“Now,” he whispered, his voice thick with a need that bordered on holy. “Now I will make you mine.”
I looked down and saw the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing against my slick entrance. It looked impossible. A mountain trying to enter a cave. Fear, sharp and real, pierced through the haze of pleasure.
He must have scented it. “Look at me, Kael,” he commanded softly. I met his gaze. “Trust me. I will not break you.”
He held my hips, his grip firm, anchoring me. He pushed forward, so slowly, so carefully, and the tip of him slid inside me. I gasped. It was too much. A stretching, burning pressure that felt like I was being split in two.
“Breathe,” he growled, his tusks brushing the sensitive skin of my neck. “Just breathe. Take me. Your body was made for this. Made for me.”
He held himself there, just the tip, letting me adjust, letting my body stretch and yield around the incredible invasion. Inch by agonizing, pleasurable inch, he worked his way deeper. He was a force of nature, patient and relentless. He filled me, stretching me, taking possession of my body in the most absolute way possible. The burning slowly gave way to a feeling of profound, overwhelming fullness. I had never felt anything like it.
He was fully seated inside me, our bodies joined, and I could feel the frantic, heavy beat of his heart against my own.
“Mine,” he whispered, the single word a brand.
He began to move. Slow, deep, deliberate thrusts that sent waves of friction through my entire body. Each stroke was a lesson in pleasure and possession.
“I am going to fill you with my seed, Kael,” he growled, his hips picking up their rhythm. “I am going to put my son in your belly this night.”
The raw, primal words should have terrified me. Instead, they lit a fire deep in my womb. The pressurewas building again, faster this time, more intense. I was on the edge of that cliff once more.
“Korvak,” I gasped, my fingers digging into his powerful shoulders.
He leaned down, his mouth near my ear. “Come again, wife,” he commanded, his voice a raw, guttural thing. “Come on my cock.”
He drove into me with a steady, punishing rhythm, and my second orgasm hit me like a tidal wave. It was a violent, shattering release that went on and on, my inner muscles clenching and pulsing around his massive shaft, milking him.
My climax was his undoing. The feeling of my cunt, so tight and wet, convulsing around him, shattered his control. With a guttural roar that was torn from the very depths of his soul, he drove into me one last time, impossibly deep. I felt the hot, heavy pulse of his release, a flood of seed that filled me to overflowing, a final, absolute act of possession.
He collapsed on top of me, his full weight a crushing, welcome burden. His body shuddered in the aftermath, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck, his breath coming in ragged, harsh pants.
I lay there, pinned beneath him, filled by him, my body aching and humming with a pleasure so profound it felt like a rewiring of my entire being.
Chapter 16
Iwoke slowly, adrift in a sea of unfamiliar sensations. The first was warmth—a deep, profound heat that seemed to seep into my very bones, chasing away a chill I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying for my entire life. The second was a deep, pleasant ache, a soreness that wasn’t from an injury but from a profound re-education of my body’s limits. I was stretched, pleasantly bruised, and thoroughly, completely claimed.
The third sensation was the weight of his arm, heavy and possessive, draped over my waist. I was tucked against his side, my head resting on the solid muscle of his shoulder, my face just inches from his.
The morning light, pale and golden, filtered through the smoke-hole in the roof, cutting a path through the quiet air of the longhouse. It illuminated the face of the Orc man beside me, and for the first time, I saw him without the armor of his station or the haze of my own fear.
This close, I could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the network of old, silvery scars that mapped the hard planes of his face. His dark hair was a messy tumble against the furs of the pillow. His lips, which had been so demanding, so hungry on mine, were soft in repose. His breathing was a deep, steady rumble that vibrated through his chest and into my own body.
My mate. My husband.
The thought was so immense, so reality-altering, that I almost stopped breathing.This is real. He’s mine… and I’m his.I had spent my entire existence fighting to belong to no one but myself, only to find the truest sense of belonging here, in the arms of the one man I should have feared the most.
I lay there for a long time, just watching him, memorizing the landscape of his sleeping face. The fear was gone, burned away in the heat and passion of the night. In its place was a quiet, trembling awe. And a feeling I didn’t dare put a name to, but which felt dangerously like peace.
As if he could feel my gaze, his breathing shifted. His eyes opened, dark and heavy with sleep. They found mine, and there was a moment of pure,unguarded stillness. There was no posturing, no harshness. There was only the soft, drowsy look of a male waking next to his female.
A slow smile touched his lips, a gentle, private thing meant only for me. “Good morning, wife,” he rumbled, his voice a gravelly caress.
“Good morning,” I whispered back, the words feeling both momentous and completely natural.
He shifted, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me even closer until my breasts were flush against the hard wall of his chest. His morning arousal, thick and heavy, pressed against my belly. A jolt of renewed desire, mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation, shot through me. My body was still aching from its first encounter with his impossible size.
But he made no move to take me. Instead, he simply held me, his thumb stroking a slow, soothing circle on my hip. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, his tone laced with a genuine, tender concern.
