Page 7 of The Orc's Princess Bride
For a moment, she was held aloft in his powerful grip, feeling small and delicate against his strength. Then he placed her gently on the saddle.
The world looked different from this height. The saddle was broad and flexible beneath her, designed for a warrior’s frame rather than a queen’s comfort. Her feet dangled well above the stirrups, which had been adjusted for Ulric’s much longer legs.
“We’ll need to—” he began, but stopped as she reached down to adjust the stirrups herself, remembering his instructions.
A flicker of approval crossed his face. “Good.”
She had just settled her feet when the saddle shifted. He swung up behind her in one fluid motion, his body caging hers completely. His broad chest formed a solid wall of heat at her back, his powerful thighs bracketing hers. The intimacy of the position stole her breath.
“I’ll teach you to control him properly,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent another shiver down her spine. “Until then, we ride together.”
He reached around her to take the reins, his arms forming a protective prison. His hands were so large they made the thick leather straps look almost delicate. She was enveloped completely—surrounded by his warmth, his strength, his scent.
She had a sudden memory of being surrounded by him before. He’d held her like this when she was poisoned, she was sure of it. Perhaps she hadn’t imagined his words after all.
“Relax your body,” he instructed, his warm breath tickling her ear. “Let yourself move with the horse.”
He made a soft clicking sound and Stormcloud began to walk forward. The motion rocked her back against his chest, then forward again, and she instinctively braced herself, trying to hold her posture.
“Relax,” he repeated. “Trust the horse. Trust yourself.”
She took a slow breath and tried to obey. It wasn’t easy—every part of her was keenly aware of his presence, of the hard muscles beneath the worn leather vest, the way their bodies fit together, and the way his scent surrounded her, filling her senses.
She was acutely aware of every point of contact—the solid press of his chest against her back, the way his thighs tensed and shifted with the horse’s movement, guiding her own. His arms encircled her completely, hands steady on the reins. This was more intimate than any courtly dance she had ever performed, more thrilling than any flirtation she had ever engaged in.
“Feel how he moves,” he said, his voice vibrating through her. “A warhorse doesn’t just carry you; you become part of each other.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. The careful composure she had maintained since arriving in Norhaven was melting away with each step of the horse, each brush of his body against hers.
They circled the training ground slowly. Stormcloud responded to the slightest pressure of Ulric’s legs, the smallest shift in his weight. She tried to focus on learning these subtle commands, but her mind kept returning to the feel of his body against hers, the strength in his arms, the heat of him seeping through her clothing.
“You’re a natural,” he said, his voice softer than before. “Most first-timers grip the saddle in terror.”
“Perhaps I have a good teacher,” she replied, surprised by the breathiness in her own voice.
The horse took a slightly uneven step, and she instinctively leaned back to steady herself. Her body pressed more firmly against his and she felt something hard and rigid against her bottom. She might be inexperienced, but she was not ignorant and she knew he was erect—hugely, massively erect. A bolt of liquid heat shot through her and her nipples tightened in response.
The rhythm of his breathing changed, becoming slightly faster. She should straighten up, put distance between them, maintain the proper decorum she’d been taught all her life. Instead, she remained where she was, letting his heat seep into her back, the hard length of his erection nestled against her.
She felt as if she were balanced on the edge of a precipice, teetering between decorum and desire.
“Should we… should we try a faster pace?” she asked, not recognizing her own voice.
His answer was a low growl, almost inaudible. Then he tightened the reins, urging the horse to a trot. The jolt of the saddle beneath her sent shockwaves of sensation through her body, and she gasped softly. Her bottom rubbed against him with every stride, an intoxicating friction that sent jolts of need through her.
“Is this what you wanted, little bride?” His voice was rougher than usual, edged with an almost feral intensity. “You wantedto know what it’s like to ride a Norhaven warhorse? To feel its power between your thighs?”
She was beyond words now. Her entire being was focused on the sensations coursing through her—the primal rhythm of the horse, the feel of Ulric’s body, and the tension building deep within her core. Every rock and sway of the horse stoked the fire inside her, driving her closer to an unknown precipice.
His arm tightened around her, one hand leaving the reins to cup her breast, his thumb rolling over her aching nipple, and a breathless cry escaped her lips.
“Do you understand what you’re asking for?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“I…” She couldn’t form words, couldn’t think beyond the need burning inside her. “Please…”
A low, primal sound rumbled in his chest, and she felt a shudder run through him. He dropped the reins completely, his arm wrapping around her stomach and pulling her tighter against his erection as he kissed her throat. The horse increased his pace, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her with each stride.
She gasped, arching her back, pressing her breast more firmly into his hand. His fingers found her nipple, teasing and pinching until she thought she would go mad. She was falling, flying, hurtling towards something she couldn’t name. The horse’s stride quickened, the rhythmic motion driving her closer and closer to the edge. His teeth closed on her neck, his tusks pressing against her skin, and the sharp pain mingled with the pleasure in a way she hadn’t thought possible, and suddenly she shattered into a thousand pieces of light.
