Page 56 of Thankful for My Orc
The words hit me like a shock wave. I freeze, halfway to the bed, becausethisisn’t the Forge I know. The man who let me undress him that first night in his apartment. The man who was so careful, so gentle, letting me set the pace and take control.
This is something else entirely.
Riley’s words from months ago surface suddenly:“Male orcs are dominant in the bedroom, Jordan. It’s hardwired.”She’d fanned herself dramatically, and I’d laughed it off.
I’m not laughing now.
Because that single command—those words delivered in that rough, uncompromising tone—does something to me that twenty minutes of skilled foreplay with David never managed. Heat floods through me, sharp and electric, my body responding before my mind can catch up. My nipples tighten almost painfully. I feel myself growing wetter, my body preparing itself just from thesoundof his voice.
I do as he says, feeling exposed and vulnerable and incredibly aroused. He stands at the foot of the bed, slowly removing his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine. When his chest is bare, I can see the full extent of his tattoos—intricate designs that speak of his heritage, his strength.
“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, drinking in the sight of him.
“And you’remine,” he says simply, crawling onto the bed with predatory grace. “Every inch of you belongs to me now.”
He settles between my thighs, his hands gripping them and spreading them wider. The casual display of his strength—the way he can position me exactly how he wants—makes me gasp.
“I can smell how wet you are for me.” He leans closer and sniffs. This is shocking and arousing in equal measure.
“You’re dripping for me, aren’t you? Your body always knew who it belonged to, even when your mind tried to resist.” His thumb traces along my inner thigh and slips under the edge of my panties, collecting the evidence of my arousal.
“Look how ready you are for me, how your body opens up the moment I touch you. This perfect cunt was made for me to claim, over and over until you can’t remember a time before you were mine.”
The rough promise in his voice shatters what’s left of my control. My pulse pounds everywhere at once—throat, wrists, between my legs—each beat a helpless confession of how badly I need him.
“I can hear your heart racing,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of my thigh. He leans even closer and uses those sexy ivory tusks to slice my panties up the side.
I gasp, but not from fear. I’ve never been this aroused.
He presses my thighs wider, stretching me open. “Your body’s getting ready to take me,” he murmurs, then places his wide palm between my legs. Just this dominant pressure makes me hiss as I arch off the bed.
His voice drops to a possessive rumble. “Every man in that room was salivating for you tonight, but none of them will ever have you, right?”
“No, Forge. No one but you.”
“Look how you respond to just my voice, how your scent gets sweeter when I remind you that you’re mine. Every instinct I have is screaming to claim you, possess you, make sure every orc, hell, every human in the city knows you belong to me.”
His admission makes me wild. The idea that he can sense my arousal, that his orc biology gives him an intimate knowledge of my desire, is incredibly erotic. His possessive talk is making mewildfor him.
“Please,” I breathe, arching toward him.
“Please what?” he asks, his lips moving higher up my thigh. “Use your words, sweetheart.”
“Please touch me. Please make me yours.”
“That’s my good girl,” he growls approvingly.
When his mouth finally finds me, I cry out, my hands fisting in the sheets. He works me with patient thoroughness, using histongue and teeth and the careful press of his tusks against my sensitive skin until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Forge,” I sob, getting close to the edge. “I need… I need you inside me.”
He pulls back, his lips glistening, and I nearly orgasm just from the sight of him. “Not yet. First, you’re going to come on my tongue. Then you’re going to come on my fingers. And then, when you’re desperate and begging, I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”
The filthy promise makes me whimper. His fingers slide beneath the tattered lace, grip the fabric, and with one sharp tug, it gives way in his hands—heat flaring where his knuckles graze my skin. Then his mouth is on me again, working me with devastating skill until I’m screaming his name as I come apart.
Before I can recover, he’s sliding two thick fingers inside me, stretching me, finding spots that make me see stars. His thumb works my clit while his fingers curve and thrust, and I’m helpless beneath the onslaught of sensation.
“That’s it,” he rumbles against my throat, having moved up to bite and suck at my neck. “Give me another one. I want to feel you fall apart again.”
