Because I’d never, not in my entire life—even lying in bed at night, using my fingers—imagined a climax like that. I was gasping, writhing…and he’d done naught more than kiss me.
With a gasp, I pulled away from him, knocking my head against the tree as I did. I stared up at him, wide-eyed and confused, pleasure still coursing through my limbs, causing little white-hot twitches and jolts, which in turn sent my core throbbing again.
Vrogul’s eyes were green.
Completely.
His eyes were green, and he seemed…dazed.
As I watched—barely coherent myself—his tongue flicked against his tusk, then across his lower lip as if he were trying to center himself. I watched him blink, watched him realize where he was and what he was doing…and I dared him to say something about me begging.
Instead, his lips curled into a slow smile. Not satisfied, not gloating, just…gentle. Sweet. He slowly lowered his leg away from my core, allowing me to rest my weight on my heels, then bent to brush a soft kiss across my lips.
Until today, after that disastrous first kiss on the beach while we fought for our lives, I would have said that an orcs’ tusks would make kissing awkward. But when Vrogul kissed me…when I kissed him…we fit perfectly.
“Thank ye,” he whispered, and my mind shut down.
He was thankingme?
Then he was pulling away, my hands were falling from his hair, and he was stepping back. My palms fell to the rough bark of the tree to hold myself upright.
Vrogul stooped to pick up both swords, then straightened and held my father’s out to me. As if naught had happened. As if he wanted to continue sparring.
As if his world hadn’t been completely altered by bringing his enemy pleasure.
I was never going to be the same, was I?
