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“Are we almost there?”

Maardok nodded. “I would guess less than six miles. There is a grove of alder and hazel near enough to the stones on this side. We will push to reach it tomorrow, then rest until midnight, when we will cross through. After that, we can take our time reaching my village.”

My son launched into an excited monologue about what he would see in Battleborn Village, but I caught Maardok watching me rub the tight skin over the top of my belly.

I wondered if he was thinking about my arousal. I wondered if he’d been aroused at all, remembering what we’d shared…

Later that evening, I got my answer.

Ewan had fallen asleep sitting upright, and Maardok had chuckled as he bent double to carry the lad into our makeshift tent and tuck him in. I wasn’t yet tired, but I decided I should probably climb in as well to begin to warm the blankets, if nothing else.

But once there, I found myself tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable without Maardok at my back to pillow me, and still frustrated with the arousal humming through my veins.

At long last he deemed the horse and the camp safe enough, so he crawled in to stretch out between us. I immediately backed myself against him, sliding my arse up and down until he found a comfortable⁠—

Oh.

From the way Maardok groaned quietly as the cleft of my arse bracketed his thick erection, he was far from comfortable.

“Cataline,” he murmured softly, clamping one hand on my hip to hold me still as his other bicep slid beneath my head to support me, “if ye keep moving like that, ye’re going to give me inappropriate ideas.”

I felt my lips curl in the darkness. “Inappropriate? Or mayhap ‘tis exactly the idea I want you to receive.”

This time he groaned and slid his hand down the outside of my thigh, beneath the blankets. I allowed my legs to part, pushing one and over his larger one.

“I’ve smelled ye all day, dkaar.” His whisper was the merest rasp, as his hand rose to cup my breast through all of the layers of my clothing.

“I thought ‘twould be easy to keep from touching ye until we reached my village, but I keep thinking of yer taste…”

I was nearly breathless with need, the way he fondled my tight, full breast—first one, then the other—but I still managed to gasp, “You cannot taste me, not here and now.”

When he hummed in a sort of sad agreement, I began to scramble for my skirts, wriggling awkwardly as I pulled them up. He couldn’t taste me, but I could feel him.

When my skirts were lifted above my waist and my bare arse pressed against the front of his kilt and the huge cock I could feel beneath it, he groaned in surrender.

“Hush,” I told him, knowing Ewan slept at his back. “We will have to be very careful.”

By this time, I’d managed to reach around and get my hand under his kilt, lifting it until I was able to wrap my fingers halfway around his thick, ridged member, and knew he was as breathless as I was.

As I stroked him, I remembered how wonderful this part was.

Orc cocks had the ability to produce an orgasm as soon as they were fully seated inside their partner. Maardok had explained it to me as just a part of how they ensured their females’ cunnies were fully prepared to accept their cocks. I was beyond ready.

His cock was hot and heavy in my grip, the ridges thick beneath my fingers as I stroked him. I could feel the pulse of his heartbeat through the hard length, the way his breath hitched when my thumb brushed over the sensitive tip. He was already leaking, and the spicy scent of his seed evoked memories I’d cherished for months. My cunny clenched in response, empty and aching, my milk-heavy breasts throbbing with every ragged inhale.

I didn’t need to see his face to know he was watching me. The way his fingers dug into my hip, the way his thighs tensed behind mine—he was just as desperate, just as starved.

Without a word, I arched my back, lifting my leg just enough to give him access. With my skirts up around my waist, I reached between my thighs, guiding the broad head of his cock to my entrance. The first press of him against my swollen folds made me bite my lip to stifle a whimper.

Yes.

Maardok’s hand slid from my hip to my thigh, his callused palm rough against my skin as he helped angle me. Then—slowly, so slowly—he began to nudge into me.

The first ridge stretched me open with a burning, delicious pressure I’d almost forgotten. I gasped, my nails digging into the blankets beneath me as my body fought to adjust. It had been months since I’d taken him, and I’d forgotten how much he was—how thick, how long.

The second ridge followed, forcing me wider, my inner walls fluttering around the intrusion. A shudder ran through me, my breath coming in sharp little pants.

Maardok groaned, the sound vibrating against my shoulder. His free hand slid up my body, palming my breast through the layers of fabric, his thumb brushing over my taut nipple. A few drops of milk dampened the wool, and his grip tightened.