Page 62 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“You won’t be,” she assured him, pushing him down to sit on the bed, then guiding his mouth to her breast.

He groaned, his mouth closing hungrily around her nipple as he pulled her closer. His tongue swirled around the sensitive flesh, his teeth scraping lightly as he suckled. She clutched his broad shoulders, her body arching into him, seeking more.

“Mine,” he rumbled against her skin, the single word sending heat coursing through her.

He was hers—this fierce, gentle orc. He’d saved her, protected her, loved her. And now she wanted to show him exactly how much she cherished him.

Lyric’s hands roamed over his scarred chest, tracing the lines of his strength. Her fingers found one nipple, then the other, circling and teasing until he shuddered with pleasure and lifted her onto his lap. His arousal pressed hard and hot between them, and she reached down to stroke him, teasing the wide head with her thumb. He groaned again, his hips jerking upward as he buried his face against her neck.

“You undo me, Lyric,” he murmured, his voice raw with need. “Everything I thought I knew—about myself, about the world—it’s all changed since I found you again.”

“Because we’re stronger together,” she whispered, guiding him to her entrance as he lifted her over him. “Stronger than any curse or threat we might face.”

Slowly, carefully, he lowered her onto his thick length, filling her until she thought she might burst with the intensity of it. The stretch of him inside her made her gasp, her body stilladjusting to his size. But the slight discomfort quickly gave way to pleasure as he began to move, each thrust sending sparks of ecstasy through her. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper, harder.

“More,” she breathed, nails raking his back. “I need more of you.”

He obeyed, pulling her down to meet each thrust, the bed creaking beneath them. The Beast was there, in the intensity of his gaze, the possessive grip of his hands—but she wasn’t afraid. She welcomed him, matched him stroke for stroke as they raced toward oblivion.er body stretched around him, adjusting to his girth. They fit together perfectly, two halves of a whole.

“Lyric.” Her name was a plea, a prayer.

“Egon,” she answered, her hands gripping his broad shoulders as she rose and fell above him.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, each giving and receiving in equal measure. His hands mapped the contours of her body, finding the places that made her shiver and gasp. She arched into his touch, losing herself in the sensations he evoked.

“Mine,” he growled again, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that left no doubt of his claim.

“Yours,” she agreed, surrendering fully to him, to the bond between them.

As their pleasure built, he rolled her beneath him, his hips snapping against hers with increasing urgency. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his scent surrounding her. There was no fear, no uncertainty—just the primal joy of being claimed by the male who held her heart.

When her release came, it crashed over her like a storm, washing away everything except the ecstasy of their joined bodies. She cried out, clinging to him as if he were her only anchor in a tempest. His climax followed hers, his powerful body shuddering with the force of it. His roar filled the room, drowning out the distant sounds of the village beyond as his knot expanded, locking them together.

Afterward, they lay entwined, their bodies still joined. Egon’s fingers traced lazy patterns along her spine as they caught their breath.

“I love you,” she whispered against his chest. “You’re the home I never knew I needed.”

“And I love you,” he echoed, his voice low and rough. “You’re the light that guides me.”

She snuggled happily against him as he drifted off to sleep. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, his face peaceful in a way she rarely saw when he was awake. She traced a finger lightly along the scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, marveling at how something that should have made him fearsome only made him more dear to her.

But sleep eluded her. Tomorrow they would leave this place, heading toward an uncertain future in Norhaven. She should have been anxious, but it felt more like… anticipation.

The air in the cottage shifted, growing inexplicably cooler. She sat up, pulling the blanket around her shoulders as the moonlight streaming through the window seemed to thicken, coalescing into a silvery mist that swirled at the foot of the bed.

Egon didn’t stir. His breathing remained deep and even, as though whatever was happening couldn’t reach him in his dreams.

The mist took shape—a woman of impossible beauty, her hair like spun gold, her eyes ancient and knowing. A crown of antlers adorned her head, and her gown seemed woven from starlight itself.

“Freja,” she whispered, not sure how she knew.

“Child of resilience,” the goddess’s voice came not from the apparition but from inside Lyric’s mind, musical and terrifying at once. “The threads of fate tighten around you.”

The mist-woman extended her hand, and flames danced across her palm, forming images—Beast warriors tearing through villages, a cruel-looking man standing before an ancient altar, blood running down stone steps.

“A storm gathers,” Freja continued. “The one who twists my gifts seeks to break the balance. The curse must end, but not through his methods.”

“What can I do?” Lyric asked, her voice barely audible.

---