Chapter Sixteen #2
“God,” she breathed when she was fully seated, his cock buried to the hilt, her thighs flush against his hips. “I feel you everywhere.”
She planted her hands on his chest and began to move.
Slow, rolling grinds that kept him deep while her hips circled, the motion rubbing her clit against the base of his shaft.
She set a pace that was almost meditative, rising until just the head remained inside her, then sinking back down in one smooth, slick slide, taking him to the root.
The sight of her riding him, her breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips, her head tipped back, her stomach clenching, the place where his cock disappeared into her body, was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He told her so. In English. In orcish. In the broken hybrid language that emerged when his brain was too pleasure-drunk to pick a tongue.
“You are stunning,” he managed, his hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips.
“The way you look right now, riding my cock in the firelight, taking every inch, your body squeezing me so tight I can barely think, you are the most, ” The orcish word meant something like heart-consuming radiance and he didn’t have the bandwidth to translate.
She moaned at his words, her pace quickening, and he felt her inner walls flutter around him, a warning sign he was learning to read.
He shifted his grip, tilting her hips forward, and the new angle ground her clit harder against him with every stroke.
Her rhythm stuttered. Her thighs began to shake.
“I can feel you getting close,” he said, his voice rough.
“Through the bond. I can feel your pleasure building like it’s mine.
” He thrust up into her from below, meeting her downstroke, and the collision of force, her weight dropping as his hips drove upward, punched a cry from both of them. “Come for me, Harper. Let me feel you.”
She shattered. Her spine arched, her walls clamped down on him, and the orgasm ripped through her in fierce, pulsing waves that he felt echo through the bond into his own body.
She cried out his name, not the prince, not the diplomat, just Drake, and the sound of it nearly dragged him over the edge with her.
But he wasn’t done.
Before the last aftershock had faded, he sat up beneath her, one arm banding around her waist, and flipped them. She gasped at the sudden shift, her back hitting the mattress, his body covering hers, his cock still hard and thick inside her sensitized body.
“My turn,” he said against her throat.
He drove into her. Not gentle. Not slow. Deep, hard strokes that made the bed frame creak and her breath leave her in sharp, rhythmic bursts. She was so wet from her orgasm that the sound of their bodies meeting was obscene, slick and loud and primal, and it drove his orc instincts wild.
He hooked one hand behind her knee and pushed her leg up toward her chest, opening her wider, and the depth he reached in the new position made her eyes go wide.
“Oh fuck, Drake, that’s so deep, I can feel you in my, ”
He thrust again and she lost the sentence.
He set a relentless pace, each stroke bottoming out, the head of his cock hitting the deepest part of her.
She was making sounds she’d never made before, sharp, staccato cries that came with every thrust, building higher, her nails scoring his back in lines that burned and bled and only made him harder.
“One more,” he growled against her ear, his thumb finding her clit, rubbing fast and hard while his hips snapped. “Give me one more. I want to feel you come on my cock when I fill you.”
The words, the friction, the relentless depth of him, it broke her open. She came with a scream that she muffled against his shoulder, her teeth sinking into the muscle, and the sharp pain combined with the vice-grip of her orgasm around his cock sent him hurtling over the edge.
He buried himself to the hilt and roared, a sound dragged up from somewhere below language, ancient and possessive and raw, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside her in hot, wrenching bursts.
Through the bond he felt both orgasms at once, hers and his, layered and amplified, a feedback loop of shared pleasure so intense his arms gave out and he collapsed against her, shaking.
She held him. Arms around his back. Legs still hooked around his waist. Her body still twitching around his softening cock. Her breath ragged against his ear. Both of them sweat-drenched and trembling and more honest with each other than they had ever been with another human being.
Or orc.
Or whatever he was. Whatever they were.
“You filed your tusks,” she said quietly, minutes or hours later. Her finger traced the place where his tusk met his lower lip.
“For three weeks. Sophomore year.”
She pressed her mouth to the spot. Kissed it softly. “Never again.”
“Never again.”
She settled against his chest. His arms tightened around her. Outside, the mountain held its ancient silence, and inside, two people who had spent their lives performing perfection for others lay together in their beautiful, honest imperfection and breathed.
“Drake?”
“Mm.”
“The story. The article. It’s going to change everything.”
“I know.”
“Are you afraid?”
He told the truth. “Yes. But I’m more afraid of losing this.”
She kissed his chest, right over his heart. “You won’t.”
He believed her. Against every strategic instinct, every diplomatic calculation, every lesson the world had taught him about the cost of trust, he believed her.
Harper fell asleep in his arms. Drake watched the fire die and felt the bond humming between them, not the frantic pulse of new connection but the steady rhythm of something being built to last.
Tomorrow, the world would demand the masks again. Tomorrow, the succession and the conspiracy and the article would press in from every side. But tonight, in the quiet after vulnerability, they had given each other the thing neither had been given before:
Permission to be real.
And that, Drake thought as sleep finally found him, was worth more than any kingdom.