Chapter 6 Forla
FORLA
The kiss changes everything. I pull back, breathless, seeing my own desperate need reflected in his dark eyes.
Tomorrow he leaves—we both know it. The Elves are closing in, duty calls him back to his impossible quest, and I have a life here that doesn't include wounded orc warriors with hearts too big for their chests.
Tonight might be all we have.
My hands tremble as I touch his face, feeling the rough texture of his skin, the warmth that speaks of life when death seemed so certain just days ago.
He's beautiful in ways I never expected—not pretty or soft, but beautiful like a storm is beautiful, like fire is beautiful.
Dangerous and magnificent and utterly alive.
"Forla," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips. "Are you certain?"
I should be afraid. He's twice my size, could break me without trying, and everything in my past screams that trusting someone with this much power over me is madness.
But looking into his eyes, I feel safer than I have in years.
This is Thoktar, who watches me with reverent amazement, who listened to my darkest stories without judgment, who makes me feel precious instead of broken.
When he asks with his eyes, I answer by pulling him closer.
The hay rustles beneath us as we claim this stolen moment, this desperate slice of paradise carved from the wreckage of our separate hells.
His mouth finds mine again, and this time there's no hesitation, no careful distance.
Just need and want and the terrible knowledge that dawn will tear us apart.
His kiss tastes like goodbye and forever all at once.
"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs against my lips, massive hands framing my face with impossible gentleness. "Tell me if—"
I silence him with another kiss, pouring all my trust and desire into the contact. I've been hurt before, but never by choice, never with someone who cared about my comfort more than his own pleasure. The difference makes all the difference.
His touch is reverent, careful despite the urgency burning between us.
He maps every scar with gentle fingers, erasing old pain with new pleasure that makes my breath catch and my back arch beneath him.
Where cruel hands once marked me with violence, he traces patterns of worship that rewrite the story my body tells.
"Beautiful," he breathes against my throat. "So fucking beautiful."
Thoktar’s huge hand slides from my cheek to the back of my neck in one possessive grip.
His fingers span almost the whole circumference; one squeeze and he could snap me like kindling.
Instead he uses it to yank my head back, baring my throat completely.
His tusks scrape the soft skin under my jaw as he growls, low and hungry.
“Tonight you’re mine, little human. Every inch. Every hole. Every scream. You understand?”
I whimper, nodding frantically, already dripping down my thighs.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours. All of me. Please—”
The plea rips out of me before I can stop it. The sound seems to snap the last thread of his restraint.
He shoves me down into the hay, rough and sudden.
My back hits the prickly bed and the air leaves my lungs in a rush.
Before I can draw breath again he’s on me, knees forcing my thighs apart, one massive forearm pinning both my wrists above my head.
The other hand tears at my dress like it personally offended him.
Fabric rips; buttons ping off the barn walls.
Cool night air kisses my bare breasts and I arch, offering them up without shame.
Thoktar snarls approval and descends.
His mouth is fire and teeth and worship. He sucks one nipple deep, tusks framing the aching peak, tongue lashing until I sob. Then he switches to the other, biting just hard enough to make me jerk against his hold. Every tug shoots lightning straight to my clit.
“These tits,” he growls against my skin, “were made for my mouth. Made to be marked.”
He proves it. By the time he lifts his head my breasts are covered in red bite marks and bruises shaped like his tusks, glistening with his spit. I’m writhing, thighs slick, begging without words.
He releases my wrists only long enough to flip me onto my stomach like I weigh nothing. Hay scratches my cheek; his hand fists in my hair and wrenches my head back.
“Ass up.”
Two words, gravel and command. I scramble to obey, knees spreading in the straw, back bowed, presenting myself like a bitch in heat. I feel the cool air on my soaked folds and moan at how exposed I am.
Thoktar’s palm lands on my ass with a crack that echoes through the barn. Pain blooms hot and perfect.
“Count.”
Another slap, harder.
“One—thank you—”
By five my voice is broken, tears streaking my face, pussy clenching on nothing. By ten I’m pushing back for every strike, shameless, dripping down my thighs.
He spreads my cheeks with rough thumbs and spits. The warm wetness lands directly on my asshole and I jolt, a shocked cry tearing from my throat.
“Every hole,” he reminds me, voice dark with promise.
Two thick fingers push into my cunt without warning, curling, scissoring, stretching. I scream into the hay. He adds a third, fucks me open fast and ruthless, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet barn.
“Soaked for me. Greedy little cunt already trying to milk my fingers. You want this orc cock wrecking you, don’t you?”
“Yes, gods, yes, please—”
He pulls his fingers free and I whine at the loss, until I feel the blunt, impossibly thick head of his cock nudge my entrance. He’s huge, bigger than anything I’ve ever taken, bigger than should be possible. I feel the stretch immediately, the burn, the impossible pressure as he starts to push.
“Breathe,” he orders, one hand stroking my spine like I’m a spooked mare. “Take it. Take every inch of your orc.”
I force myself to relax, to open, to surrender. He sinks in one merciless inch at a time, growling the whole way, until his hips meet my ass and I’m stuffed so full I can’t breathe. My whole body trembles around him.
Then he starts to move.
There’s no gentle rhythm, no careful lover’s pace.
He fucks me like a beast claiming his mate, hips slamming, balls slapping my clit with every brutal thrust. The barn shakes.
Hay flies. I scream into the straw, fingers clawing for purchase, coming apart on his cock in under a minute, squirting messily around his pistoning length.
He doesn’t stop.
He yanks my hips higher, changes the angle, and suddenly he’s hitting something inside me that makes my vision white out. My second orgasm barrels through me before the first has even faded. I’m sobbing, babbling, calling him every filthy name I know and inventing new ones.
“That’s it,” he snarls, voice ragged. “Scream for your orc. Let the whole fucking farm know who owns this cunt.”
He pulls out abruptly and I cry out at the loss, until he flips me onto my back again. My legs are jelly; he throws them over his shoulders without effort, folds me nearly in half, and drives back in to the hilt.
The new angle is devastating. I feel him everywhere, in my throat, in my soul. His hand collars my throat again, thumb pressing just enough to make my head swim.
“Look at me while I breed you.”
Our eyes lock. His are black with lust, pupils blown wide.
“You’re going to take every drop tonight,” he promises. “Going to fill this tight little human pussy until it’s dripping down your thighs for days. So when I’m gone tomorrow, you’ll still feel me owning you.”
The words break me. I come again, harder than before, back bowing off the hay, walls clamping around his cock in rhythmic pulses. He roars, thrusts erratic, and then I feel it, hot, thick pulses of orc seed flooding me, painting my insides, marking me in the most primal way possible.
He doesn’t pull out.
He stays buried deep, grinding, making sure nothing leaks out. His hand slides between us, finds my swollen clit, rubs merciless circles until I’m sobbing from overstimulation, until another smaller orgasm shudders through me and I squirt again, soaking us both.
Only then does he ease out, slow, watching his cum follow, thick white ropes spilling from my ruined hole. He scoops it up with two fingers and pushes it back inside me, possessive, reverent.
“Keep it,” he orders, voice hoarse. “Keep me inside you.”
I’m boneless, floating, tears drying on my cheeks, when he gathers me close, but he’s not done.
He rolls us so I’m straddling his hips. His cock, still half-hard and slick with us, rests heavy against my stomach. He grips my waist and lifts me like I’m weightless, positions me over the flushed, leaking head.
“Again,” he says simply.
I sink down, crying out at the renewed stretch. My thighs shake; he doesn’t care. He uses my hips to fuck me up and down his length, slow and deep, making me feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of his heartbeat inside me.
I lose track of how many times he takes me. On my back, on my knees, pressed against the barn wall with my legs around his waist, bent over a hay bale while he spanks me raw and fucks my ass with two thick fingers until I’m begging, actually begging, for his cock there too.
He gives it to me.
He bends me over that same bale, spreads my cheeks, and works into my ass with the same relentless patience he used on my pussy, slow, inexorable, until I’m stuffed full of orc cock again and coming so hard I see stars.
He fucks my ass like he owns it, because he does, until I’m a sobbing, drooling mess who can only chant his name.
When he finally comes the second time, deep in my ass, he stays there, plugging me, letting me feel every twitch. Then he pulls out, watches his seed leak from both holes, and uses his cock to paint it over my thighs, my stomach, my breasts, marking every inch of skin he can reach.
Only then does he let me collapse.
He gathers me against his chest, both of us slick with sweat and cum and hay, hearts hammering in unison. I’m trembling, wrecked, perfect.
“Mine,” he whispers into my hair, voice raw.
“Yours,” I whisper back, and mean it with every shattered piece of me.
Afterward, we lie tangled in hay and moonlight, his massive arm cradling me against his chest. His heartbeat drums beneath my ear, strong, steady, alive. Real. Present. Mine, for this one stolen night.
“I can’t lose you,” I whisper against his skin.
His grip tightens. “You won’t. Whatever happens, you won’t.”
We both know he’s lying. We both pretend to believe it anyway.
Dawn is still hours away, and I intend to wring every second of pleasure from this night that I can. I crawl down his body, take his spent cock in my mouth, and spend the rest of the night worshipping the beast who just ruined me for every other male on Rach.
By the time the first gray light creeps through the barn slats, I’m hoarse, covered in his marks, full of his seed in every possible place, and utterly, perfectly his.
And when he finally falls asleep with me curled against his chest, I stay awake just to listen to his heartbeat and memorize the weight of his arm across my back.
Because tomorrow he leaves.
But tonight, I was fucked like a ragdoll by the only male who ever made me feel safe enough to beg for it.
And I will carry the ache of him between my thighs for the rest of my life.