Page 135 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Better,” she murmured.
His arm came around her. Carefully. Like he was afraid he’d hurt her.
So gentle despite what they tried to make him.
She tilted her head back and found his mouth in the darkness, kissing him slowly.
He responded immediately, his hunger tempered with tenderness. His hand cupped her face carefully and the kiss deepened. Became more urgent. More desperate.
She found the fastenings of his armor and started working them free.
“Thea.” he said roughly. “You need to rest.”
“I need you.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“So are you. But I think we both need this more than sleep right now.”
She felt his resistance crumbling and his desire rising to match hers.
Yes. Let go. Let yourself have this.
His armor came away and then his tunic, revealing scarred skin and hard muscle. She gently traced each of the scars. Each one a story, a piece of his history.
“Beautiful,” she whispered.
He made a low sound, disbelief mixed with wonder. He didn’t believe he was worthy of admiration. But he was. God, he was.
Strong and fierce and gentle. A warrior who’d broken his conditioning to protect her. Who’d betrayed everything he’d ever known because it was the right thing to do.
My orc. My miracle.
Her own clothing came away, carefully removed by large hands that shook slightly as if he were afraid she’d break.
“I won’t shatter,” she told him. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“I know.” His mouth found her throat. Her collarbone. “But you’re still precious. Still mine to protect.”
He lowered his head, his tusks scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of her breast. She shuddered and tangled her hands in his hair. His mouth closed over her aching nipple, his teeth grazing her gently, and she arched against him with a soft cry. He lavished attention on her breasts, moving from one to the other until she was writhing beneath him.
His other hand skated down her body, lightly teasing the swollen folds before carefully working one thick finger inside her. She clenched around him, her hips arching against him. A second finger joined the first, stretching her, filling her, and the pressure built inside her, hot and urgent.
“Khorrek,” she gasped, “I need?—”
“I know.” His voice was rough, strained. “I know what you need.”
His thumb found her clit, rubbing small, perfect circles as his fingers thrust deeper. The pressure became unbearable, a coiling spring inside her ready to snap.
And then it did.
Pleasure washed over her in a blinding wave, and he muffled her cry with a deep passionate kiss as her body convulsed. She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh, hot and heavy and insistent.
“Please,” she whispered and he notched his head against her entrance, slowly working his way into her body until he was fully seated, pausing to let her adjust, breathing heavily into the darkness. Her arousal built again, hot and insistent and she wiggled impatiently beneath him.
He needed no further encouragement. He began to move, his hips setting a slow, deep rhythm that made her entire body tingle. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through her, building on the aftershocks of her first orgasm.
His hands roamed her body, relearning her curves and angles. His mouth found hers again, and the kiss was different this time—deeper, more intimate, as if he were pouring all the words he couldn’t say into this one connection.
