Page 75 of Faeling
Squeezing her backside, he growled against her lips. “You win, sprite. Now ride my cock before I truly get cross.”
Her laugh puffed against his abused lips. Lifting herself up, she bit her bottom lip, keeping his gaze as she deliberately slid down to kneel above his straining cock. A groan tore from the deepest depths of his chest when she lowered herself onto him, cradling the underside of his cock.
“A different kind of kiss,” she breathed.
Vallek’s hips punched up in a violent roll, a hiss bursting between his gritted teeth. A needy moan caught in her throat, and Ravenna began to move, maddening little rocks of her hips that had him seeing the afterworld and all the ancestors.
With his grip on her hips, he moved her faster, grinding himself up into the seam of her body. She soaked his lap, their bodies making slick, sloppy sounds as she moved faster, faster. Her nails dug into the meat of his chest, and Vallek bared his teeth.Fuck,they needed to practice more, for he didn’t know how much longer he could bear not being inside her.
She claimed his climax, those infernal little moans and rolling motions sending him careening off a cliff. Throwing his head back, his bellow filled the tent as spurts of spend lashed his belly. The bite of her nails stung, digging in almost enough to draw blood, and he felt her throb against the underside of his cock.
Chest heaving, he watched greedily as she came apart, every muscle tensed. Seeing her lose control, how those violet eyes went hazy with passion, fulfilled something needy inside him, something that was desperate not just to care for his mate but to earn how she looked at him now—like he was the male for her.
Faster than she could react, he tumbled them around, reversing their positions. She gasped up at him from the bed, her violet eyes sparkling as he loomed over her.
Rumbling with a seductive purr, he lowered his head to hers to whisper, “You’re right. I’m far too greedy for just one.”
The last camp, the most northerly of the eastern tribes, was also one of the most isolated. In the fortnight he and his berserkers had marched up the foothills, he’d heard plenty about the Stone-Skin camp. About their penchant for cruelty and taking human slaves.
It was why he left his mate safe and secure in their camp over a day’s journey from the Stone-Skin tribe, making the last push with only his berserkers. It was why they approached in the gloaming, tightening the net as the tribe gathered round their central fire to eat.
And it was why, as he passed between great boulders meant to funnel enemies into an easy kill zone and finally into the camp, he was shocked to find the tribe to be the smallest of them all.
With a flick of his wrist, the net closed.
His berserkers sprang from the shadows, herding the Stone-Skins toward the center of camp, where the bonfire crackled. Shouts rang out through the craggy hills, but before any of the warriors could draw their weapons, his berserkers were there, pushing them between the circles of tents.
“Gather by the fire!” Mattias ordered. “In the name of the king!”
Confusion choked the camp, and wide, fearful eyes flashed in the firelight. Scuffles broke out across the camp, those warriors who could fighting back with bare fists. It was for naught, the battle over before it’d begun. Summarily overwhelmed, the tribesmen were dragged toward the bonfire as more berserkers cleared every tent.
When Vallek passed through his berserkers into the light of the fire, Hormhím ready at his side, startled cries and gasps drowned out the crackling of the great flames. In all, Vallek counted just forty or so kin, at least half orcesses or orclings. They stared at him in horror and fright, an apparition come to slaughter them in the night.
“Who is your chieftain?” Vallek boomed.
An older orc stepped forward, a noticeable limp slowing his stride. “Who are you?”
“Watch how you speak to your king,” Ulrich growled.
The older orc looked truly baffled, his graying brows rising in shock. “King?”
“You stand before Vallek Far-Sight, chieftain of Balmirra, king of kin,” announced Ulrich. “You will kneel before him and give your loyalty.”
“It’s time for all eastern tribes to join in allegiance with theirkin,” said Vallek. “Your fellows have already knelt. They say Krul is chieftain here. Where is he?”
“Died. Years ago,” said the older orc. “I’m chieftain here.”
By the Ever-Father, these kin truly were isolated. They even spoke with an accent he’d only heard from the very eldest of Balmirrans.
“And you are?”
“Fulk.”
“Well, Fulk, you will speak for your tribe and swear fealty to me and the orcish throne.”
Careful to not quite sneer, Fulk said, “Never heard of a king of kin.”
“Your tribe refused the last one,” said Vallek. “That won’t be tolerated again.”
