Page 35 of The Orc's Princess Bride
He removed his boots and breeches last, standing before her entirely naked. His body was a weapon forged in battle—all hard planes and powerful muscle, marked by the years of war and leadership. He made no move to cover himself, allowing her to see him as he truly was—flawed, scarred, imperfect.
Her eyes traced his body, lingering on each mark and imperfection. But there was no pity in her gaze, only understanding. When she met his gaze again, there was a quiet strength in her expression that made his heart swell with pride and gratitude.
He walked down the steps into the pool, the warm water rising to his waist. Then he turned to her, extending his hand.
“Join me,” he said softly. It was an invitation, not a command. “If you wish.”
She hesitated only a moment before her hands moved to the laces of her gown. Her fingers worked steadily, her eyes never leaving his. The silk whispered as it slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a puddle of white. She stood before him in her thin shift, then, with a deep breath, pulled it over her head.
The sight of her stole his breath. She was all lush curves and delicate skin, pale as moonlight against the dark stone. Her body told its own story—not of battle, but of life. The gentle swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the slight roundness of her belly—she was fertility and warmth embodied, everything his harsh world lacked.
She walked to the edge of the pool, her vulnerability matching his own. With graceful dignity, she placed her hand in his outstretched one and stepped down into the water.
Her skin turned pink as the warmth of the water surrounded her, and she moved closer to him, the water lapping gently around them. For the first time, they were truly alone, truly naked—not just in body, but in soul. The space between them crackled with unspoken desire, now free of the doubt and suspicion that had poisoned it before.
“Turn,” he said, his voice a low rumble.
She did, presenting her back to him. He reached for a small stone bowl on the pool’s edge, dipping his fingers into the fragrant oil it contained. His hands settled on her shoulders, slick with the oil, and began to move in slow, gentle circles.
“This is sacred too,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine. “To wash away the past. To begin anew.”
His touch was reverent, learning the contours of her body. Her skin was impossibly soft beneath his calloused palms. He moved down her back, following the graceful line to the dip of her waist, then back up to her shoulders. He felt her relax under his ministrations, leaning slightly into his touch.
When she turned to face him, her eyes were as dark as the water around them. She reached for the oil, coating her own palms, then placed them on his chest. Her touch was gentle but unafraid as she explored the terrain of his body—the hard ridges of muscle, the raised lines of scars, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.
Her fingers traced a particularly vicious scar that ran from his collarbone to his sternum. “This one?” she asked.
“Lasseran’s forces,” he answered. “Three winters ago.”
She nodded, her touch lingering before moving to another mark. Each scar she touched, each story she heard, seemed to forge a new bond between them. She was not repulsed by his battle-worn body; she honored it.
Her hands moved lower, tracing the cut of muscle at his abdomen. His breath caught, the innocent exploration awakening a primal hunger. When her gaze lifted to his, he saw the same desire reflected in her eyes.
He couldn’t say who moved first. One moment they were apart, the next his mouth was on hers, hungry and desperate. Her arms wound around his neck, her body pressing against his, slick with water and oil. The kiss deepened, all the pent-up longing of months pouring into this single, electric connection.
His hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around him, the intimate position bringing them flushagainst each other. He groaned into her mouth, the sensation of her soft body against his almost unbearable.
He carried her to the edge of the pool, setting her on the smooth stone lip. His mouth left hers to trail down her neck, tasting the water droplets on her skin. She arched into him, her fingers tangling in his wet hair, guiding him lower.
When his mouth found her breast, she gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet chamber. He teased her nipples, first one, then the other, until she was trembling beneath him. Only then did he continue downward, his tongue tracing the curve of her belly, the crest of her hip. He knelt before her, a supplicant at the altar of her body, his mouth seeking the center of her pleasure as his tusks kept her thighs parted.
When he tasted her, she cried out, her hips bucking. He held her firmly in place, his lips and tongue worshipping her. The steam and scented oil were nothing compared to the intoxicating scent of her arousal. He lost himself in her, coaxing her towards her release, his own need an almost unbearable ache.
When her body began to quiver, he probed gently at her entrance with his finger. She was so small, so tight, that he hesitated. He knew that she was untouched, and while he’d read about the act, he had no experience pleasing a woman. The thought of hurting her horrified him.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with need. “I want you.”
Emboldened, he pressed forward, his finger slowly sliding into her. She tensed for a moment, then something inside her gave way and her body relaxed, welcoming him. He moved slowly atfirst, letting her adjust, before adding a second finger. Her inner walls clamped around him, her breath coming in quick pants.
He curled his fingers inside her, seeking the hidden spot that would bring her pleasure. At the same time, his tongue returned to her swollen clit, circling it and teasing it.
Her hands tightened in his hair, her hips rocking against his mouth. Her moans echoed in the chamber, mingling with the gentle lap of water against stone. Then, suddenly, she tensed, her body arching. She shattered around him, crying out his name as she found her release. He guided her through it, his mouth and fingers gentling but not ceasing until she collapsed against him, her limbs heavy and languid.
He gathered her in his arms and stepped back into the pool, the water closing over their heads. When they emerged, her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes bright and happy. She looked utterly beautiful, glowing with satisfaction.
She reached up, wiping water from his brow. Her fingers lingered, tracing the strong lines of his jaw, the curves of his tusks. Her touch was a balm, soothing old wounds and forging new bonds. But then her hands dipped lower, slipping between them to touch him in turn. She stroked his aching length, her touch tentative at first, then more confident as she learned his shape.
When her fingers circled his tip, he let out a strangled groan. He was on a knife’s edge, desperate for her. With great effort, he pulled her hand away.
