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“No buts.” He cuts me off, cupping the back of my head and rubbing the curves of his tusks against my cheeks.

They’re not razor-sharp, as it turns out, but surprisingly smooth, as if they receive a daily buff and polish.

The rubbing action calms me for some reason, and I wonder if maybe this is a soothing gesture in Orc culture.

“I must ensure you are ready to take me.” His voice rumbles into my ear as my heartbeat slows. “I will breach you with my fingers first. If you can accommodate at least two, we will move on to the official marriage ceremony.”

It no longer feels like I’m peeing myself, but the slick continues to pump out of me in alarming bursts, accompanied by the intense cramping of Grade A, unadulterated desire. I’m pretty sure that I could take his entire hand at this point.

“One finger,” the Emperor warns, his hand slipping underneath the towel.

My eyes widen when he pushes it inside. Just one of his fingers is longer and thicker than Vance’s entire length.

“Tell me if I am hurting you,” he murmurs, holding my eyes as the digit works inside of me, tentative and careful. Too tentative and careful.

I shake my head and push down on his finger. “More… give me more!”

Another offended gasp goes up from the Orcs, who can’t seem to decide if they’re going for WWE or Bridgerton energy tonight.

“Emperor’s Bride is too wanton,” one of them whispers loudly.

I shrivel a little inside at the Orc’s completely accurate assessment of my behavior. I can only imagine what I look like to them, grinding all over Ivar’s hand.

But shamefully, that bit of derision isn’t enough to make me stop rocking my hips into his thick finger with plaintive whimpers.

“Yes, Little Bride is too wanton,” Ivar agrees, further shriveling my self-esteem.

But then an approving smile spreads beneath his tusks. “Ivar is fortunate Emperor, indeed. Take this reward, Little Bride.”

He inserts another finger, and oh… oh… even in this state, I feel the stretch of having two of those Vance-dick-sized digits inside of me.

My rocking hips slow, but not for long. Eventually, I adjust, and I’m back to whimpering, “More… more please. Not enough. I want your⁠—”

“Patience, Little Bride.” He rubs his tusks against my cheeks again. “You must let your body and your Emperor know that you truly want my claim by finding your release.”

My heart stutters. He wants me to come? Right now? On his hand? In front of all of these people?

“Are you aware of how beautiful you look to me right now?” His voice becomes quiet. “So wanton and ripe, I fear I will seed beneath my loincloth like a pubescent orcling.”

His impossible condition is replaced with a new question: He thinks I’m beautiful?

Suddenly, obeying his directive becomes shockingly easy.

My eyes roll back, and my face abruptly forgets how to work, mouth dropping open and voice giving out on a silent scream as the orgasm rockets through me.

I stare up at Ivar helplessly but find no sympathy in his expression, only fierce, hard satisfaction.

Grabbing onto my braids, he cranks my head back, forcing me to watch him watch me come, with his golden eyes fixed on me.

Like a scientist intent on seeing the official outcome of his experiment, the Emperor upshifts his wrist, driving his hand deeper. He curls his fingers, hitting some spot inside of me that both intensifies and drags my climax out. It rolls down my spine, into my legs, curling my toes on its exit.

The climax is so hot… better than anything I’ve ever managed with my own fingers.

And still not enough.

“Can I have it now?” I beg. “Your cock? Please?”

The intense look on Emperor Ivar’s face slowly morphs into a pleased smile. Then he calls out to the crowd, “Little Bride is now ready for official wedding ceremony!”