Page 83 of Halfling
The small sound of crunching leaves drew her just enough out of her lust. She sucked in a breath, still unable to turn her gaze away, but made herself think.
She burned for him, but she wasn’t sure what he’d do if she revealed herself now. Another rejection when she was already so aroused, so vulnerable, had her hesitating.
Whatever had brought him out here, far away from her…he’d chosen not to share those feelings with her. They weren’tfor her.
Swallowing hard, Sorcha traced the strong lines of him one last time. He wasn’t the trim type of muscled she saw on some men, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. No, he was all brutal strength, with slabs of muscle bracketing his ribs and hips. Everything about him spoke to his strength, his endurance, and Sorcha allowed herself one more longing look before forcing herself away.
She hurried back to their camp without seeing, her body tense as a rope drawn taut.
Plopping Darrah near the packs, Sorcha paced around the simmering campfire, still aflame. Tingles skittered under her skin, leaving her itching for relief.
With a growl, she marched into the trees a little ways from camp.
If he can go off and fondle himself, so can I.Fates knew she deserved a moment of release.
Picking a sturdy tree, Sorcha planted her spine against the trunk, widened her legs, and loosened her braies. She dug a hand past the waistband and with two fingers spread herself wide, giving her middle finger unfettered access to that pulsing nub of flesh that had beenso damn patient she wanted to scream.
She soaked her fingers with her slick with only a touch, her body primed and ready. She didn’t need much to get the sweet ache building again. Sorcha usually liked the dance and game of foreplay, the soft, teasing touches and slow build of desire. Right then, she’d had days of it already and just needed relief.
Rolling her clit under her finger with merciless strokes, she drew a breast out of her stays and palmed the heavy weight, pinching her nipple.
A whimper escaped her lips, and she pushed her head back against the tree, chasing her pleasure.
Her fingers worked her hard. The wet sounds of her body would’ve made her blush if she’d been less desperate. Her quim ached for fullness, but at this angle she couldn’t manage it. Instead, she pressed the heel of her palm to her clit and bore down.
Sparks lit behind her eyes, and Sorcha moaned as the sharp ache finally spilled into numbing pleasure. Her hips rolled, seeking more friction, and her fingers worked furiously to give it. Her peak thrummed through her like the crash of the tide, and she was happy to let it pull her away.
It was a long time before she came back to herself. And truly, she didn’t really want to.
Herself was still quite heartsick.
When Orek arrived back at their camp, he knew immediately that something was…different. Sorcha had already broken camp, packed the blankets, and doused the fire. All that was left was a lumpy bowl of cold porridge.
He opened his mouth to apologize for being gone so long but noticed that she wasn’t facing him. She hadn’t said anything to acknowledge his return, not even looked his way.
Orek wanted to ask, but his attention fixed on a thick, sweet smell that hung in the air. He breathed it in, senses snapping to attune to the addicting scent. He pulled in another lungful, barely hearing Sorcha when she hefted her pack and Darrah’s basket and said, “I’m ready.”
She turned and headed off on her own, following the lake.
Orek stood in the remains of their camp, trying to place that scent. It scratched at his mind as he collected his own pack and the bowl of his forgotten breakfast.
Musky and female, it addled his mind and had his cock throbbing in his braies despite the beating he’d put it through already.
Lust. It smelled of female lust.
He’s scented it a handful of times, when the clan had indulged in orgies or a couple had no qualms about taking their pleasure before others. The thick scent of mating had invaded his memory, even though he hadn’t let himself linger long around those writhing bodies.
He didn’t want to see what he’d never have.
The scent hung heavily in the trees, but the longer he stood, the more it began to fade.
Yet when he headed off to follow Sorcha, he picked it up again.
He stared at her head of curls as his heart thudded in his chest.
This is her pleasure scent. The smell of her lust.
An ache so sharp it bordered on agony lanced through him. The beast inside him, the one that saw Sorcha as his and had no problem carrying her away to keep, roared in his head. His female wasneedy.
