Page 115 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Mine.”
The word detonated something inside him and shattered the last fragile chains of his self-control.
He kissed her, his mouth hard and demanding, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the connection of their mouths. She met him with equal ferocity, her hands fisting in his shirt, and her body pressing against his.
Yes. Finally. Ours.
He pulled back just far enough to speak. “Once we do this, I can’t go back?—”
“Good.” She kissed him again, more softly this time. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”
“Thea—”
“Stop thinking. Stop worrying. Just… be with me.”
How could he deny her? How could he deny himself?
He’d spent his entire life following orders. Suppressing desires. Becoming a weapon instead of a person. For once—just this once—he wanted to choose.
And he chose her.
He kissed her with all the hunger he’d tried to bury, relishing the small sounds she made when he did something she particularly liked. He removed her cloak, her shirt. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath it and the cool cave air made her skin pebble. Made her nipples tighten into hard little peaks.
Beautiful. Perfect.
He traced the line of her collarbone. The curve of her breast. Watched her breath hitch. Watched her eyes darken.
“Khorrek—”
“Shh. Let me.”
Let me learn you. Let me worship you properly.
He laid her back on her cloak and followed her down. Kissed her throat. The hollow between her collarbones. The swell of her breast. She arched into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair.
He took his time and explored every inch of exposed skin. He found the places that made her gasp. The places that made her moan. He learned her body the way she’d learned his language. With complete focus and the understanding that this knowledge was precious. Essential.
She tugged at his tunic. “Off. I want to feel you.”
He pulled the thick leather over his head and tossed it aside. Her hands immediately found his chest, tracing his muscles. His scars.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
“I’m covered in scars.”
“I know.” She kissed one. A long ridge across his ribs from a sword wound that had nearly killed him. “Each one is proof you survived. Proof you’re here. Proof you’re mine.”
Hers. Yes. Always hers.
He kissed her again, his mouth more demanding now.
He found the waistband of her trousers and slid them down her legs. And then she was bare beneath him. Completely exposed. Completely vulnerable. Completely trusting.
She reached for his own trousers, fumbling with the laces. He helped, removing the last barrier between them. And then it was simply skin on skin, heat and softness and the overwhelming sensation of rightness.
This. Always this. Forever this.
He settled between her thighs. Felt her open for him. Felt the slick heat of her arousal.
