My hands tremble as I touch his face, feeling the rough texture of his skin, the warmth that speaks of life when death seemed so certain just days ago. He's beautiful in ways I never expected—not pretty or soft, but beautiful like a storm is beautiful, like fire is beautiful. Dangerous and magnificent and utterly alive.
"Forla," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips. "Are you certain?"
I should be afraid. He's twice my size, could break me without trying, and everything in my past screams that trusting someone with this much power over me is madness. But looking into his eyes, I feel safer than I have in years. This is Thoktar, who watches me with reverent amazement, who listened to mydarkest stories without judgment, who makes me feel precious instead of broken.
When he asks with his eyes, I answer by pulling him closer.
The hay rustles beneath us as we claim this stolen moment, this desperate slice of paradise carved from the wreckage of our separate hells. His mouth finds mine again, and this time there's no hesitation, no careful distance. Just need and want and the terrible knowledge that dawn will tear us apart.
His kiss tastes like goodbye and forever all at once.
"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs against my lips, massive hands framing my face with impossible gentleness. "Tell me if?—"
I silence him with another kiss, pouring all my trust and desire into the contact. I've been hurt before, but never by choice, never with someone who cared about my comfort more than his own pleasure. The difference makes all the difference.
His touch is reverent, careful despite the urgency burning between us. He maps every scar with gentle fingers, erasing old pain with new pleasure that makes my breath catch and my back arch beneath him. Where cruel hands once marked me with violence, he traces patterns of worship that rewrite the story my body tells.
"Beautiful," he breathes against my throat. "So fucking beautiful."
Thoktar’s huge hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck in one possessive grip. His fingers span almost the whole circumference; one squeeze and he could snap me like kindling. Instead he uses it to yank my head back, baring my throat completely. His tusks scrape the soft skin under my jaw as he growls, low and hungry.
“Tonight you’re mine, little human. Every inch. Every hole. Every scream. You understand?”
I whimper, nodding frantically, already dripping down my thighs.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours. All of me. Please?—”
The plea rips out of me before I can stop it. The sound seems to snap the last thread of his restraint.
He shoves me down into the hay, rough and sudden. My back hits the prickly bed and the air leaves my lungs in a rush. Before I can draw breath again he’s on me, knees forcing my thighs apart, one massive forearm pinning both my wrists above my head. The other hand tears at my dress like it personally offended him. Fabric rips; buttons ping off the barn walls. Cool night air kisses my bare breasts and I arch, offering them up without shame.
Thoktar snarls approval and descends.
His mouth is fire and teeth and worship. He sucks one nipple deep, tusks framing the aching peak, tongue lashing until I sob. Then he switches to the other, biting just hard enough to make me jerk against his hold. Every tug shoots lightning straight to my clit.
“These tits,” he growls against my skin, “were made for my mouth. Made to be marked.”
He proves it. By the time he lifts his head my breasts are covered in red bite marks and bruises shaped like his tusks, glistening with his spit. I’m writhing, thighs slick, begging without words.
He releases my wrists only long enough to flip me onto my stomach like I weigh nothing. Hay scratches my cheek; his hand fists in my hair and wrenches my head back.
“Ass up.”
Two words, gravel and command. I scramble to obey, knees spreading in the straw, back bowed, presenting myself like abitch in heat. I feel the cool air on my soaked folds and moan at how exposed I am.
Thoktar’s palm lands on my ass with a crack that echoes through the barn. Pain blooms hot and perfect.
“Count.”
Another slap, harder.
“One—thank you?—”
By five my voice is broken, tears streaking my face, pussy clenching on nothing. By ten I’m pushing back for every strike, shameless, dripping down my thighs.
He spreads my cheeks with rough thumbs and spits. The warm wetness lands directly on my asshole and I jolt, a shocked cry tearing from my throat.
