Page 58 of The Orc's Innocent Plaything

“Who is he?” she whispered.

I winced, lowering my voice as low as ‘twould go. “I am no’ certain, but I would guess he’s Vrogul Stormseeker, chief of the Islay Battleborn.”

I felt her shiver as she pressed closer to me.

“He is terrifying.”

Was he? From here, he seemed cold, and, aye, I suppose heartless.

When I heard the first feminine cry, I realized I’d taken my attention from the slovenly males, dismissing them as weak for too long.

My gaze snapped back to the fires and I realized what I was seeing at the same time I heard Myra suck in a breath.

There was a female—ahumanfemale—slapping at the hands of the older, bearded male whom I’d seen earlier. He was yanking her clothing from her, pulling her dress from her until she stood naked, bare skin gleaming in the light of the huge driftwood fire.

I knew what was coming, and I turned to hide the ugliness from Myra. But my Mate squirmed from my hold, peering down at the beach as the orc yanked up his kilt and pulled the female down onto his lap.

She slapped him, and I winced, calculating anew the chances of fighting them all…but to my surprise, after slapping him, the female grabbed the orc’s face and pulled his mouth to hers.Kissinghim?

I heard his laughter, saw him grab hold of his cock, saw him slam it into her. Her scream pierced the night, but the sound turned to a moan soon enough to make me question what I was seeing.

An orc’s cock was made to bring pleasure—she must have climaxed instantly.

Around them the other males—the older one must be the leader of this groups—cheered and hollered encouragement. I saw some reach under their kilts, stroking their own cocks as they watched thisentertainment.

The woman…

He held her arms tightly, and with each thrust she yelped loudly. Was that pain and fear, or something else?

With a roar, the older male stood, taking her with him. Still holding her wrists, he tipped her forward, fooking her hard from behind. Her cries became louder, turning to shrieks, and when she screamed—long and wavering, was that another climax, as the male pulled her against him hard?—the other males of the band whooped their encouragement.

‘Twas a display of barbarism that turned my stomach…but inside, myKteerhowled to join in, to participate. I couldn’t fook that stranger, but I could fook my Mate. I could pin Myra down and plow into her, planting my seed deep in her womb to watch my kitling grow.

Gods below, I wanted that.

But I wanted her to want that too.

When I’d looked away, my gaze had landed on the other chief, the one who wore the rings in his ears. To my surprise, neither he nor his men looked interested in participating in the spectacle.

His expression was terrifyingly impassive, and when one of his men gestured to the public fooking, he shook his head and made a slashing movement with his hand, turning away.

And the rest of his men followed his example, turning their attention to the darkness instead of the woman’s muffled cries.

Whowashe?

“Vartok,” Myra whispered, and I remembered she was watching this horror.

Without thinking, I breathed, “I can save her. I’ll need to leave ye here, but?—”

“Do not be stupid.” She clucked her tongue quietly. “You would be killed. Besides, I am not certain she needs saving.”

Below, the heavy man had turned the woman about so she was facing him, and now she hung from his neck, her legs around his waist, as he pumped into her. I had to admit that she was clutching at him, her yelps and cries matching his, sounding more like pleasure than pain.

“She cannae be enjoying herself,” I muttered, second-guessing what I was seeing, but Myra patted my hand.

“There are some women wholikebeing the center of attention. And some who enjoy being used in public.”

Her words triggered a memory in me, something I’d heard about the Battleborn chief to the south, and what he got up to with his Mate, and I winced.

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