Chapter 16 Rosalind
Rosalind
Steve throws the door open, and I hurry past, kicking it closed when he haphazardly tosses Bellator on the bed.
“Steve! Don't be so rough; he could be hurt.” I try to push past him, but he drops to one knee, pulling me into his body, wrapping his arms tightly around me and breathing me in.
“Are you well?”
“I'm fine,” I whisper into his chest, gently rubbing his biceps, attempting to soothe him.
“Are you— are you hurt?” He pulls away and looks over my body, pushing the slit in my dress to the side, inspecting my legs and arms before turning me around and pushing the straps down, checking my back.
His fingers follow the path of my bonding marks to my front as I cover my breasts, half holding up the dress so it doesn't fall.
His touch is gentle but methodical. It's not sexual.
His fingers drag across my shoulder and up my neck, tilting my chin as he inspects my face, brushing his thumb across my cheek.
His nostrils flare, and his breaths are short as I let him carry out his inspection.
Tenderly resting his forehead to mine, his shoulders sagging as he places a palm against my chest.
“I promise I'm okay,” I breathe.
Looking over my shoulder, Bellator is still passed out on the bed, so I take the opportunity to focus on the orc before me.
“We should clean you up,” I try to smile at him, reassure him I'm alright, but there's a tremor to my voice as I look at Steve’s hands. The blood which covers them, the same that is smeared across Bellator’s body, is black. Like squid ink, staining everywhere it touches.
“The blood… It’s black.” I stare at him for some better explanation as I fix my dress in place.
“Yes. Imps bleed black.”
Well, alright then. Imps bleed black. “Do orcs—”
“Orcs bleed blue, similar to the sky on Earth.”
“Oh, okay. I ble—”
“You bleed red, princess. I fear the day I see it.” He gulps.
“I guess we save the period talk for another day then,” I joke, trying to ease the tension, but his brow just dips lower.
“I will fight this period. They will not spill your blood.”
“If only it were that simple,” I sigh. “Come on, you big lug, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we need to check on your brother.”
“I am not a lug, I am an orc.”
I bark out a laugh; the dryness of his words never fails to amuse me.
Untangling myself from him, I walk behind the partition, turning the tap on for the barrel.
The steady stream of water the only noise in the room.
Steve walks behind me, bringing a stool to sit on.
I start to tug at his shirt, and he takes the lead, removing it in one swift motion.
Setting to work at cleaning his hands, the blood comes off relatively easily.
I think because it’s black, I'm not bothered by it.
It looks like he dipped his hands in a giant tub of paint.
I drag the cloth up his arm, slowing down as I start to wash his chest and abs.
My fingers find a patch of hair, and I play with it absentmindedly as it trails down, and down until…
the firehose is back. It nudges my thigh as I stand between Steve's legs.
It's relentless. It doesn't matter how polite I try to be in ignoring it, it seems to find and rest against me as it strains against his pants.
We don't talk as I clean him, his muscles rippling under each swipe of the cloth.
I can feel the blush spread up my neck and to my cheeks, quickly turning away to let the dirty water out of the barrel.
“Your turn.”
Steve's voice is laced with need as he leans in behind me and refills the barrel, pushing the straps of my dress down my shoulders.
I let my arms drop, the fabric falling to where it rests on my hips.
The water is hot as he brushes the cloth against my back, easing the tension with each swipe.
I close my eyes and turn for him to continue, intentionally exposing my breasts.
There is an unmistakable throb growing in my pussy, and I pull my bottom lip into my mouth as I wait for his touch.
And wait for his touch.
Why isn’t he touching me?
My eyes fly open, and I try to cover my breasts but Steve's hands stop me. His lust-fuelled gaze staring at my chest.
“Don't cover them,” he rasps.
“You stopped.” I don't want to sound needy, but I think even the strongest woman would feel nervous in this situation.
“You have pretty teats.”
“Breasts. I'm not a cow.”
“You would be a very beautiful cow, princess,” he purrs, lifting his hand to my waist, his thumb rubbing the underside of my breast, moving higher until it flicks across my nipple.
“These are breasts,” I say, cupping my hand over his, pausing his ministrations. “Cows have teats; they make milk. Or that's how they’re milked. I don't know, but these are breasts.”
“Do these have milk?” His eyes flare wide, and I see his throat move as he swallows.
Gently, he picks me up, bringing my chest to his face, opening his mouth to take in one of my breasts.
His tongue flicks my nipple as he softly sucks it.
It's so unexpected, I take hold of his tusk to steady myself as Steve emits a low groan, his eyes fluttering closed.
Each flick of his tongue sends a jolt of pleasure to my clit, and I relish this slow exploration of our bodies, moaning, pressing myself further into his mouth until he sucks on my entire breast.
“Airmatus?” Bellator's husky voice calls out from the other side of the room. Steve and I both looking over the partition as he flings an arm over his face.
“Oh my God,” I murmur. We’ve been over here touching bits while Bellator has been recovering from that shock collar. I'm officially a terrible person. Squirming, Steve reluctantly puts me down, and I dart around his body, running to Bellator's side.