So before she could think better of it, her shaky hands clutched for her wet shift. Yanking it up, and off over her head, and then tossing it aside. Leaving herself fully exposed, ready and waiting, for this orc’s watching, judging eyes.
And oh, gods, he was watching. His intent, glittering gaze sweeping up, and down, and up again. Catching on the halo of her curly black hair, and then dropping to her full breasts, the ample curves of her belly and hips, the dark patch of hair at her groin. And then back up to her breasts again, lingering on her dark nipples, on how they were jutting out straight toward him…
Geva’s heart was hammering in her chest, but she bit her lip and kept fighting through it, holding herself still, her head high. Waiting, waiting, as Rathgarr’s throat bobbed, his black tongue brushing against his parted lips. As his big clawed hand surreptitiously slid over, toward… toward where there was a highly visible bulge, swelling beneath his tight-looking trousers.
Wait.Wait. As if… as if hewantedthis?
The sudden awareness of it — the certainty of it — felt almost dizzying, enough that Geva had to briefly close her eyes, gulp down deep breaths of the humid air. No. No. This was surely just about the job. About his scent. Right?
“So?” she made herself say, her voice far too thick. “How… how do we do this?”
Rathgarr’s eyes snapped back up to her face, and then quickly away again, fixing on something behind her. While his hand rubbed at his mouth, his claws out, his shoulders sagging.
“You are sure,” he abruptly said. “You truly wish to do this? With my seed?”
Oh. He was… asking? He was stillasking, even after all this, after she’d gone and fallen into the damned bath. And suddenly, somehow, that was the most important thing, the only thing —
“Yes,” Geva replied, on a wavering exhale. “I’m sure.”
Rathgarr nodded, his hand still rubbing at his mouth, his eyes still fixed intently beyond her. “Ach, then,” he said stiffly, as he lurched sideways, and grasped an empty ewer from the nearby washstand. “Then mayhap — mayhap I could spill my seed into this, for your use.”
Into this, for your use. Geva fought back the sudden, strangest urge to laugh, because gods, the vision of that was so ludicrous, so absurd, so…scandalous. He would empty himself into that, while she watched? And then he would give it to her… and she would pour it out over herself, whilehewatched. She would rub it into her skin, paint herself with it, while he just stood there, and…
“That’s — ridiculous,” she replied, her voice still not her own. “There must be… an easier way.”
An easier way. Gods, what was she even saying, because the easy way earlier today had been him just pumping out straight into her mouth. And yes, yes, he’d followed that, his throat again bobbing, his hand setting the ewer back down with a too-loudthunk.
“Ach,” he said, his voice low. “Then mayhap… you keep standing thus in this bath. Whilst I…”
He didn’t finish, but his meaning seemed clear enough, at least. So Geva nodded, and watched, and waited, as Rathgarr’s big hands swung his cloak backwards, out of the way over his shoulders, and then dropped to his belt. Unbuckling it in deft, familiar movements, and then — aided by the weight of the sword still at his side — dropping the loose trousers down to his hips.
And showing — damn. That. That huge, veined heft at his groin, bobbing out long and hungry toward Geva’s bared body, and already dripping with thick succulent white.
She stared at it for a stunned, stuttering instant, while a soft, husky moan whispered from her throat. Because oh,oh, his hand was already moving to touch it, his big fingers circling its plump base with cool, practiced ease. And then he began slowly sliding up and down, easing that slick head out from beneath its grey hood, its deep slit oozing out even more of that pearly white sweetness…
“You are yet… sure, woman,” his hoarse voice said, from somewhere very far away. “You wish to scent of me.”
Asking, again. And as unthinkable as it was — as indefensible as it was — Geva felt herself fervently nodding, and biting her lip. Yes. Yes, she wanted this. Wanted to scent of him. Wanted to watch him stroking himself like that. Wanted to see where this went, to again find that place that had so briefly felt so good, soright, between them. The place — had it only been earlier that day? — where he’d been so focused, so hungry, his eyes sparkling with such wicked, wild pride…
“Good,” he murmured, as his hand kept sliding, so easy, so smooth, pumping out an even thicker bead of white. “If you wish it done faster, then” — he cleared his throat — “mayhap you shall show off those plump teats for me, ach, poppet?”
What? Geva stared at him, momentarily snapped from the heat, from the rising shameful longing — but Rathgarr just raised a taunting brow at her, and then trailed his eyes downwards. Purposefully this time, lingering with undeniable appreciation on her full breasts, on her brazenly peaked nipples. His hand on his leaking cock sliding even faster as he looked, and oh, Geva wasnotconsidering this, not raising a shaky finger to brush against one of those rigid, straining peaks…
But oh, she was, shehad. And Rathgarr’s breath audibly caught, his hooded eyes fixed to the sight — and somehow, she did it again. Brushing her fingers against it, feeling her own breath catch at the sensation of it, at the way his watching eyes fluttered. And now her other hand was sliding up, too, and carefully stroking around the full, fleshy weight of the other side. Perhaps even lifting it up for him, wanting him to look…
And hell, yes, he was looking. His eyes focused, glimmering, as he watched her hands gaining more purpose, fondling, clutching, caressing. His own hand stroking even faster, smoother, hungrier — until that steadily thickening bead of white finally burst, and fell. Now dangling from his slit in a glossy, lengthening string, swinging back and forth as he stroked.
It was quite possibly the most enthralling sight Geva had ever seen in herlife, and she heard another helpless moan escaping her parted lips — and then fraying as he stepped closer. His strong thighs straddling wide over the basin, his eyes still fixed to her fervently caressing hands. As his own hand kept pumping, that dangling swinging string now almost reaching the steaming water beneath them…
“Ready yourself,” he hissed, hot and rumbling in his throat. “Present them to me.”
Geva couldn’t even pretend not to know what he meant, and she moaned again as she nodded, cupping her breasts with both hands, holding them out for his viewing, for his approval, for hisuse. For the way he tilted his head back, his breath hitching into a hard, husky growl —
And then his hips bucked, and that strength in his hand…fired. Spraying out stream after stream of thick fragrant white, catching and spattering not only across Geva’s bared, proffered breasts, but also across her collarbones, her shoulders, her belly. It felt strange and sticky and warm against her skin, and oh, the sight of it still jetting from him, spewing out of that deep slit, was doing powerful, impossible things in her groin. Twisting, tightening, drawing his hooded eyes…
“Address that,” he breathed, almost inaudible, as the spurting from his heft gradually slowed, spattering with far weaker intensity against her thighs and knees. “Whilst rubbing in my good seed. This shall… strengthen our scent. Deepen it.”
The words sounded laboured, his nostrils flaring, his tongue sweeping over his lips. And Geva was nodding, quick and furtive, sliding down her sticky hand toward where she felt so swollen, so desperately hungry, so —
