“Um, y-yes. I’m sorry, Your M-Majesty,” my embarrassment making me stutter. “I was just curious.”
“Did you like it?” he asks quietly.
I feel some heat creep up my neck. A blunt question, and the answer is even more embarrassing than admitting I tasted him.
“Yes,” I admit shyly.
He growls and rolls over in bed. I can’t tell if he’s upset or not. He’s quiet long enough for me to believe he isn’t going to respond, so I start getting comfortable. As comfortable as I can be with orc seed on my gown, the scent still teasing me every time I take a breath.
“Tomorrow,” he growls, his voice rougher than before. “I’m putting you over my knee.”
“For tasting you?” I whisper, swallowing hard, feeling a ripple in my core.
“Yes,” he confirms. “And after I’m done punishing you, little human girl? Since you tasted me, I’m going to find out exactly howyoutaste.”
I stare at the ceiling with wide eyes. I’m getting another spanking. I don’t know if it’ll be painful like the first one or more playful like the second time I was over his knee. But he’s going to do more than spank me this time. More than touch me, too.
My core clenches and unclenches with anticipation.
I’m not sure how I’ll taste to an orc who thinks a human will sour his bed.
CHAPTER 17
Lix’tuk
Moiraroot is supposed to give me more clarity, not make me weaker.
So weak that I didn’t push Clover’s hand away when she started touching me. I didn’t even keep the fur barrier between us. Once I felt her hand, I wanted more. I gave in like a weak old fool. I let a fuckinghumandefile me. Then she tasted my seed.
I should have known she wouldn’t be able to resist once it was all over her. I’ve heard all the stories. Orc essence is pleasing to humans. They could even live off it, if that was all they were fed. Plenty of humans were required to do that after The Great War. We took humans for our survival, but some orcs are even more cruel than I am.
Am I really cruel, or just an old orc who has lost my touch? Lost my grip on the truths I’ve built my life around. It’s frustrating. Annoying. Just like the girl who is wandering around my fortress, shining little rays of sunshine everywhere with her fucking sweet smile.
Now I’m sitting on my throne. Her scent is no longer on my fingers, and apparently, I miss it, because I keep bringing them close to my face. Every time I don’t smell her, I get a little more frustrated, a little more annoyed.
The worst part is that this is the one day I’m busy. The one day I have to meet with someone personally, instead of just on video. That’s rare for me. The only reason I agreed to meet with Lord Bruz in person is because his ancestors are ghosts in this fortress. I used to be rather close with the family.
If I wasn’t waiting on Lord Bruz to arrive, I might not be able to wait until tonight to put Clover over my knee. Spank her for tasting my seed while she squirms against my cock. Then… fuck. I said I was going totasteher. I’m trying to blame it on the moiraroot and the grog, but deep down, I know there’s more to it. Iwantto taste her.
“What the fuck is happening to me?” I grumble, pulling my fingers away from my face again.
I don’t get to dwell on it because I get a notification that Lord Bruz’s ship is approaching. The same notification I got the night Clover arrived as my gift. Maybe I should have shut my fucking doors and refused the gift. I barely believe in the Twelve Gods anymore. I’m not sure why I always go out of my way to avoidslightingthem.
I’m not as close with the current Lord Bruz as I was with those who held the title before him. Mainly because I don’t spend much time interacting with the current nobility. I’m weary from watching orcs die. At least during The Great War, most of the deaths were honorable. These days, time is the only real enemy we have.
My armor is more formal today. For show, instead of battle. The kind I wear when I get visitors during daylight hours, instead of right before bed. Most orcs don’t wear armor anymore. Why would they? It doesn’t protect them against work stress or an overbearing boss. I just never learned how to truly take mine off.
The doors open and Lord Bruz walks in. He’s a few shades darker than me. My family is from the Highlands of Uzrirgard and his is from the Fertile Valley. Everything is a little greener there, even the orcs. His attire is formal enough for me to know he doesn’t wear it often. He got dressed up to see his king.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Bruz growls, lowering his head in a show of respect. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I wouldn’t have insisted, unless I felt it was urgent.”
“So you said,” I reply, leaning forward. “And what is so urgent, Lord Bruz? Something that required you to come all the way to Zrogmul to say it in person.”
He looks down and takes a deep breath like he’s choosing his words carefully. I’m used to seeing this when I have an orc in front of me. It’s always easier for them to speak when my face is on a screen, barely paying attention to them. Now, he has the full weight of my attention.
“It’s the Lords and Ladies, Your Majesty,” he says hesitantly. “They’re getting restless. More restless than usual.”
“I speak to them all regularly,” I snarl. “They don’t seem restless to me. They’ve got jobs to do, and they do them. What could make them restless?”
