"Mmm, you know, I could get used to this. All this pawing and pulling . . . it’s almost like you want to stay in tonight."
"Why is it like a shelf?!" she yelped, her nails scrabbling against the wet fabric for purchase. All movement ceased once the end table of his ass was reached, progress halting as the shorts held fast.
"Bluebell, don’t pretend you don’t love butterin’ this big ol’ biscuit. You think I’d be able to keep your side of the bed warm with a flat ass? This space heater does all the heavy lifting."
"This space heater is going to get a slap once these shorts are off."
Lurielle looked up to see a lascivious smile stretching his broad features, chocolate eyes sparkling, and drew her hand back in warning.
"You’re just threatening me with a good time now."
The shelf of his ass was no longer the only obstacle, she realized. The bulge at the front of his shorts had thickened and solidified, preventing her from being able to yank the fabric straight down, even if his big ol’ biscuit was removed from the equation.
"You’re making this extremely difficult." A rumble moved up his chest as she cupped the growing shape of him, using it as a hand-hold as she hauled herself to unsteady feet. "Keep it up and this biscuit will be getting more than a slap."
"Promises, promises, darlin’."
Despite the mud, the thick outline of his cock was clearly visible, fat and curving. The wet material had so completely molded to his shape that the flare of his head stood out in relief, and she knew the meat of his balls were tightly constricted in the snug encasement, her determination to free them and his big biscuit increasing tenfold. The rumble opened up to a groan as she squeezed him, grazing her nails over the shape of his shaft, pressed flush to his body in the snug shorts.
"I thought we were going to the fair."
Lurielle wrapped her arms around his waist and plunged her hand into the soaked waistband of the shorts, forcing into the tight space, her hand sliding over the swell of his ass until the wet fabric released its hold on his skin with a squelch.
"We need to get you clean," she said sternly, "and then this big ol’ biscuit is getting buttered. Andthenyou’re going to buy me fried cheeseanda candy apple."
She would never tire of the heft of his hair in her hands as she worked the shampoo into a thick lather, nor would she ever be completely used to the sensation of his lips moving over every inch of her skin, every imperfect bump and ripple she flattened with shapewear during the workweek, imperfections he didn’t even seem to notice.Not an imperfection, she reminded herself as his nose moved over the well of her stomach.Perfect doesn’t exist.
She still sweated her ass off at dance aerobics every Monday, still met the girls for happy hour on Thursdays, and now on Tuesdays, she saw a therapist — a sphinx with severe bangs and a laugh like a goose, who had put her instantly at ease from her first appointment. There wasn’t anything wrong with her body because it washerbody — strong enough to carry her through each day, just as worthy as love as those smaller, slimmer versions belonging to her elvish peers. There was nothing wrong withher, only the mixed messages she had received growing up — that her body was too much, that she took up too much space in her own life, which somehow made her less. Too much, and made smaller as a consequence.
Lurielle didn’t know if she would ever be able to look in the mirror and love the individual pieces and parts staring back at her, but she was trying to change her own thinking, to quiet the voices of her mother and her ex in her head, tostopseeing herself as a collection of parts. Tev’s voice was nearly gone, replaced with her favorite therapy exercise — thinking of the voice of someone who loved her in its place and what they might say. The original assignment was to replace the voice with her own, to compliment herself as she would someone she loved, but despite the fact that she had no problem speaking up for herself in her daily life, she’d been left silent in the mirror the first time she’d tried it, eyes filling with tears.
She wasn’t surehowto love herself, she’d admitted haltingly in her next appointment, and so the exercise was modified. Every time Tev’s haughty condescension questioned the groceries she placed in her cart or the clothes she wore, it was replaced with a syrupy drawl. Khash’s appreciation for her curves and intelligence and Lurielle-ness slowly obliterating the internal insults she’d been making herself live with for years. She acknowledged it wasn’tquitewhat she needed to accomplish, but she’d be lying if she tried to pretend that having a partner who loved every inch of her didn’t help the way she saw herself in the mirror.
"Bluebell, if my hair gets any cleaner, it’s gonna whistle you a song."
She stamped her foot in the tub, hand swiping playfully in his direction, palm sliding down a thick swathe of his black hair, squeaking in cleanliness, all traces of mud gone.
"I’m trying to have deep thoughts!"
Lurielle squealed when he surged unexpectedly to his feet, more sure-footed in the tub than she would be, scooping her up and out, striding to the bedroom, heedless of the water they tracked as he bounced her to the center of the bed.
"You’re not supposed to be having ‘deep thoughts,’ and you know it. Changing the terms of the agreement, that’s what you’re doing. Is this biscuit supposed to butter itself now?"
Her breath caught as he tented himself over her, braced on his hands, giving her his very best glower. Full lips curled in an approximation of a snarl around his tusks, thick eyebrows drawing together, but his eyes sparkled with mischief, and she couldn’t help laughing. He was the most handsome orc in the world, and she had him all to herself. Pushing herself up to her elbows, she caught his lips, her heart thrumming when he hummed in satisfaction, his broad tongue licking into her mouth.
He’d settled himself on his knees between her legs, the heft of his cock laying against her cleft. Drawing back his hips, he slid the thick rod of his shaft against her slick folds, his back arching slightly as he did so with a groan. Back and forth, back and forth, he slid through the lips of her sex. the fat head of his cock bumping into her clit repeatedly. Pushing down gently on the top of his shaft with the pad of his thumb caused his foreskin to move and retract, providing a friction similar to what it felt like when he was inside of her, and he groaned again. His other hand cupped first one breast and then the other, rolling them, kneading them, pinching her nipples into hard buds, the slow drag of his cock against her never ceasing. She was sopping from the treatment, but it wasn't enough, wasn'tnearlyenough. She needed to feel him inside of her, filing her and stretching her; wanted to feel that same drag of his foreskin against her inner walls, wanted his sensitive cockhead to be squeezed by the tightness of her channel and the oxygen knocked from her lungs on every eye-watering pump into her, so big her belly would bulge with the shape of him . . . but he seemed perfectly content in the rhythm he'd established, much to her consternation.
"I'm not going to pretend this isn't enjoyable, but I'm not sure if this is foreplay or if you're trying to buy fruit."
"Now darlin', you know what a connoisseur I am of the sweetest melons in the patch. You need to tap and squeeze, become intimately familiar with its weight and all of its sensitivities. It takes a certain amount of finesse," his sticky voice clinging to the word, extending it like a hiss, huge hand squeezing the globe of her breast, "and this is the sweetest pair I've ever come across. You can't blame a man for lingering over a meal so fine."
"He's gonna linger so long, he misses the main course."
He huffed, pinching her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. "Now I promise you, there is no danger of that. You've worked up my full appetite, and a itty-bitty bowl of fruit just isn't gonna cut it." The dome-like head of his cock pushed into her then, as if to underscore his hunger. Pushed in and immediately pulled out, sliding across her clit once more. Lurielle knew the extent of his appetite for pleasure, both carnal and other worldly luxuries, and knew he wasn't lying. He was an orc of indulgence and excess, and although she hardly qualified as a bowl of fruit, itty-bitty or otherwise, she knew his appetite would not be satisfied until his fat, full balls had been drained, either in her or on her, and she was eager for his appetite to be satiated.
"Is this what you want, Bluebell?" He pushed his head into her again, his eyes closing as he groaned. "You want this big ol’ dragon to go dragging through your garden?"
She nearly choked on her laughter, head dropping as he pressed into her once more, withdrawing on a slow drag. "This dragon is going to grow wings and fly away if you keepteasinghim with all these metaphors. He knows what he wants, let him have it." Her breath left her in a whoosh when he covered her completely, head pushing into place again."
