Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Vraag
I do not say goodbye to her in the corridor.
The decision is made without words, carried instead in the way our hands remain linked as we leave the building together, in the quiet certainty that settles between us once we are away from the school.
Snow has begun to fall—soft, steady, muting the world—and for once I do not read it as a variable to account for. It is simply there, marking time.
Riona doesn’t ask where we’re going. She simply stays by my side, an unspoken agreement unfolding step by step until the choice is complete and irreversible.
By the time we reach my apartment, the restraint I’ve been practicing thinned to something deliberate and taut, held in place by choice rather than habit.
Inside, the warmth greets us immediately, familiar and contained. I take her coat and hang it by the door, the domestic gesture suddenly charged with intention. The door closes behind us with a soft finality that echoes through my chest.
I turn to face her.
This is not urgency. This is not reaction. The danger has passed. The arguments are finished. What remains is choice—clear, steady, and impossible to mistake.
“Riona,” I say, and realize I no longer want to choose my words as carefully as I was before.
She steps closer, close enough that I can feel her heat, smell the faint trace of winter on her skin. She looks up at me, eyes calm, intent, entirely unafraid.
“Yes,” she says quietly.
It’s permission.
I lift my hand to her face, giving her every opportunity to pull away. She doesn’t. Instead, she leans into my palm, trusting the strength there, welcoming it. The control I have practiced for years tightens, then loosens deliberately and consciously.
When I kiss her, it is slow. Deep. Unmistakably chosen.
Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt, and I feel the exact moment her restraint breaks—the soft catch of her breath, the way her body curves into mine, seeking more contact.
My tusks brush her cheeks as I angle my head, careful even now, and she makes a sound low in her throat that bypasses every civilized thought I possess.
I deepen the kiss, tasting her fully. She opens for me immediately, her tongue meeting mine, and the sweetness of her, warm and human and entirely Riona, makes my chest rumble with a sound I haven’t allowed myself to make around her before. Low and possessive and utterly unguarded.
She responds to it, pressing closer, one hand sliding up to tangle in my hair while the other fists in my shirt. The slight pull at my scalp shoots heat straight down my spine, and I realize I’ve backed her against the wall without conscious thought, my body caging hers.
I should pull back. Should give her space. But when I start to ease away, she makes a sound of protest and pulls me closer, rising on her toes to reach me better.
“Don’t,” she breathes against my mouth. “Don’t hold back.”
The words release something in me, unraveling the last careful restraint between us. I slide one hand into her hair, tilting her head to the angle I want, and kiss her the way I’ve been imagining for weeks. Not gentle. Not careful. Just honest.
My other hand finds her waist, spanning it easily, and I feel her breath hitch as my fingers press into the softness there.
She’s so small compared to me, delicate in a way that makes every protective instinct roar to life, but she’s not fragile.
She’s meeting me kiss for kiss, her nails scraping against my scalp, her body arching into mine with clear demand.
When I finally break the kiss to let her breathe, we’re both panting. Her lips are swollen, flushed from the pressure of mine, and there are faint marks on her cheeks from my tusks—not painful, just evidence of contact.
“Vraag,” she says, my name barely more than a whisper.
I lean down again, this time trailing my mouth along her jaw to the sensitive spot just below her ear. She shivers, her hands tightening in my hair, and I breathe in the scent of her—arousal and warmth… addictive.
“I can smell how much you want this,” I murmur against her skin, my voice rougher than I’ve ever allowed it to be with her. “How long have you been thinking about it?”
“Weeks, maybe months,” she admits breathlessly. “Long before our first kiss.”
I scrape my tusks deliberately against the column of her throat—gentle, controlled, just enough pressure to make her gasp. “And what did you think about?”
Her hands slide down to my shoulders, gripping me hard. “How it would feel to have all of you. To know what you were holding back. To—” She breaks off, suddenly shy.
“To what?” I prompt, lifting my head to look at her. “Tell me.”
She meets my eyes, her own dark with desire. “To have you inside me. To know what it’s like when you—”
I cut off her words with another kiss, this one harder, more demanding. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming the space, and she responds with enthusiasm that makes my cock strain against my pants.
Eight years of restraint. Months of wanting. All of it condensed into this single moment where nothing stands between us except choice.
When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, pressing against mine with each inhale, and I can feel the hard tips of her nipples, a clear sign of her desire.
I force myself to step back slightly, to give her room, and immediately miss the contact. But this matters. What comes next matters more than any kiss.
Our gazes meet. Her pupils are dilated, her lips parted, and she regards me with such clear intent that something catches hard in my throat.
“Are you certain?” The words come out so rough you’d think I’ve been screaming all day.
Her answer is immediate. “Yes.” Then, softer, her hand coming up to cup my face.
“In some ways this courtship has been fast, Vraag. But I’ve had the privilege of watching you closely.
I’ve seen you at work and with your clan.
I know you, Vraag. I know your heart. I know your goodness.
And I know what I want, without a doubt. ”
Something releases in me—not urgency, but permission. Permission to stop performing restraint. To touch her the way I’ve imagined in the dark hours of early morning. To show her what it means when an orc binds himself to the woman he loves.
I lift her easily, my hands spanning her waist, and she makes a startled sound that becomes a laugh as she wraps her legs around me.
Her weight is nothing—I could hold her like this for hours.
The simple trust of it, the way she clings to my shoulders without fear, tightens something behind my ribs.
“Bedroom,” I tell her, already moving.
“So commanding,” she teases, her breath warm against my neck.
“You have no idea.” The words slip out before I can consider them, honest in a way I haven’t allowed myself to be.
I feel her shiver against me, and when I glance down, her eyes are bright with anticipation rather than fear.
The bedroom is warm and quiet. I set her down beside the bed, steadying her when her legs wobble slightly. My hands go to the hem of her dress, fingers brushing the soft skin of her thighs as I gather the fabric.
“Arms up,” I murmur.
She raises her arms without hesitation, and I pull the dress over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. For a moment, I just look.
She stands before me in simple black underwear, her skin pale and smooth, her breathing quick and shallow. I’m acutely aware of the contrast—her delicate human frame against my larger, heavier one. The way my hands, when I reach for her, could span her entire ribcage.
“You’re staring,” she says, but there’s no self-consciousness in it. Just curiosity.
“Last time I stopped before I could claim you fully.” I trace the curve of her shoulder with one finger, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch. “Tonight I don’t want to stop.”
“Good.” She holds my gaze, steady and certain.
“You’re beautiful.” I reach behind her, finding the clasp of her bra. “May I?”
“You’re asking permission now?” There’s amusement in her voice. “After carrying me in here like I weigh nothing?”
“Yes,” I say seriously, even as my fingers work the clasp open. “Every step. You can stop this whenever you want.”
The bra falls away, and I cup her breasts in my palms, feeling their weight, the softness of her skin. My hands are so large they eclipse her breasts completely, and I’m careful—so careful—as my thumbs brush over her nipples.
She gasps, her back arching into my touch. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I explore her slowly, relearning the weight and shape of her, watching her face confirm what I already know gives her pleasure. When I roll her nipples between my fingers—gentle pressure, then slightly firmer—she makes that sound again, the one that goes straight to my cock.
“Oh, you like it even harder than I thought,” I observe, filing the information away.
“Mmm.” Her hands come up to grip my forearms, steadying herself.
I lean down, replacing my fingers with my mouth. The moment my tongue finds her, she cries out, her body already knowing what comes next. I catch her easily with one arm around her waist, supporting her weight while I continue my exploration.
Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly when I scrape my teeth—carefully, so carefully—across the sensitive peak. The slight sting of pain in my scalp only heightens everything, and I growl against her skin.
“Bed,” I tell her again, straightening. “Now.”
She goes willingly, stopping at the edge of the mattress, her gaze never leaving mine. I reach for the buttons on my shirt.
“Let me,” she says.
I go still. She steps forward, fingers already finding the first button.
I let her work, and when she pushes the fabric off my shoulders, her palms flatten against my chest, exploring the markings there.
Then I take her by the waist, and at my unspoken encouragement she steps up onto the mattress, bringing us close to eye level.