Page 21 of Thankful for My Orc
Her pale complexion creates a striking contrast against my green hands, and I’m fascinated by how delicate she looks despite the steel I know lives in her bones.
“You won’t hurt me,” she says, reading my hesitation. “I trust you.”
Those three words undo me. Sliding my hands beneath her, one arm supporting her back and the other under her knees, I lift her easily. She weighs almost nothing to me, and yet she feels like everything. The size difference should terrify me—I could hurt her so easily—but the way she melts into me, trusting me with all that fragility, makes my cock throb with need.
As I carry her down the short hallway to my bedroom, she loops her arms around my neck, her breath warm against my throat. I nudge the door open with my shoulder and cross the threshold slowly, giving us both time to feel the significance of this moment.
We take a moment, just gazing at each other. The desire in her eyes is matched by something deeper, something that makes my orc instincts flair with recognition.
“Forge,” she gasps, her hands tangling in my braids.
I kiss her again, then lick and nuzzle my way down to her collarbone, then lower. Her skin is so pale against my green hands, so soft and warm. When I reach the swell of her breasts, I pause, looking at her. She gives a meaningful nod, and I ease her onto the mattress, her hair spilling across the pillow.
A rumbling starts deep in my chest—the orc purr I can’t control when I’m content or aroused, when I’m claiming what’s mine. The vibration travels through my lips and tongue to her skin asI kiss her belly. Lifting my gaze, I watch her eyes go wide with surprise and then darken with pleasure.
“What—oh my god, what is that?” Her voice is breathless, wondering.
“Can’t help it,” I murmur against her breast. “Happens when I’m… happy. When something feels right.”
I lick and nuzzle my way to her breast. The soft fabric between us muffles nothing—her warmth, her scent, the way her body responds even through the barrier.
My purr intensifies as I mouth her through the fabric, feeling her shiver, until I can’t stand the separation any longer and pull the material down enough to taste her properly.
She arches into my mouth. “Don’t… stop,” she breathes.
Cupping her breasts in my large hands, I marvel at how they fit perfectly in my palms. Her sharp intake of breath when I brush my thumbs over her nipples makes my blood sing. She’s so responsive, I can feel her heartbeat racing beneath my fingertips.
“So beautiful,” I murmur, lowering my head to taste her skin.
When I take one nipple into my mouth, she cries out, her back arching off the bed. I lavish attention on the sensitive peak, using my tongue and teeth until she’s writhing beneath me. The sounds she makes—soft gasps, breathless moans—drive me wild with need.
“God, Forge,” she pants, her hands gripping my shoulders, then roaming, then grasping my braids. “That feels incredible.”
My enhanced hearing picks up every hitch in her breathing, every soft sound of pleasure. I can scent her arousal growing stronger, can feel her pulse racing beneath my lips.
“You taste so good,” I growl against her skin, my hands reverently mapping her curves. “So perfect.”
She responds to everything I do—gasping when I use my teeth, moaning when I soothe with my tongue. Her hands roam my back and shoulders, nails digging in when I find a particularly sensitive spot. The way she moves beneath me, completely lost in sensation, makes something primitive and possessive unfurl in my chest.
I move to her other breast, giving it the same devoted attention. When I gently scrape my tusks along the underside of one breast, she nearly lifts off the bed.
“Oh God,” she gasps, her eyes flying open to meet mine. “Do that again.”
I oblige, using the smooth sides of my tusks to trace patterns across her ribs, up the valley between her breasts, along her collarbone. The contrast between the soft rasp of the bone and the wet heat of my tongue makes her writhe beneath me. I’m careful—always so careful—but the way she responds tells me she loves this, loves being touched by every part of me, even the parts that mark me as Other.
“They’re so smooth,” she breathes, her hand coming up to trace one reverently. “I always wondered… oh fuck—” Her words dissolve into a moan as I scrape both tusks along the sides of her throat, just barely grazing the sensitive skin. Her pulse flutters wildly beneath the bone, and I can feel how much she trusts me not to hurt her even as I drag something that could be dangerous across her most vulnerable places.
I spend long minutes learning her body, savoring the way she responds to every touch, every kiss. Her scent surrounds me, intoxicating and purely hers.
“I love how you respond to me,” I murmur, my voice rough with reverence. “I’m not stopping until I know every sound you make.”
Her cheeks flush, her words breaking apart. “I’ve never… no one’s ever…”
“Never what?” I coax, pressing soft kisses into the valley between her breasts, letting her gather the courage to tell me her deepest secrets.
“Spent so much time… been so focused on…” She’s struggling for words, her brain clearly scrambled by sensation.
“On you?” I supply, understanding dawning. “On your pleasure?”
