Her Rugged Orcs

19. Eira

19

EIRA

A deep growl echoes through the ruins, and I turn my head to see Dren, water dripping from his dark hair. His eyes lock onto mine, and something dangerous flashes across his face.

My heart pounds as he approaches. He says nothing, but his presence fills the space between us all. His hand reaches out, touching my shoulder from behind. A shudder runs through me at the contact.

The realization hits me like lightning - I want them. All of them. Right now. The raw desire coursing through my veins is overwhelming and unfamiliar. The thought of being with all three of them should terrify me, but instead, it fills me with a wild sort of power.

"I won't choose," I declare, my voice steady despite the thunder of my heart.

"This isn't a game, Eira," Murok warns, but his eyes betray his hunger.

I lift my chin. "No, it's not. For once, I'm making my own choice."

"We don't share," Grash growls, his fingers tightening on my waist.

I laugh, sharp and clear. "You don't get to decide that." I turn my head to meet Dren's intense gaze. "None of you do."

"This is dangerous," Dren murmurs, his first words since entering, but his hand doesn't leave my shoulder.

"I've lived in danger my whole life." I step back from Grash's grip and Dren’s touch, facing all three of them. "I'm done being owned." My chin lifts. "If you want me, it's on my terms."

Murok leans forward, his blue eyes glinting. "And what are your terms?"

"All or nothing," I say, watching their faces. "I won't be a prize to fight over."

The air grows thick with tension as they exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. For once, I'm not the one being controlled – I'm the one in control.

"You think you can handle three orcs?" Murok asks, his tone challenging.

I smile, feeling the power coursing through me. "I think you're the ones who need to worry about handling me."

My heart hammers as I turn to Dren first. His eyes widen the faintest fraction. I step forward, my fingers brushing his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his tunic. His breath hitches, a rare sound from the quiet orc.

"On your back," I command softly.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his gaze searching mine. Then, without a word, he lowers himself to the stone floor, his dark hair splaying out around him. I remove my silk dress, letting it pool to the floor, and then I kneel over him. My hands brace against his chest. His eyes never leave mine, intense and unblinking, and I feel the tension in his body, coiled but restrained.

I tug at the ties of his pants, my fingers trembling slightly despite my determination. His cock springs free, thick and heavy, already hard for me. I let out a shaky breath, my own arousal evident between my thighs. I adjust myself over him, guiding him to my entrance, and sink down slowly, inch by inch. The stretch burns in the best way, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan.

Dren’s hands twitch at his sides, but he doesn’t touch me, letting me take control. I begin to move, rocking my hips, my fingers digging into his chest for balance. His breath comes faster now, his eyes darkening with desire. I lean forward, my hair brushing his face.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, but he doesn’t try to take over. I set the pace, slow and deliberate, drawing out every sensation. My pleasure builds with each thrust, my body tightening around him. When I finally come, my back arches, my head thrown back, and I cry out, the sound echoing through the ruins. Dren’s hips jerk upward as he spills inside me, his hands finally gripping my thighs, holding me in place.

I collapse against his chest, my breathing ragged, and feel his lips brush the top of my head.

I push myself up, my legs still trembling, and move toward Murok. He’s leaning against a crumbling pillar, watching me with a smirk. "Impressive," he says, his tone light but his eyes dark with hunger.

"Your turn," I say, my voice still shaky but defiant.

He chuckles, pushing off the pillar and lowering himself to the ground. "As you wish."

Murok is different from Dren—more vocal, more teasing. His cock is just as thick, and as I sink onto him, he lets out a groan. "Damn, Eira," he mutters, his hands immediately finding my hips.

I set the pace again, moving faster this time, my body still sensitive from my first release. Murok’s hands guide me, his fingers digging into my skin, but he doesn’t try to take over. He watches me with that same smirk, his eyes never leaving mine. "You’re in control," he says, his voice thick with desire.

My orgasm builds quickly, and when it hits, I cry out again, my nails scraping his chest. He follows me over the edge, his hips bucking upward, his groan echoing through the ruins.

By the time I turn to Grash, I’m wet and trembling, my body humming with pleasure. He’s already on the ground, his eyes burning into me. "Come here," he growls, his voice rough.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling a flicker of fear at the raw desire in his gaze. But I steel myself and move toward him, straddling his hips. Grash’s cock is the thickest of the three, and I take my time sinking onto him, my body stretched to its limit. His hands grip my waist, but he doesn’t force me, letting me set the pace.

I move slowly at first, my body adjusting to his size, but Grash’s patience only lasts so long. "Faster," he growls, his hands guiding my hips.

I oblige, my pleasure building with each thrust. Grash’s hands move to my breasts, pinching my nipples, and I let out a moan, my head falling back. My orgasm soon crashes over me, and I scream, my body clenching around him. Grash follows seconds later, his hands tightening on my hips as he spills inside of me.

I collapse against his chest, my body spent and trembling. Grash wraps his arms around me, his breath hot against my ear. "Mine," he growls, the word possessive and final.

His massive chest rises and falls beneath me, his eyes heavy-lidded but still watching me with that possessive intensity. I feel raw, exposed, but also... powerful. For the very first time, I wasn’t the one being used. I was the one in control. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

"Stay with me," I say. I glance at Murok, who’s leaning against the pillar, and then at Dren, who’s standing in the shadows. "All of you. Just... lay with me."

Grash’s hands tighten on my hips, but he doesn’t argue. Murok moves first, lowering himself to the ground beside us. Dren hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering to mine, before he silently joins us, his body warm and solid against my back.

I shift off Grash, settling between them, my body surrounded by theirs. Grash’s arm drapes over my waist, pulling me closer to his chest, while Dren’s hand rests lightly on my hip. Murok stretches near my feet, his fingers gently brushing my leg.

For a moment, I just breathe, the weight of their bodies pressing into me from all sides. It’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way. I feel... safe. And yet, there’s a part of me that’s still calculating, still wary. I used them, took what I wanted, and they let me. But why?