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I’m pretty sure I’ve hit an all-time low… until I realize what’s pooling on the stone floor between my quivering legs isn’t pee...
My nose fills with a much more intense version of the smell on my fingers after I give myself a release. And when I curl my back to look at the liquid issuing out of me, it isn’t yellow or acrid, but clear and viscous.
Arousal. It’s arousal. Or what did Clara Quinn call it in the unexpectedly spicy last book of her Seasons of the Fae series?
Slick. I blink, and my head fills with static when I see all the slick sluicing down my thighs.
Yet the Emperor’s voice easily cuts through the white roar inside my mind.
“Are you sure about that no?”
Chapter 9
Hurting
Am I sure about that no?
For real, for real?
Nope!
Everything below my waist is either clenching, shaking, or pulsing with need, violent and urgent. A helpless ache thrums through my body, demanding relief.
No more keeping my head and eyes down. I reach an arm out to him.
“Please…” I beg, unable to form the rest of the words.
Not exactly an answer to his question, but it’s enough for the Emperor.
One moment, I’m kneeling on the cold stone, and the next, he’s lifting me off the floor, as if I weigh nothing.
I dimly realize he must have stripped out of his cloak and bandolier. Other than his fur-lined bracers, his top half is completely bare now.
As big and strong as he is, he cradles me against his chest like I’m something precious he’s afraid to drop. I know that’s not true. He just met me a few moments ago. Still, I lean into what feels like a hug. His skin is furnace-hot, and for the first time since getting portaled out of that bathtub, I’m warm.
He sits back down on his throne of skulls and bones and settles me into his lap with my legs bent on either side.
His waist is so thick, it feels like I’m doing a happy baby yoga pose, my legs stretched obscenely wide. I settle my head into the crook of his neck and just rub my entire face into it, desperately needing the feel of his skin against mine.
The animal skull codpiece is gone, too. Now, there’s nothing but the suede and gauze loincloth above what feels like a strange hill.
No, not a hill.… More like a ridge—a long, extremely thick ridge. My body figures out what it is before my brain does.
I mindlessly start grinding against the hard length hidden underneath the loincloth, even as I ask, “What is happening to me?”
“You are in the throes of an Orc binding.” He settles his hands on my hips. They’re so big, the tips of his fingers meet at the base of my spine. “Orcs are… more endowed than most other Middle Realm beings. When we wish to mate, we excrete a special pheromone that allows a female of any species to prepare her body for our claim.”
So, he dosed me with horny pheromones, and this insane reaction is my body preparing itself to get railed by a gigantic Orc?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, complicated consent arguments try to pop off, along with worries about how big he is down there if Orc pheromones have evolved to make women gush arousal when Orcs want to have sex with them.
But out loud, I can only whine, “It hurts.”
“I know, Little Bride.” He brings one large hand up to rub my back and presses his mouth into the top of my braids. “I am grateful you are enduring this trial so that we can join as one in marriage.”
“But… but… I don’t want to endure.”
My pussy clenches, ravenous and desperate.
