Chapter Eight
Andre
Andre woke in the late afternoon, sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains separating the chamber from its balcony, a light breeze drifting in.
He was lying on his stomach, and only slowly did he become aware that he was humping a pillow to the ceaseless rhythm of the plug.
Andre groaned. Vague memories of sex-drenched dreams surfaced before drifting out of reach.
Sighing, he rolled off the pillow. In Farigoth’s absence, it would bring him no relief. To his dismay, the silk cover was wet with precum, his flushed cock now drooling onto the sheets. The chamber was fragrant with the scent of arousal.
Farigoth had mated him. A smile curved Andre’s lips. He’d have to get through one more night, and then Farigoth would take him whenever either of them felt like it—meaning all the time.
Andre pushed out of bed, moaning when the pulsing toy pressed into him. If only Farigoth were there to take care of his throbbing need.
He fixed his plait, ensuring it was neat and smooth, then asked the guards for a light breakfast. They brought in a platter of sliced fruit, placing it on the round marble table before bowing out.
It smelled faintly sweet. Some of the tropical treats he’d previously encountered on the journey to Turia, some were new.
He finished his plate in hungry bites and used a napkin to wipe the fruit juice off his fingers.
What he really needed was a wash—he was sticky from the ceremony and all the precum he’d leaked in his sleep.
Thus far, he hadn’t tried leaving his room.
Gael had said they weren’t prisoners. This was going to test the boundaries of his freedom.
When he peeked out the door and told the guards he wanted to go to the temple of Rargesh for a bath, they bowed and nodded.
Two of them would accompany him, another rushed off to fetch his companions.
Andre draped his loincloth as best as he could over his bound erection, but there was no hiding his excitement.
With flushed cheeks, he crossed the city square, orcs stepping back to clear the way, bowing to him.
They’d seen him in the throes of ecstasy, helplessly chained to an altar, writhing under Farigoth’s touch, and yet, they treated him with respect.
The mockery that he would’ve experienced in Vale was absent.
He entered the temple, finding Gael and Lawrence preparing a bath. They smiled when they saw him.
“Did you sleep all right?” Gael asked, warmth in his voice. “You must be exhausted after the long ceremony.”
Gael was kind to him. It didn’t matter that last night’s release had dried on his stomach or that his loincloth was stained and had a prominent wet spot, though Gael mentioned that he had clean strips of silk ready for him.
Displaying his sexuality wasn’t frowned upon.
It was an ordinary part of life. Andre had to get used to it, couldn’t quite believe his luck.
Gael and Lawrence helped him wash off the evidence of the night before, then joined him in the bath to soak.
Andre leaned against the rim of the pool, the hot water loosening his muscles. His eyes closed, and he let out a small, pleasured sound as the plug massaged him.
“You’re missing Farigoth?” Lawrence asked, settling in by his side.
Andre exhaled. “Yes. I could use him right about now.”
Gael poured an orange liquid from a vial into the bath, and a sweet, fruity scent permeated the air. “The first day is the hardest. Once you’ve made it through today, he’ll take care of you whenever you need it.” Bubbles rose and spread, Gael adding more until they covered the surface of the water.
“It was difficult for me,” Lawrence said. “After experiencing what my mates could do, I craved it, my body hungering for their seed.”
Andre didn’t ask Lawrence if he’d attended the ceremony, but he assumed so.
Lawrence had probably arrived with the other men, serving refreshments to the orcs and then stayed to indulge his mates while they watched Andre struggling with the growing plug, leaking profusely.
There was no teasing in his tone, no knowing looks or suggestively raised eyebrows.
Andre’s public surrender and mating were normal. In Stagfield, he would’ve been shunned.
Footsteps approached, followed by water splashing in the cleaning area outside the chamber.
Then Eric, naked and dripping, emerged from the corridor, a smile on his lips.
He padded to the pool, wet feet slapping the tiles.
“Guess who’s joining you as another companion?
” Eric asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Andre almost laughed. “The orcs know me too well.”
“You’re in a foreign environment,” Gael said. “They understand that surrounding you with familiar faces will ease you into your new life.”
Eric submerged himself to the shoulders, taking a seat opposite Andre on the underwater bench. He glanced toward the entrance, his eyes sparking when Ikathurg appeared.
Andre looked between Eric and his mate. Would something similar to what had played out between Gael and his orcs happen? But Ikathurg didn’t haul Eric out of the water. He slid in beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Eric, muscular and over six feet tall, was no small man, but the orc had half a head on him.
Ikathurg greeted the men and pulled Eric into his side, kissing his temple. The picture of them together didn’t compute. Eric was strong, the king’s right-hand man. Seeing him dwarfed by Ikathurg was bewildering.
“I think he’s still getting used to being around orcs,” Ikathurg said in Eric’s ear, loud enough for Andre to hear. “You think we should give him a show so he knows he isn’t the only one whose pleasure is up for public consumption?”
Eric blinked, and a slow pink crept from his chest over his neck and onto his cheeks.
A smirk slid across Ikathurg’s lips. This time, his words were barely audible. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
A moment later, Eric moaned. Ikathurg’s hand was hidden by the bubbles, but the measured rise and fall of his arm made it plain what he was doing.
Eric’s head fell back, exposing his throat.
Ikathurg pulled him onto his lap, his hand disappearing between them.
The ecstatic whimper of a man being evaded spilled from Eric’s lips.
He lifted several inches off Ikathurg’s lap, then sank, falling into a rhythm.
Pleasure was written across his face, visible in every taut line of his body.
Andre had thought Resh and George were uninhibited in their blatant display of lust, but their sneaky hand job had nothing on the abandon Eric rode Ikathurg with, groaning every time he descended on his cock.
Andre couldn’t take his eyes off them. Eric shuddered and twitched whenever Ikathurg filled him, water drops running down his torso, glistening in the candlelight.
Heat flared in Andre’s loins. Oh, how he wished Farigoth was there, relieving his swollen balls. He pressed the heel of his hand to his aching cock, trying to alleviate the pressure. It did nothing.
Eric grunted and jerked, Ikathurg’s harsh breathing loud in the quiet bath. The sight of them drove Andre out of his mind. He needed Farigoth, needed him now.
Unthinking, he wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking himself to the booming pulse deep inside his hole. God, he’d never come, but that didn’t stop him. He yearned for Farigoth’s hot seed flooding him, his convulsing channel absorbing every drop.
Beside him, Gael let out a gasp. His head was thrown back, his shoulder, peeking out of the foam, moving up and down.
Flaming heat shot into Andre’s face. He’d forgotten himself. He snatched back his hand, his lonely cock throbbing in the water.
“So mean that they make us watch when our mates aren’t here to fuck us,” Lawrence mumbled.
“This happens a lot?”
Lawrence chuckled. “Orcs fucking their mates whenever, wherever they want? Yes.” He squirmed restlessly. “Damn, I wish my mates were here and I could come until I pass out.” His arm moved faster, half obscured by the bubbles.
“I can’t wait for Farigoth to take me again.” Andre flushed, not used to voicing his desires.
“I bet. I was so frustrated that first day; my mates left me without for so long… They tied my hands behind my back to stop me from touching myself.” Lawrence sighed. “It was so mean.”
“Once they’ve come inside you, it’s all you want,” Gael said, his breathing uneven, cheeks red.
Lawrence hummed in agreement.
Eric let out a strangled cry, jerking and twisting in pleasure as his orgasm hit. Ikathurg grunted, gripped him with both arms, pressing him to his chest, his hips pumping, depositing his seed inside his mate.
Andre’s plug pulsed, long and slow, and he wished for the umpteenth time that Farigoth was there. All he wanted was to take care of the orc’s needs—and his own.
He didn’t see Farigoth that day, spending the evening with his companions and their mates.
They ate dinner under the trees of the palace gardens, the scent of orange blossoms drifting over.
The initial smattering of stars in the sky thickened to a glittering band as they shared meat by the fire, the orcs recounting tales from the jungles of Oordoon.
When the night deepened and Andre, still worn out from the ceremony, grew tired, Eric and Ikathurg accompanied him to his bedchamber.
To his relief, he found half a dozen guards stationed by the doors and more throughout the hallways.
Eric and Ikathurg exchanged a few words with them, then wished Andre a good night.
Alone in his chamber, Andre removed his loincloth and sank onto the made bed. Silken sheets kissed his skin, and, instinct taking over, he rutted into the mattress. It did nothing to soothe the need burning in his loins.
Andre groaned. How would he survive the night without Farigoth? Was his only option of finding a semblance of relief ruining another pillow case?