Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Eden
His fingers dig into my thighs hard enough to bruise. I hope they do.
We're still in the yard—halfway between the shed and the cottage—and I don't care.
His mouth is on my neck and my legs are locked around his waist and the cold air hits my back but I don't feel it.
All I feel is him. The heat of his chest through his shirt.
The grip of his hands. The way he's shaking with the effort of not taking me right here in the dirt.
"Inside," I manage.
He doesn't answer. Just walks faster.
The cottage door. His shoulder hits it. It flies open.
He kicks it shut behind us and I hear the lock click—muscle memory, even now—and then we're moving again. Through the kitchen. The living room. The hall.
The bedroom.
He sets me on the edge of the mattress and steps back, breathing hard. His chest heaves. His eyes are black, pupils blown wide, and he's looking at me the way he's been trying not to look at me for days.
Then he goes still.
"Diesel?" My heart stutters. "What is it?"
I'm terrified he's going to bolt. Going to come to his senses and remember all the reasons he's listed for why this can't happen.
But his eyes don't clear. They only go darker.
"Eden." His voice is rough. Strained. "You've got to be sure about this. Because I'm not built like humans."
I let my gaze travel down his body. The massive chest. The arms that could snap me in half. The bulge straining against his jeans.
"I'm hoping not."
Heat flickers in his expression—surprise, desire, a growl building in his throat. He leans forward, hands bracing on either side of me on the mattress, his face inches from mine. I feel the heat radiating off him. See the war happening behind his eyes.
"I mean it." Each word deliberate. A warning. "Once I start, I won't be able to stop."
I know what he's telling me. That the beast he's kept caged for days is straining at the leash. That if I say yes, he's going to take me apart. That this won't be gentle or careful or human.
I don't care.
I want him to unleash what he's been holding back. I want to see the beast hidden beneath all that self-control. I want to be claimed.
I want to be his.
I hold his gaze. "I'm sure."
His expression shifts. The war ends. The beast wins.
He moves.
His shirt tears—actually tears—as he yanks it over his head. Then his hands are on me, huge and rough, and I'm on my back before I can blink. The mattress hits my spine and he's over me, around me, dark green skin and black ink and scars filling my vision.
"Days." The word comes out guttural. Barely human. "Days I've watched you. Wanted you. Kept my fucking hands to myself."
His tusks graze my jaw as his mouth finds my neck. Not gentle. Marking.
"Diesel—"
"No more." His hand fists in my hair, pulls my head back, bares my throat. "You're mine now. Say it."
"Yours."
The sound he makes—low, feral, satisfied—vibrates through my whole body.
He yanks at my flannel—his flannel—ripping it open, buttons scattering.
I gasp and he's already moving to my jeans, popping the button, dragging them down my legs.
My underwear goes with them. I don't even have time to feel exposed before he's looking at me—all of me—like a predator looks at prey. Like he wants to devour me whole.
"Fucking perfect." His voice is a growl. "Every inch of you."
Then he stops.
Just... stops. Hands braced on either side of my hips, eyes raking over me, drinking me in. Not touching.
"Diesel—"
"No." The word is gravel. "You made me wait. Days of watching you walk around in my shirt. Days of smelling you on my sheets. Days of getting hard every time you bent over or laughed or looked at me with those fucking eyes."
His hand hovers over my breast. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palm. Not touching.
"You have any idea what that was like? Wanting something this badly and not being able to have it?"
I whimper. Actually whimper. Try to arch up into his hand.
He pulls back. Keeps that maddening distance.
"Now you're going to find out."
His mouth drops to my neck, but it's not the devouring kiss I expect. It's slow. Deliberate. His lips trace a path down my throat while his hands stay planted on the mattress. Not touching anything but my neck.
"Diesel, please—"
"Please what?" His breath is hot against my collarbone. "Tell me what you want."
"Touch me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere. Anywhere. Just—"
"Say my name."
"Diesel."
"My real name."
My breath catches. The one he told me that night. The one no other human knows.
"Ravgor."
The sound he makes isn't human. A growl that starts deep in his chest and tears out of him, primal and raw. His whole body shudders.
"Again." The word is wrecked. Desperate.
"Ravgor." I give him every syllable. Watch it wreck him.
"That's what I want to hear." His mouth moves lower, between my breasts, not touching them yet. "I want to hear you moan my name—my real name. I want to watch you writhe. I want you to feel exactly what I felt—wanting something so much it fucking aches."
His lips brush the curve of my breast. So close to my nipple. Not close enough.
"This is payback, Eden. For every cold shower. Every sleepless night. Every time I had to walk away from you before I did something stupid." His tongue traces a circle around my nipple without touching it. "You're going to beg before I give you what you want."
I'm already there. Already begging. "Please. Please, Diesel, I need—"
"Need what?"
"You. I need you to touch me. I can't—I need—"
He looks up at me. Eyes black. Savage. Satisfied.
"Good girl."
His mouth closes over my nipple and I cry out, the relief and the heat hitting me all at once. His tusks drag across my skin, leaving pink lines that don't quite break the surface. Branding me. He sucks hard enough to make me scream.
"That's it." Against my skin, rough and approving. "Let me hear you."
His hand slides between my thighs. No preamble. No gentle exploration. His fingers find me slick and ready and he groans against my stomach.
"Soaked for me already." Two fingers push inside, stretching me. "This tight little pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't it?"
I can't form words. Can only arch into his hand, desperate for more.
"Answer me." His thumb finds my clit, presses hard.
"Yes—god, yes—"
"Good girl."
He works me open. Two fingers—and with hands his size, that's enough to make me gasp. Stretching, spreading, making room for what's coming. His other hand pins my hip to the mattress when I try to squirm.
"Hold still." An order. "I'm not done with you yet."
His fingers curl and hit something that makes me see white. I grab fistfuls of the sheets and scream.
"There it is." Satisfaction drips from every word. "Found it."
He does it again. And again. Until I'm shaking, until I'm begging, until I'm so close to the edge that one more stroke will send me over—
He stops.
"No." I'm past pride. Past shame. "Please, don't stop—"
"Not yet." He withdraws his fingers and I whimper at the loss. "You come on my cock or you don't come at all."
He sheds his jeans. And I see him—all of him.
Oh god.
He's massive. Thick and long and ridged along the underside, the same dark green as the rest of him. Built for an orc female. Built to ruin a human.
I should be terrified.
I spread my legs wider.
His eyes go black. "Fuck, Eden."
"Now." I reach for him. "I need you now."
He doesn't make me ask twice.
The first thrust buries him halfway. I cry out—pain and pleasure tangled together, impossible to separate. He's too big. Too much. I can't—
"Breathe." His hand wraps around my throat. Not squeezing. Just holding. Grounding me. "You can take it. You're going to take all of it."
He pushes deeper. Those ridges drag against my walls, hitting spots I didn't know existed. My body stretches around him, accommodates him, learns him.
"That's it." His voice is wrecked. "That's my girl. Taking me so fucking well."
When he's fully seated, he stops. Lets me feel every inch. The fullness is overwhelming—I've never been this full, this claimed, this completely possessed.
"Look at me."
I open my eyes. His face hovers above mine, tusks catching the light, eyes burning with feral possession.
"You're mine now." Not a question. A statement of fact. "This pussy is mine. These sounds you're making—mine. Every fucking part of you belongs to me."
"Yes."
"Say it again."
"I'm yours."
He pulls back and slams home.
I scream. He swallows the sound with his mouth, teeth and tusks and tongue, kissing me raw while he fucks me with long, brutal strokes. Those ridges drag against my G-spot on every thrust. The headboard cracks against the wall. The bed frame groans.
He doesn't slow down.
His hand is still on my throat. His mouth finds my ear.
"Days of wanting this. Days of jerking off in the shower thinking about this tight cunt. You have any idea what you've done to me?"
"Show me." I wrap my legs around him, pull him deeper. "Show me what I've done to you."
Something snaps.
He rears back, grabs my hips with both hands, and pounds into me so hard the breath punches out of my lungs. The angle changes—deeper, more intense—and I can't think, can't breathe, can only hold on as he takes what he needs.
"Mine." Thrust. "Fucking." Thrust. "Mine."
I'm going to break. I'm going to shatter into a thousand pieces and I don't care. I want him to wreck me. Want to feel this for days.
"Come for me." His voice drops, guttural and commanding. "Right fucking now."
My body obeys before my brain catches up. The orgasm crashes through me—violent, consuming, endless. I scream his real name—Ravgor—and feel myself clench around him, feel those ridges dragging through my contractions.
His whole body jerks at the sound. A roar tears out of him—inhuman, feral—and he slams into me so hard the bed frame shrieks.
"Again," he snarls. "Say it again—"
"Ravgor—"