On one particularly savage thrust the left side rail splinters clean through. The mattress tilts, but Thoktar doesn’t miss a beat. He just drags me down with him, keeps me impaled, and starts fucking me into the ruined frame like a machine that will never stop.
I’m screaming nonstop now, voice cracking, tears and spit soaking the sheets. Another orgasm crashes over me, then another, until they blur together into one endless wave. Mywhole body is shaking, cunt spasming helplessly around his cock, and still he doesn’t slow.
He flips me onto my back in the wreckage, hooks my legs over his forearms, and folds me in half. The new angle lets him go deeper, impossibly deep, until I swear I feel him in my throat. The broken bed rocks beneath us, wood screaming in protest.
“Look at me,” he orders.
I force my eyes open. His face is feral, sweat-slick, tusks fully extended, eyes black with possession.
“You’re going to take my seed so deep you’ll taste it tomorrow,” he growls. “And you’re going to come again while I do it.”
He slams home one last time and I shatter, vision going black at the edges, body seizing so hard I’m afraid I’ll break in half. Pleasure so intense it’s almost pain floods every nerve. I feel him swell inside me, then the first scalding jet of orc cum painting my womb. He keeps thrusting through it, forcing rope after rope deeper, until I’m overflowing, until it’s leaking out around his cock with every stroke.
I pass out.
I don’t know how long I’m gone, seconds, minutes, but I come to with a sharp slap across my cheek. Not cruel, just enough to sting, to drag me back.
“Wake up, little doll,” he croons, voice rough with satisfaction. “I’m not finished.”
He flips me onto my stomach in the ruins of the bed, drags my hips up, and spreads my ass wide. I’m still limp, floating, when I feel the blunt, slick head of his cock, still rock-hard and dripping with us, press against my asshole.
I whimper, half terror, half desperate want.
He pushes in slow this time, relentless, letting me feel every impossible inch as he claims the last virgin part of me. The stretch burns, perfect, overwhelming. When he bottoms out,balls pressed tight against my soaked pussy, he leans over me, chest to my back, and whispers in my ear:
“Mine.”
Then he starts to move.
There’s no gentleness now. He fucks my ass like he fucked my cunt, hard, punishing, owning. The broken bedframe rocks and splinters further beneath us. I scream into the ruined mattress, fists clawing at broken wood, coming again from the sheer intensity of it. He reaches under me, finds my clit, and rubs merciless circles until I’m sobbing, until another orgasm tears through me and I feel his cock swell impossibly thicker.
He roars, hips stuttering, and I feel it, burning hot orc seed flooding my ass, so much it hurts, so much it leaks out around him in thick pulses. He grinds deep, making sure every drop stays inside, then collapses over me, pinning me to the wreckage with his full weight.
We lie there, panting, sweat-slick, cum dripping from every hole, the bed nothing but kindling beneath us.
After a long moment he rolls us to the side, still buried in my ass, and gathers me close. His voice is hoarse, almost tender.
“Sleep, little one. Tomorrow we run again.”
I’m already drifting, body wrecked, mind blissfully empty, marked inside and out by the only male who ever made me beg to be broken.
25
FORLA
Iwake to gray morning light filtering through cottage windows, wrapped in warmth and the lingering scent of our lovemaking. Thoktar sleeps beside me, his massive chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, one arm still draped protectively across my waist even in unconsciousness.
For the first time in weeks, I feel truly rested. The bed is everything Anchor promised—soft mattress, clean sheets that smell of lavender instead of fear and blood. My body aches in the most pleasant way, muscles loose and satisfied from our night of desperate passion.
But something feels different in the daylight. The cottage that seemed so welcoming last night now feels... watched. Shadows linger in corners where they shouldn't, and every creak of the settling timber sounds deliberate, purposeful.
Where is Anchor? His boots are gone from beside the door, but he left no note, no indication of when he might return. The fire has burned low, and the silence feels heavy, oppressive.
I slip from beneath Thoktar's arm, not wanting to wake him. He needs rest after everything we've endured, and something draws me toward the village below. A need to understand thisplace in daylight, to see what Penmorvah looks like when its people aren't hiding behind shuttered windows.
I dress quietly and step outside into cool morning air that tastes of salt and something else—something organic and slightly rotten, like seaweed left too long in the sun.
The village spreads below me, its crooked streets already showing signs of life. Fisher People move between buildings with that same unsettling fluid grace, but their movements seem more coordinated now, more purposeful. Like dancers following choreography I can't hear.
