Page 36 of Claimed By the Wild Orc
He groaned against my neck, his breath ragged. “You feel like—gods—like you were made for me.”
I wrapped my arms around him, legs tightening as his rhythm shifted, slow and deep becoming faster, harder. I matched him, met him, gasped his name until I couldn’t speak.
When I shattered, it was with a cry muffled against his shoulder, my nails digging into his back. He followed soon after, roaring low and hoarse into my skin.
Then silence.
There was just the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear. The smell of woodsmoke and him.
It was pure bliss.
I let myself fall asleep in his arms, skin to skin, the storm long since passed.
And for the first time in my life, I didn’t dream of escape.
MIRA
The first thing I noticed was the quiet.
Not the brittle, stifling quiet of a stone keep at dawn, but the soft hush of birdsong, of wind through pine needles, of the earth stirring gently awake. The cave was bathed in gold, the light pooling near the entrance, brushing over stone and fur and the bare length of my thigh.
And beside me, still as stone and just as solid, Gorran slept.
He looked different like this.
The deep lines of his brow had eased. His mouth—usually a flat, unsmiling thing—was relaxed, almost soft. One massive arm lay above his head, the other curled loosely at my waist, fingers splayed like he’d fallen asleep still reaching for me.
I studied him in silence.
So much of him was savage and terrifying. That first day, when he emerged from the trees, blood on his tusks, the wolves crumpled beneath him, I’d thought he was death itself.
Now, here he was. Peaceful, almost dreamy. As if the world outside didn’t matter.
And maybe, for the moment, it didn’t.
I slid from the furs slowly, careful not to wake him. My legs were sore in a way that made me smile to myself. Feeling warmand languid, I padded over to where my things were gathered, rummaging through the pile until I found it.
The pendant.
I’d hidden it days ago, stuffed deep into the furs in a moment of rebellion. A carved fang, polished bone threaded with dark cord. It was crude and a little wild, but beautiful.
Orc courting, I’d thought with exasperation when he gave it to me.
Now, I slipped it over my head without hesitation.
It settled between my collarbones, cool and familiar, as though it had always belonged there.
“You kept it,” came a low voice behind me.
I turned.
Gorran was awake.
He was propped on one elbow, tousled and rumpled and sinfully naked beneath the furs. His dark eyes drank me in, lingering on the pendant before sliding down, over the curve of my simple slip, the bare line of my leg.
“How long have you been watching me?” I asked, heat creeping up my neck.
His grin was slow and dangerous and irresistible. “Long enough.”
