Page 62 of Built Orc Tough
Gorran works beside me, his massive hands surprisingly deft as he tamps soil around a cluster of feverfew. Our silence isn’t fragile, it’s full – heavy with the promise we painted onto the shop sign yesterday.
His knuckles brush my arm when he reaches for a trowel. A jolt, electric and warm, arcs through me. I turn my head. He’s already watching me, eyes like forest pools, dark and still.
No words. He leans in, his mouth capturing mine. It’s not a question, but an answer. His kiss tastes of spearmint from the leaves he’d been crushing and sunlight. I yield into it, letting my trowel clatter to the earth. His hands, gritty with dirt, slide up my back beneath my thin cotton shirt, palms broad and hot against my skin. Dirt granules scrape faintly, a delicious counterpoint to the smooth heat of his touch.
We undress each other slowly, kneeling in the soft soil between the raised beds. The air kisses my bare skin, cool wheresweat dries. His gaze travels over me, deliberate, reverent. He scoops handfuls of clean compost from the wheelbarrow, dusts a patch of earth near the lemon balm, thick and sheltered.
"Here," he rasps, his voice a low rumble. Just the word. An offering.
He guides me down onto the soft, cool bed he’s made. The scent of rich earth surrounds us. He follows, his body a welcome weight over me, his green skin catching the dappled light filtering through the grapevine leaves above.
He’s hard already, cock thick against my belly. He takes himself in one huge hand, strokes his length once, the broad head glistening. He guides it, achingly slow, to my entrance.
I lift my hips, gasping as the tip nudges against my slick folds. He sinks into my pussy a fraction at a time, a deep, stretching intrusion that blossoms into the most profound belonging. My pussy clenches around him instinctively, drawing him deeper, claiming that filling heat.
"Oh, Gorran…" I whisper.
Once fully seated inside me, he goes utterly still. His head bows, his brow pressed to mine. Breath mingles. I feel the frantic flutter of my own pulse against his, our sweat-slick chests pressing.
Then he begins to move. Not frantic. Not harsh. A slow, rolling wave. Deep thrusts that push the air from my lungs. Out, almost to the tip, then a deliberate, grinding push back inside, seating himself to the hilt.
Every withdrawal is a sweet, hollow ache made right again by the deep surge of his re-entry. The friction builds a molten coil low in my belly. His hips drive with a powerful, measured rhythm, the muscles of his back and shoulders bunching beneath my fingertips.
He doesn’t speak. His eyes hold mine. The only sounds are our harsh breathing, the sticky sound of my wetness meeting histhrusts, the rustle of leaves overhead, the distant buzz of a bee visiting the chamomile.
My climax crests suddenly, a detonation sent through every nerve as he grinds deep. I arch, crying out, clutching at him. He holds steady for a heartbeat, buried within my pulsing depths, then his own rhythm fractures.
His groan vibrates against my throat. I feel the hot surge of his release deep inside, a final, claiming pulse, and he collapses onto me, his great body shuddering, his lips pressed to the sweat-damp skin below my ear.
He’s heavy and warm, breath gusting against my neck, his softening cock still nestled deep inside me. The late sun catches the sweat-damp ridges of his spine as I trace them.
"Not done," I whisper against his temple. My hips shift deliberately, squeezing him. He groans—a low, surprised rumble—and lifts himself onto his forearms to look at me. Earth streaks his jawline.
My hands slide down his chest, fingers splaying over the hard planes as I push gently. He rolls onto his back compliantly, watching me with those dark eyes gone liquid.
I leave a trail of kisses down his sternum, across the taut muscles of his abdomen, lower. The scent of him—spice and salt and earth—fills my senses. I take his cock into my mouth, soft at first, just the thick weight of it on my tongue. My lips seal around the head, suckling gently, then with more pressure as it thickens rapidly. He bucks his hips once, a stuttered gasp escaping him.
"Ivy—"
His hand tangles in my hair, not forcing, just holding. I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper, sucking hard as I pull back until the head pops free with a wet sound. Again. His thighs tense, his breath hissing through clenched teeth. I lick the vein pulsing along the underside, tasting the heat of him, then swallow him whole when he’s fully hard again, my nose pressedinto the wiry hair at his base. His hips lift off the dirt, trembling. I ease off slowly. "Need you inside me again," I murmur, thumb circling the slick tip.
I straddle his hips, positioning myself over his straining cock. One hand braces on his chest, the other guides him to my entrance. I sink down slowly, an exquisite burn stretching me open anew.
His eyes lock onto mine, wide and wild. When I’m fully seated, my pussy stretched taut around his thickness, I pause, savoring the fullness. Then I rock forward, grinding my clit against the base of him. He groans, hands finding my hips, calloused thumbs digging into the soft skin.
I start to move. Rising up until just the tip remains inside, then slamming back down, taking all of him in one hard, deep stroke. My thighs burn. Sweat slicks my skin where our bodies meet. Air punches out of him each time I drop onto his cock.
The rhythm builds—a demanding, brutal cadence. He meets every downward thrust with a hard upward surge. My breasts bounce; his fingers dig harder into my hips. The coil in my belly winds impossibly tight.
"Harder," I gasp, nails scraping down his chest. He bucks beneath me, pistoning his hips faster. The slap of flesh, my ragged cries, his guttural growls fill the hot, green air.
The coil snaps. My whole body locks around him, clenching his cock as I shatter. Buried deep, he pulses inside me, flooding my pussy with warmth again, a low roar tearing from his throat as his hips jerk uncontrollably. We collapse forward, slick skin pressed together, breathing like thunder.
"Now I'm done," I sigh dreamily.
Gorran chuckles, holding me tight. "Not so sure I am, though."
Butterflies race through my stomach as his eyes say everything I want to hear. Everything I could possibly need.
