When he finally broke the kiss, we were both gasping, our chests heaving. He didn’t put me down. He just held me there, pinned against his body, his forehead resting against mine.
“Little wolf,” he rasped, his voice raw with an emotion I couldn’t name. “You play with fire.”
“I’ve lived in the fire,” I breathed back. “I’m not afraid of it.”
Without another word, he strode to the bed, my body still held tight in his arms as if I weighed nothing. He laid me down on the mountain of soft furs, his eyes, dark and burning with a possessive fire, never leaving mine. Slowly, reverently, he began to undress me. Heunlaced the sides of my doe-skin tunic, his big, scarred fingers surprisingly deft. He pushed the soft leather aside, and his breath hitched as he looked at my chest. At my breasts, unbound for the first time in his presence. They felt small, inadequate, but the look in his eyes was one of pure, unadulterated awe.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word a prayer. He lowered his head and brushed a soft, open-mouthed kiss over the swell of my breast. His tusks, the fearsome weapons of a warrior, scraped gently against my skin, sending a jolt of shocking, dangerous pleasure straight to my core.
He stripped the tunic and breeches from my body with a worshipful slowness until I lay naked before him in the firelight. I had never been naked in front of anyone. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but his gaze held no judgment, only a deep, profound reverence that made me feel more beautiful than I had ever thought possible.
Then it was his turn. He stood and shed his own leathers. First the heavy fur cloak, then the tunic, revealing a chest and shoulders that were a roadmap of old scars, a testament to a life of brutal warfare. Each scar told a story, and I suddenly wanted to know all ofthem. He unlaced his breeches, and my breath caught in my throat.
He was a god rendered in flesh and fury, and my body hummed with a terrified, electric anticipation.
“Sit,” I said, my voice coming out as a shaky whisper.
He looked at me, confused, but obeyed, sitting on the edge of the bed. His cock, thick and semi-hard, rested against his powerful thigh. It was already impossibly large.
Before my courage could fail me, I moved. The Orcish women had shared stories, whispered advice during our lessons, their words frank and earthy. And I remembered the crude talk of the grunts in the barracks. I knelt before him on the furs, my heart hammering. I reached out a trembling hand and touched him.
His skin was hot, like he was burning from the inside out. He was thick, heavy, a weapon of pure flesh. He swelled under my touch, rising to his full, magnificent, terrifying glory.
My eyes went wide. The barracks jokes had been understatements. He was… impossible. A monument. At least a foot of thick, purple-headed steel-hard flesh, with a girth that looked wider than my own wrist. Awe and a very real, very potent fear warred inside me.
I leaned forward and took him into my mouth. Or, I tried. I could barely take the thick, flared head past my lips. It was too much, a blunt, overwhelming reality my body was not equipped for. He let out a sharp, ragged hiss of breath, his hands fisting in the furs on either side of him.
Defeated in my first attempt, but not deterred, I did what I could. I licked a slow, wet path up the thick, straining shaft. A bead of clear, slick fluid wept from the tip, and I tasted it. It was salty, musky, the very essence of him. The taste sent a jolt of pure, primal lust through me. This was my mate. My husband.
“Kael,” he groaned, his voice a strained, agonized thing. His hips gave a small, involuntary jerk. “By the spirits… stop.”
He reached down and gently but firmly pulled me up by my shoulders. His eyes were glazed, dark with a pleasure so intense it was almost pain. “That is a weapon you do not yet know how to wield, little wolf,” he rasped. “And if you continue, this will be over before it begins.”
He laid me back on the furs, his body covering mine, his weight a comforting, possessive blanket. He propped himself up on his elbows, careful not to crush me.
“Is this… have you ever…” he began, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn’t place.
“No,” I whispered, the confession feeling both enormous and insignificant. “Never.”
The look that crossed his face was a complex tapestry of emotions: shock, awe, and a deep, shuddering sense of responsibility. “Gods,” he breathed, gently brushing my hair back from my face. “Untouched.” The word was a vow.
He lowered his head and took my nipple into his mouth. The sensation was exquisite torment. He suckled, his tongue laving the peak until it was a hard, aching point of pleasure. His free hand drifted down my stomach, through the curls of red hair at the juncture of my thighs, and found the slick, wet heat of me.
I gasped as his finger, thick as my thumb, slid inside. It was an invasion, but a welcome one. He explored me gently, learning the shape of me, his touch both a question and a claim. He found the small, hardnub of my clit and circled it with his thumb, and my world dissolved into pure, shocking sensation.
“So wet for me, Kael,” he growled against my breast, his voice a deep, vibrating rumble. “So tight.” He added a second finger, stretching me, moving in and out in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “I will not hurt you. But I will fill you. I will make you mine in every way a male can make a female his.”
He moved his attention between my breasts, his mouth a hot, wet brand, while his fingers worked their relentless magic inside me. The pressure was building, a tight, coiling knot deep in my belly. I was slick, ready, aching for something I didn’t know how to ask for.
He moved up, kissing me deeply, his tongue tangling with mine. “I am going to make you come on my hand first,” he murmured against my lips. “I want to feel you break for me.”
He found my rhythm, his fingers moving faster, deeper. The knot in my belly tightened until I thought I would snap. I was climbing, reaching for a peak I couldn’t see.
“That’s it, little wolf,” he growled, his own breath coming in ragged pants. “Come for me.”
And I did. With a sharp, shattered cry, my body convulsed. Waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over me, so intense they bordered on pain. My back arched off the bed, and I felt my inner muscles clench around his fingers.
He held me through it, murmuring praises in Orcish, his voice a rough, soothing balm on my frayed nerves. When the last tremor had faded, he removed his fingers and positioned himself between my legs.
