“I’m appreciating.”
He grins, a flash of tusk and mischief.
Then his hand slides down my thigh, lifting it over his hip. His fingers find the wet heat between my legs, sliding through my slick folds. I gasp.
“You’re drenched,” he growls, voice darker now.
“For you,” I breathe.
He leans down and licks my neck, tracing the edge of my collarbone. I shiver beneath him. He pushes two thick fingers inside me—slow, steady. I arch into him, mouth parting on a moan.
“Gods, Kursk?—”
“You open for me so sweet,” he murmurs. “Like you were made for my cock.”
His words make me throb.
He curls his fingers, hitting that spot that makes my hips lift off the bed. He kisses me again, tongue stroking deep into my mouth, mimicking what his fingers are doing below.
I clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging down the thick slabs of muscle there. He groans and bites my lip, then moves down my body, kissing his way past my ribs, my navel, until he’s between my thighs.
“You taste like the first rain after drought,” he whispers, then lowers his mouth to my pussy.
The first lick nearly ends me.
His tongue is broad, hot, relentless. He flicks my clit, then sucks it between his lips, moaning low in his throat like he’s feasting.
I buck beneath him, lost in sensation.
His tusks graze my thighs, never hurting—just reminding me who’s there. What he is.
My orc.
“Kursk—please—I need?—”
He lifts his head, eyes glowing. “Say it.”
“Fuck me,” I pant. “I want your cock. Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
He positions himself at my entrance and presses in.
My pussy stretches around him, the burn sharp, exquisite. He pushes slow, letting me feel every inch of him. It’s too much—and yet, not enough.
“You’re so tight,” he growls. “You grip me like a fist.”
“You’re so fucking big,” I gasp, clinging to him. “Don’t stop—please—just keep?—”
He thrusts.
Hard. Deep.
And I break.
My orgasm slams into me, wild and hot. I cry out, shaking, as he keeps fucking me through it.
He doesn’t stop.
