Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Isadora
I walked.
I knew if I went to Nan’s, she would guess something was wrong. By the way heat filled my cheeks. I knew they must flame redder than Verna’s hair. Same thing with Myra, although she wouldn’t push for an answer the way the old woman would. Maybal would tease me, and Hanna would offer me advice, and…
I did not want advice.
Wrapping my cloak around me, I blew out a steamy breath and turned toward the loch where I knew I’d be alone on such a raw day. I still was in a bit of awe at Bloodfire village and how perfect everything was here.
For the first time in my life, I had genuine friends . Women who cared about me, whom I cared about. The gown I wore now was a gift from Avaleen, who said she knew she’d never be that small again—her sister suspected she was carrying twins, not uncommon among orcs. My cloak was made for me—for me !— by Nan and one of her friends after the first time they saw me wrapping myself in a blanket from Torvolk’s bed.
Aye, the last fortnight had been an amazing journey of change and discovery, as each day I learned something new about myself or this place that I was coming to love.
But each night?
Oh, God, each night… Each night I curled up in Torvolk’s bed and thought of him. Missed him in a way which shouldn’t be possible considering I’d been with him for such a short amount of time.
He’d never curled around me in bed, holding me close…but I could imagine it. He’d never touched me, cherished me, told me I was special…but by all that was holy, I could imagine it.
‘Twas three nights after he left that I touched myself for the first time. I’d been lying there under his blankets, surrounded by his smell, imagining what ‘twould feel like to be touched by him…and I moved aside my chemise and pictured his large green hands on my skin. Pinched my nipples and closed my eyes and pretended ‘twas him…
I’d sunk my thin fingers into my wetness and wished they were larger, like his.
When I came, I whimpered his name.
In the past, when I’d done such things, ‘twas hurried, furtive, hushed. I’d been ashamed of such feelings. But the last fortnight living among orcs had been…eye opening.
Orcs did not view sex as something shameful. While Mated pairs were the more prevalent, young un-Mated orcs experimented and practiced with each other, and more than a few times I’d come across a couple—or sometimes three or four—grunting and sighing and wrapped around each other behind a building or in the stables.
And Myra had shared with me a copy of a scroll titled A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts . I couldn’t read it of course—and I was amazed she had such an amazing ability!—but the illustrations were…quite illustrative. I had no idea pleasure could be found in so many positions!
I’m not sure what Myra thought of my questions, but she answered them with her usual straight-faced expression, and explained that sex and pleasure isn’t something to be feared or hidden, but something to be embraced.
I went back to Torvolk’s home that day in quite a thoughtful frame of mind.
Now I came to the stoney beach which bordered the loch and turned left. I didn’t want to get too close to the frigid water and risk my boots; I was merely wasting time before I could return to the cottage.
Because when Nan told me Torvolk would be returning today—and I didn’t ask her how she guessed—I knew this was my chance.
My chance to stay here in this village I had come to love.
My chance to convince him not to take me back to the hell where he’d found me.
My chance for a home .
Hopefully with him.
Blowing out a deep breath, I tipped my head back to stare up at the gray sky. I wanted this. I wanted him . Was I using him? Mayhap. But I remembered the outline of his hard cock when he’d stared at my breasts, and I didn’t think he would mind so much.
Hence the meal and the hot bath and the whisky.
I needed to seduce him.
Nodding once to myself, I decided I’d given him enough time to get comfortable. Time to set my plan into motion.
I tugged my cloak tighter and turned back toward the village, my steps faster than one might have guessed. This was what I’d been waiting for. This is what I wanted.
Torvolk .
At the door to the cottage— his cottage, which I’d done my best to make cozy for him so he’d want to keep me around—I paused. Could I do this?
An orc’s cock is made to make his partner climax as soon as he enters her.
Aye. Aye, I could most definitely do this.
Smiling in excited anticipation, I pushed open the door.
Torvolk was sitting in the tub, head tipped back so his dark hair hung down along the wood, and his knees drawn up. This tub practically swallowed me whole, and he could barely fit in it. Just more proof of how much larger he was than me, but he didn’t frighten me. If aught, his size was a comfort .
When he heard the door open, he opened one eye and tipped his head to the side to see who had disturbed him. His scowl didn’t stop my smile from growing, because I was just so happy to see him relaxing.
I slipped from my cloak. “Are you enjoying the bath?”
He grunted what I had to guess was agreement, considering the food was gone and the mug empty of whisky. I imagined the hot water and harsh spirit had combined to make him feel languid, which is exactly what I’d hoped. Mayhap even welcoming and indulgent. Aye, I could hope.
His gaze followed me as I slipped from my boots and padded in my stockings across the room. The rug-covered floor was chilly, but I tossed another log on the fire and hoped I’d be warm enough soon.
You can do this, Isadora. You want to do this.
Aye.
I stopped behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you well, Master? Can I fetch you aught to make you happier?”
“I told ye, lass,” he growled, tipping his head back farther to glare up at me. “I’m no’ yer master.”
I grinned. “I know.” I bent down and brushed a kiss on his forehead, my smile growing at the way his eyes crossed trying to follow my movements. “I am just teasing you.”
“Why?” he barked. “Why would ye joke about such a thing?”
Since I could tell he was becoming less relaxed, I pushed on his shoulder, forcing him back into the water as much as I could.
“Because I want to make you smile. You have given me so much to smile about, and I want to return that joy.”
He was silent for a moment, and his scowl eased to mere confusion. I moved behind him so I could spread my fingers and then my palms across both his shoulders, and squeezed the tight muscles there.
“Joy?” he finally asked again. “I dinnae understand.”
“You saved me, Torvolk,” I said simply. “Not just that night in the tavern when you paid an outrageous sum for my non-existent virginity, but after. You could have sent me on my way and I would have been dead or enslaved within days. Instead, you brought me here.”
I leaned over and scooped up the soap from the tray, lathering it in my hands. “And here is the most wonderful place I have ever been.”
My answer must have satisfied him, because he relaxed again beneath my palms.
“Ye’re welcome,” he muttered. “But ye dinnae need to serve me. The gold wasnae mine.”
“Aye,” I agreed matter-of-factly as I began to scrub his shoulders and neck. “I have learned much about your world in the last fortnight. Enough to know I want to stay here.”
An orc’s cock is made to make his partner climax as soon as he enters her.
Aye, I wanted to stay here.
I wanted everything this world could offer me.
My thumbs dug into the muscles at the base of his neck and he groaned and sank lower in the tub. From this angle, I could look down his broad chest and see where his skin disappeared into the water. There wasn’t enough light to see the rest of him under the water, but I wondered if I could make him hard again.
“Ye want to stay, lass?” he finally murmured.
Lass . He’d never called me by my name, although he knew it. I wanted to hear him say my name.
“I do. I want to stay here.” I moved his hair to one side so I could reach his muscles better, and confessed in the barest whisper, “With you.”
I felt him stiffen, and I knew he’d heard. I knew, from what I’d learned, that orcs’ senses were far superior to humans. Avaleen said her Mate’s sense of smell was good enough he could tell when she was aroused, and I remembered the way Torvolk’s nostrils had flared when he’d watched me. I’d been aroused.
Now though, he cleared his throat. “This soap feels good. I dinnae recognize it.”
“Rosemary and mint,” I explained matter-of-factly, plopping the bar down on the tray and reaching for the bindings of my gown. I didn’t want to get too wet as I washed him, and removing my gown would further expedite things. “’Tis my favorite blend.”
As I finished pulling the gown off I realized he’d twisted to watch me, his gaze carefully blank.
“Ye made this soap?” he asked, although he was looking not at the object in question, but at my chemise-clad body. My breasts peeked back at him through the sheer cloth.
I stepped back to him, pushing up my sleeves. “Aye, ‘tis my one real talent. This has cured enough for use, but ‘tis not hard enough to last.” I moved the empty bucket beneath his head and began to ladle warm water over his hair, forcing him to tip his head back. “I have left the rest of that batch to cure.”
“Seems to me ye have many talents, lass,” he muttered. I began to soap his hair. His eyes closed and a low moan of pleasure slipped from his chest. He cleared his throat. “And when the other bars have cured?”
I suppose I could sell them, but I was realizing Bloodfire Village—in fact, the entire orcish world—was very different from what I was used to. Here people didn’t scrimp and save desperately, working their fingers to the bone to afford a bit of joy. Instead, everyone looked out for one another, helping where needed, and even where not. ‘Twas one of the things I loved about this place.
So I shrugged, my fingers digging into his scalp as he groaned once more.
“I suppose I will make more. I never had the time to do more than a small batch here or there, although since I slept before the hearth, I had plenty of opportunity to choose the kind of wood ash I needed.”
Another groan, then Torvolk sighed. “Ye are free to pursue yer talents here, lass. Would ye…?”
When he trailed off, I switched my attention to the rest of his hair, gently combing out the tangles.
“Would I what, Torvolk?” I whispered.
“I’d like to learn—to see how ye make yer soap. Nan gave ye the herbs, I assume?”
Shyly, I admitted another friend, an orcish woman named Amma, had allowed me to take some of hers since the gardens were long dormant, if I promised her soap in return. We spent several minutes talking about the soap-making itself, and although I was surprised Torvolk was interested, his questions put me at ease.
When it came time to rinse his hair, I lifted the remaining bucket of water. “Brace yourself, this will be chilled.”
He didn’t flinch as I poured the water down his hair, sluicing it into the empty bucket…
And onto me.
“Oh, damn,” I muttered, realizing the front of my chemise was now soaked.
“What?” he asked, twisting around.
I shoved down on his shoulder again to push him back in place and stepped away from the tub. Well…this was what I’d been waiting for, wasn’t it?
Taking a deep breath, and not allowing myself time to reconsider my action, I pulled my chemise up and over my head until I stood there wearing only my stockings, which were now wet through.
I immediately stepped behind Torvolk’s head and picked up the soap to run it across his shoulders again. Then I swiped it across his chest. Once, twice…I could feel his heartbeat beneath my palm, and I spread my fingers to try to capture the sensation of his skin beneath mine.
The soap slid from my hand, and I didn’t care. I ran my palms over his chest, one arm on either side of his head, leaning over him until my breasts cocooned the back of his head. My breathing stuttered at the warmth and pressure against my breasts, and I had to squeeze my thighs together to capture the throbbing sensation in my core.
Touching him like this was everything I’d imagined.
He stiffened, his muscles tight beneath my fingers, as I slid my hands over his nipples and down, lower, lower…
As they reached the waterline, he sprang into motion, grasping one of my wrists.
“What are ye doing, lass?” he growled, his voice two octaves lower than normal.
“Washing you,” I replied as nonchalantly as I could manage. Without pulling my hand from his hold, I moved around the tub until I was at his side.
Torvolk slowly straightened, his gaze raking me from chin to knee. He didn’t seem surprised by my nudity, but I saw his nostrils flare as his gaze landed on the clump of curls which hid my sex.
Feeling bolder now, my free hand rose to cup my breast, hefting it in a way I could imagine him doing. Since coming to the village, I hadn’t felt the need to bind and hide them—such a relief! And I most definitely didn’t want to hide them now from Torvolk.
“Is there anything else I could wash for you?” I murmured.
His eyes, which had been dark when I’d first met him, now glowed green. His lips parted and his tongue darted out to swipe along his tusk in a distracted sort of way. I wanted to do that. I wanted to kiss him, to taste him.
But now I held his gaze, wondering if he could feel the flutter of my pulse beneath his fingers. I wanted him to touch me other places. All the places.
“Lass,” he whispered.
I was already leaning forward when he gave me the slightest little tug, and I went gladly into his arms.
Well, to be fair, what really happened was I splashed ungainly across his lap in the tub, but ‘twas worth it.
I ended up sitting in his lap, one arm thrown across his shoulders, my stockinged legs kicking over the edge of the tub, staring wide-eyed up at him.
I stifled a giggle.
Torvolk no longer held my gaze. Instead, he eyed my breasts and stomach and thatch of curls as if I were a buffet laid out for a starving man. I arched my back slightly to give him a better view, not even caring if I was acting wanton.
For so long I’d been called terrible things for acting like a good girl. Now, here in this place, I could be as wanton as I wanted.
When he growled, I felt it reverberate through his chest and into mine. His tusks didn’t so much elongate as his lips pulled back from them, and when he lifted his hand toward me, I saw his claws extend.
This was the beast, the primitive part of Torvolk Avaleen had warned me about. Well, she didn’t so much warn me as say “ Hold on and enjoy the ride ” with a wink.
Oh God, how I wanted this.
When his hand closed around my breast, the claws dimpling my skin ever so slightly, I whimpered, arching into his touch again. But he didn’t move, and I glanced up at him.
He was watching me.
There was something in his green gaze I couldn’t identify, a need …but there was also hope there. I could feel his breathing stutter, and I wondered if he was as desperate as I was.
“Aye,” I whispered, looking deep into his eyes. “Torvolk, aye .”
When he squeezed, we both groaned. His large hand on me…it felt as good as I’d imagined. Better.
Torvolk took his time with me. Examining me, enjoying me. ‘Twas as if he’d been imagining what my body would feel like, and now he wanted the chance to learn the truth. At least, that is what I told myself as I gasped and moaned under his hands.
He shifted, pulling me closer, squeezing me against his chest with his knees as he captured my nipple between a thumb and forefinger.
“Torvolk,” I cried, bucking my hips hard enough to send water splashing over the side of the tub.
“Hush, lass,” he chuckled.
Chuckled .
My eyes flashed open to see a small grin pulling at his lips, his gaze focused on my body. He wasn’t a male to smile easily, and I wondered if the world was about to end—or could it be something else ?
His fingers caressed, stroked, teased every inch of me, and when they dipped toward my thighs, I spread my legs, welcoming his touch. But he hesitated over my curls, then his fingers trailed down my thighs toward my garters.
“Yer stockings are wet.”
They weren’t the only wet thing about me. But I managed a nonchalant,
“Aye.”
I managed a single word. Of one syllable. This was definitely something else .
“We should get ye out of them.”
Was this feeling roiling through me excitement or disappointment? Instinctively I flexed my thighs, hoping to entice his hand back where I wanted it. But his lips tugged into a stern frown which might have been faked.
“Lass, I cannae afford to have ye catch yer death of cold, sitting here in my lap.”
I wriggled my arse. “I like your lap, Master.”
“I am no’—”
I surged upward to cut him off, pulling myself toward him with the arm I’d locked around his neck. My mouth landed on his and he froze. While I tried to show him how to soften his lips, how to tease, my hips rolled and I threw one leg over his arm, until I was practically climbing him.
And still, his lips remained still. I pulled his lower lip between mine, then dragged my tongue along his until he relaxed. I licked his tusk, the way I’d wanted to, and he reared back.
“What are ye doing?” he growled.
I refused to feel self-conscious. “I am kissing you.”
“Nay, lass.” His hold on me tightened. “That is no’ kissing.” He stood, water sloshing everywhere, and I squealed, throwing both my arms around his neck.
He stood there in the tub, water sluicing off both of us, him peering down at me seriously. “I’ve wanted to taste ye, lass.”
My heart began to pound. “I have wanted that too.” I stretched up again, trying to press my lips against his, but he stepped from the tub, jostling me.
Still dripping, he crossed to the bed.
“Tell me ye want this, lass. Ye want me to taste ye. No’ because I’m yer master, or because I bid gold for ye, but because…”
“Oh, by all that is holy, Torvolk.” I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, shuddering with anticipation and, well, frustration. “ Aye . I began to dream of it that very first night, when you touched me so gently, when I saw the size of your massive cock. I want you.”
He didn’t reply, but I sucked in a breath when he tossed me atop the bed. I was getting the blankets wet, but if it meant finally having Torvolk, finally securing my place here in the village, I couldn’t care less.
An orc’s cock is made to make his partner climax as soon as he enters her.
Aye, please.
He loomed over me, and his erect cock was enough to make my mouth water and my insides quiver. How could something that big fit inside me? ‘Twas thick and ridged and a darker green than the rest of him. I wanted to touch it, and in fact, I lifted my arms, reaching for him…
He bent down, grabbed my ankles, and tugged.
Squealing, I slid to the edge of the bed.
He planted his palms on either side of my hips. “I told ye, I didnae want ye catching cold.” His voice was deep, commanding. “Ye heard that?”
I wriggled my arse, hoping to show him how excited I was. “Aye, Master, you did.”
He let this one pass as he shifted his weight and rested one set of fingertips atop my right breast. He allowed them to trail over my nipple, along my stomach, down, down…to my garter. I sucked in a breath. Held it.
“Ye cannae lay here in wet clothing,” he growled, and afore I knew what was happening, he’d bent down to catch the garter in his mouth.
Nay, his tusks .
I gasped.
A ripping sound, then he was pulling my stocking down. His hands and the wool caressed the skin of my knees, then my calves, before sliding over my feet. The second one joined the first, but he didn’t move from where he crouched between my legs.
Breathless, my body overwhelmed with sensation, I lifted my head and shoulders to peer between my breasts at the male who now captured my gaze.
“Better,” he rumbled. “Are ye still cold?”
“Nay,” I said with a shiver that belied the claim. The curl of his lips—so unusual on this stoic male—told me he saw my lie.
Still holding my gaze, he lowered his mouth to my knee. “Are ye cold here?”
When his lips caressed my skin, I shivered again. “Nay,” I managed, back to one-syllable words.
He shifted, moving up a few inches to the inside of my thigh. “Here?”
When his tusk scraped against my sensitive skin, I groaned and collapsed back on the bed. “Nay.” This time the word was a mere squeak.
I felt his tongue scrape upward.
“Here?” He murmured at the apex of my thighs.
There was a rush of liquid heat to my core, and he responded with a rumbling sort of growl before he surged forward.
I’m not sure what I expected, but ‘twas not for this great beast of a male to bury his nose into my curls and inhale long and heavy, his hands clamped to my thighs, claws dimpling my skin.
Startling, I jerked upright again. “Torvolk?”
“Hush, lass,” he murmured. “I’m savoring.”
“Savoring?”
“ This is how ye kiss.”
And with that, he wrenched my thighs apart and his tongue—just as ridged and thick as his cock—snaked out to swipe along my cleft.
I jerked in his hold at the initial contact, then melted back with a surprised moan. What had Myra called this? When a male used his tongue on his female’s cunny? There was a word for this from A Harlot’s Guide , but right now I couldn’t think of what ‘twas.
I couldn’t think of aught .
Because after fourteen long days, I finally had Torvolk’s hands on my skin and his mouth… Oh God, his mouth.
Part of me was almost glad I couldn’t see what he was doing, because the sensations alone were overwhelming. His hands hefted my thighs, holding them up and apart until he settled them over his shoulders. Then he moved his hands to my arse and lifted.
I squeaked as this new angle allowed his tongue to reach all the way from my rear hole to swipe forward. This felt almost dirty, and I might’ve had the chance to blush…had the ridges on his tongue not chosen that moment to drag over my clitoris.
Every.
Single.
Ridge.
“Torvolk !” I cried, grabbing for his hair to lock him there.
He huffed a chuckle against my core. “Ye like that, do ye?”
I couldn’t answer, my vocabulary depleted, but thrust my hips forward in reply. He took the hint.
As his tongue curled around the bud of my pleasure, teasing me with those ridiculously delicious ridges, I locked my ankles together to try to keep from floating away. His fingertip slid along my cleft, and I rocked forward, hoping he’d take the hint again.
He did.
I groaned as one of his fingers slid inside me.
“Good lass,” he murmured against my curls, shifting so his mouth was lower. “Can ye take another one?”
“Aye!” I gasped, pleading…and Torvolk gently pushed another thick finger into my core.
These two fingers were thicker than anything I’d ever experienced—much bigger than my own fingers—but it still wasn’t enough.
“More,” I begged, gyrating my cunny into his face.
Another chuckle that I felt through my whole body, and he flicked his tongue against my pearl as he slowly slid a third finger inside me.
I froze, my muscles tightening. This was… I was stuffed full, stretched in a way I’d never considered. I ached, but ‘twas a good ache.
“Dinnae fash, lass,” he crooned, kissing my curls again. “Ye’re doing such a bonny job. Taking three of my fingers so quickly, like ye were made for me.”
His praise caused another flood of liquid heat to spill over his fingers.
“I love it,” I gasped truthfully. “Oh please, Torvolk!”
“Please what?” he hummed, then dragged the ridges of his tongue over my clitoris. “What do ye want?”
What did I want? I couldn’t grasp the words, couldn’t think straight. I gyrated against him, tightening my hold on his hair.
“ Please ,” I managed to whine helplessly.
His fingers began to move, just miniscule movements out, then in again. I whimpered, squeezing my thighs together, the pressure and pleasure building to a point I could no longer breathe.
“Ye want to come?” He kissed me again. “Ye want me to lick ye until ye come, like a good lass?”
“I am good,” I gasped, desperate.
“Ye want this? Ye want me to make ye come?” he crooned, then glided his tongue along the seam where his fingers disappeared. “Ye’re my good lass?”
“Yours,” I sobbed, “Torvolk, yours.”
He closed his lips around my clitoris, his tusks scraping against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, and I exploded.
With a wail, I came around his fingers, my entire body convulsing as my arse thrust off the bed and ground against him. My inner muscles pulsed again and again, almost painfully , each spasm seeming to take him deeper and deeper and deeper.
I was stretched full of him .
And I was so very complete.
But…
But eventually my pleasure faded. Eventually he slid from my core, he gently untangled my legs and set my arse back on the bed. Eventually he placed a final kiss on my curls and pushed himself upright.
Torvolk rarely grinned, and now was no exception. But his mouth and jaw were covered in my desire, and as he held my gaze, his tongue darted across his lips to pull my spend into his mouth.
“I kenned ye’d be delicious.” ‘Twas all he said, and my cheeks heated, unable to believe my behavior of moments before.
Had I really ridden his face like that? Had he really done those things to me?
Aye. And I wanted to do it again.
I reached for him, and to my surprise, he came willingly. His cock seemed less erect than when he’d placed me on the mattress, and for the first time I remembered that this was supposed to be about his pleasure.
What was that word he always used?
Oh fook .
As he took me in his arms, I peeked up at him. “Do you want me to use my mouth on you?”
Torvolk stiffened, something fierce flashing across his face before he relaxed and scowled down at me. “Go to sleep, lass.”
Lass .
That’s who I was to him. Just a lass.
“I am not tired.” ‘Twas still the middle of the afternoon. “I need to clean up the tub and these blankets.”
Still scowling, he wrapped his arms around me, pinned me to the mattress with a leg, and tucked my head against his shoulder.
“Go to sleep,” he growled.
I wasn’t sleepy.
But…he was so very comfortable. And warm. And safe.
And my body did feel lethargic after that magnificent climax.
Twisting and stretching, I was able to brush a kiss over his jaw. I tasted myself, which was strange.
“Thank you, Torvolk.”
He used his free hand to shove my head back to his shoulder with a grunt.
I exhaled, allowing my eyes to close.
Mayhap a nap in the middle of the day wasn’t such a terrible idea after all.
The last thing I heard as I drifted off in a cloud of comfort was his whisper.
“That’s my good lass.”