Chapter Thirty Douglas
P ine Ridge looms ahead. The green and white sign on the motorway says it’s only two miles away.
Looms makes the small mountain town sound foreboding, which it isn’t. I just don’t want to return. I want to stay with Georgia, alone, forever.
Except that I want to have coffee every morning at her shop and watch our children play rugby, or sing in the choir, or do whatever it is that makes them happy.
“Stop!”
Georgia’s voice interrupts my bittersweet, Monday-morning musings, and I almost drive the Land Rover into a ditch. “What? What is it?” I demand.
“Pull over here.” Georgia has a devilish gleam in her eye, and she’s undoing her seatbelt.
“Georgia...”
“This is the woods that’s at the edge of Pine Ridge. If we walked for a few miles, we’d be at Country Pines Motel.”
I nod, not sure why we should walk when I’ve got a perfectly good car—although after that stunt with yelling “Stop!” I think I’ll need the brakes checked.
“The woods are pretty deserted. Might be a dryad or an ent here and there. And a tapio. A kapre. It doesn’t matter, their trees are protected and off the path.”
“But, Georgia, love, why are we walking home?”
“We’re not. We’re running into the woods and then we’ll come back here when we’re done.” Georgia slides from the car, adjusts something under her green summer dress, and drops a little piece of black fabric on the seat of the car.
I swallow as I realize the crumpled piece of cotton is her panties. I yank my door open as she flees. This time, I’m going to catch my mate and make her scream my name into the woods as she takes my knot.
As I fly after her, laughing (and panting a wee bit), I realize just how much I like this place. It’s the blend of isolation and community an Orc longs for. A place to raise your bairns with the strength of a clan, and the privacy to rut your mate in the middle of the woods.
Georgia doesn’t make it hard for me to catch her. She sticks to the main path, mercifully deserted at five in the morning. When she’s within grabbing distance, I pounce, gripping her arms by the elbows and pulling her back to my chest. I hoist my kilt and rub my stiffening cock against her pussy, still wet and more full than it was three days ago. The constant barrage of lovemaking and multiple knottings have left her pink and puffy—a sight that instantly sends blood pumping into my erection.
With my hands in front of her breasts to protect them from the harsh tree bark, I press Georgia into a scarred old tree that lightning must’ve claimed years ago. I push the soft cotton cups down to get at her nipples, rolling them and tugging them as I line my cock up with her entrance and my lips to her ear. “Naughty little mate. Running off like that.”
“Mmm,” she moans happily and pushes her rear back against me.
I pull her nipples taut, hearing her squeak. “Do you want me to fuck you out here, where anyone passing by could see this pretty, plump pussy?”
Wetness coats my tip as she whispers, “N-no one would see us, I’m sure.”
“But you like being taken outside, don’t you? Bent over and stuffed full.” My actions match my words, cock filling her, sticking midway. I feel her swollen insides grip and resist. I take one hand from her breast and grip her ass instead, squeezing roughly. “Open up more. Bend over and let my cock all the way in. You know you like it deep. I’m going to find that little spot that undoes you, Georgia. That deep, soft spot that makes your pussy into a rushing river.”
“Yes! Yes, take me like that, all the way inside.”
“You want me to knot you out here? Your little pussy will be stuck around me for who knows how long...” I tease her as I work myself in and out, each inward thrust making a little headway, her frustrated grunts turning to soft begging.
“More. More, please, Douglas. Harder...”
She’s got witchcraft in her veins, this woman. She undoes any inhibitions I have, and I know the roles could reverse in a second, and I’d love it just as much. In fact, I’m suddenly picturing Georgia running after me, catching me, and knocking me to my back before she plunges down astride me, riding me in the woods until I fill her with my cum, my shouts scaring woodland animals away.
“Push back onto me. Take my knot, pet, you know you need it to fill you properly. Such a hungry, greedy little cunny.” I slip my hand from the creamy cheek to between her legs, fingers demanding, kneading her mound like it belongs in my hand.
Georgia obeys, pushing her hips back and wriggling away from the tree. A nearby boulder along the path is the perfect hand rest. She uses it for leverage, arching her hips up. In seconds, I give up and grab her thighs, lifting her. With a gasp, she rocks back, her chest to my back. This is perfect. This is how it should be, my goddess above me, breasts bare and womanhood full of me.
It’s my turn to lean against the tree, then sit on the bounder pulling her hips down as she rides astride. With a scream that earns an echoing cry of alarm from some crows above, Georgia slides my knot home and leans back against me, triumphant.
Some young Orcs may think knotting is the end of coupling, but it’s the halfway mark, at best. My mate’s walls grip and flex, milking every drop of cum from me while I diddle the hidden jewel between her legs and squeeze the soft breasts that are falling free from her summer dress. I can feel her climaxing over and over, each peak a different strength. The hard ones feel as though they’re going to take my cock clean off, and the small ones ripple and flutter around my tip like a thousand tongues.
“Georgia?”
“Yes?”
“Will you come away with me this weekend?” I ask.
“Ohhhh. Yes. No! No, I can’t on Saturday, there’s a baby shower at the shop.”
“That’s all right. Sunday evening? Sunset picnic?”
“Mm, I love when we ‘picnic.’”
I snort out a laugh as I kiss her shoulder. “Nay, a proper picnic. In public, with all our clothes on.”
“You’re no fun.”
I smack her ass, and she squeals. “I take it back! You’re so much fun. And I love you, and yes, a proper, fully clothed picnic would be a treat. I’ll pack things that are left over from the shop. Now that my brother is back, we ought to be—oh, fuck—full of goodies.”
“Ah, just like my mate,” I laugh, thrusting my hips up pointedly to remind her that she’s knotted and filled with my seed.
Another laugh. She makes me laugh so much, in so many ways, whether it’s at her sweetness, her wit, or the way things work out around us—I can’t stop being thankful for the joy she brings into my life. I’m not going to let her get away. One, I’m too selfish. Two, if I leave her now or even let her doubt that I’m sincere about being her husband and mate, I’ll take that joy from her. That’s what I’ve been worried about from the start. I was sure more of my time would bring her sadness, and it’s the opposite. The more we are together, the happier we seem to be.
“You bring all the goodies you like, pet, but I’ll be baking my world-famous bannock again.”
“Yum.”
I don’t tell her that I’ve decided to put her engagement ring in the center of it.