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The hall detonates. Stomping feet, and the war horn/electric guitar thing, and hundreds of Orcs chanting, “BLOOD AND GOLD! BLOOD AND GOLD! BLOOD AND GOLD!”
Whoa.
Enough of the sex haze clears for me to wonder, Seriously, what have I gotten myself into?
Chapter 11
Joining
Back before Vance showed me exactly who he was in a way I could no longer filter through rose-colored glasses, I loved to indulge in daydreams about what my wedding day would entail.
I even had a whole Pinterest board of inspo pics from the Yom and Lydia Rustanov Seasons of the Fae-themed wedding, where they and everyone in attendance dressed up like characters from the series.
None of those daydreams looked anything like this.
As Ivar’s green and scarred subjects chant, “BLOOD AND GOLD!” the Orc Emperor lifts me off his lap and turns me around to face the crowd like I’m Baby Simba.
I mean this literally.
He holds me suspended in the air like a freaking ragdoll, with his large hands under my armpits, and announces, “Presenting Emperor Ivar’s Bride!”
And, of course… of course, the knot holding my towel together over my breasts chooses that moment to give up on life. The parchment passport tumbles onto the stone floor beneath my dangling feet, and the overburdened piece of terry cloth lands on top of it with a wet plop. That’s how much slick it’s soaked up.
And yes, folks, I’ve still got more.
A collective “ooh!” goes up at the sight of me hanging there with slick continuously running down my thighs.
As mortified as I want to be at the moment, all sense of shame is overpowered by the intense need pumping like a heartbeat between my legs.
I twist my head to glare down at the Orc Emperor over my shoulder. “You promised!” Beyond irritated, I squirm in his hands. “Stop playing around and put it in.”
“No being talks to Emperor in this manner!” Grak steps forward with a hand on the hilt of his ridiculously large double-sided battle axe. The kind that’s forever unexpectedly cleaving the head off a recently introduced character with a particularly poignant backstory and a super-specific hope regarding a family member who will become an important ally later in the Seasons of the Fae saga.
I shrink back as best I can in Ivar’s hold. I don’t want to be one of those Clara Quinn redshirts before I can escape back to the Lower Realm.
“At ease, Grak!” Ivar’s voice booms out from above my head. “Fault lies with Emperor for being so prideful and showing off Little Bride. Emperor has pushed Little Bride too far.”
His voice rumbles with amusement. “Of course Little Bride is having trouble maintaining proper respect. Come, Little Bride. Emperor will make amends.…”
Sitting back down on his throne, Ivar pulls me back to his massive lap and pins me to his upper chest with one hand pressed above my naked breast.
Technically, I’m not sitting in his lap but raised above it, with my feet dangling on either side of his tree-trunk thighs.
I sense rather than feel him using his other hand to pull himself out. “Here is the relief I promised you.”
And then, I’m being lowered down on his cock, which is so large, I can feel the detail of the slit on its tip as it breaches my inner walls.
The thing is, I was warned. That ridge underneath his loincloth wasn’t tiny, and I just found out the extremely shocking way that the Orc species evolved to send females into DEFCON 1 levels of horny so that nobody got ripped apart.
But nothing… nothing could have prepared me for his size. Even with the copious amounts of organic lube issuing from between my thighs, it feels like I’m being stretched beyond my physical limit.
Then I make the mistake of looking down. I nearly pass out at the sight of his dark green staff invading my glistening brown folds.
More murmurs go up from the crowd.
“Emperor’s Bride has such small cunt!”
“Are all Human Females hairless down there?”
