unmoving. She thought of a nine-year-old in a phone booth, and a twenty-year-old who hadn’t been signed, and a thirty-four-year-old who was maybe about to understand some things.