Chapter 6 Ella
Ella
I came here expecting a nice, quiet dinner with Oren, but the universe had other plans for me.
I see stars when Oren kisses me. Not the sappy, cartoon kind, but the real thing—a blackout burst behind my eyelids that makes my bones hum.
I don’t know if it’s adrenaline or pheromones or some ancient magic flipping every switch in my body at once, but holy hell, I know this: Oren Arch is my fated mate.
There’s no logic or slow build, just a magnetic snap that yanks me straight off the ground.
I barely register the air leaving my lungs before he’s got both hands in my hair, mouth crushing mine, and my body goes up in flames.
I taste his hunger, and something inside me knows that this is it. This is forever.
Every doubt I ever had about Orcs, about myself, about what the fuck I’m doing here? Gone. Burned to ash. All that matters is Oren, his hands, his mouth, the way his body fits to mine like he was built custom for me.
I want him. I want this. Fuck waiting for another second or pretending to be careful when every cell in my body is screaming for Oren.
I don’t care if this isn’t how it usually goes.
The second his tongue tangles with mine, I slide my arms up and around his neck and basically climb him, legs wrapped tightly around his hips.
He makes this deep, guttural sound against my mouth that sends heat straight to my core.
All my good intentions are gone. I hook my fingers in his shirt, trying to rip it off, desperate to feel his skin, his strength, his everything.
Oren’s hands are busy exploring every inch of me.
They tangle in my hair before sliding down to grip my ass so tightly I’ll probably have bruises. I freaking love it.
I push my fears to the back of my mind. Screw it. We’ll figure out the rest later. Right now, I just need him inside me.
He sets me down on my feet and stares into my eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I don’t hesitate at all.
Oren holds out his hand, palm up, big enough that my whole hand would be swallowed by his. When I slide my fingers into his, he’s gentle. Reverent. The skin is callused, warm, and I realize that he’s shaking—just a little, but it’s there. This huge, terrifying warlord is as nervous as I am.
He doesn’t tug, just keeps my hand in his and waits for me to follow. There’s an electric hum along my skin, like the air after a summer lightning storm. The room feels charged. His eyes lock on mine, and in them I see a battle trying not to break the world in half.
“Ella.” The way he says my name is like a shock wave. He’s not asking. He’s not inviting. He’s claiming.
I nod, my throat too tight for words, and follow where he leads.
He brings me through the house, down a short corridor lined with glass panels and strange, swirling art in green and black. The flooring is ancient stone, but the edges are trimmed with LED strips set to the lowest light. A mixture of primitive and hyper-modern, but it fits him.
The door at the end is heavy wood, marked by an old world symbol—something that looks suspiciously like a battle axe and a heart. He opens it with care, as though he’s afraid of breaking the moment, and ushers me through.
His bedroom is enormous. It smells of cedar and soap and the underlying tang that’s all Oren.
It’s sharp and dark, like a forest about to rain.
The first thing I see is the bed. It dominates the room, comically oversized with a custom frame hewn from blackened oak.
Dark gray satin sheets shimmer under moss-lights embedded in the ceiling beams, catching the green glow like water at midnight.
The headboard is a web of chainmail, polished so it gleams blue-green.
There’s nothing soft about it, except for the way it makes the rest of the space feel safe.
I stand in the middle of the room, unsure what to do with my hands. He closes the door, the sound quietly final. For a second, all we do is stare at each other.
Then he moves. Not quickly, not even confidently, but with a careful precision that makes my pulse jump. He’s closer than I expect, all seven feet plus of him, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
He releases my hand and lifts his to my face, palm against my cheek. There’s a feather-light tremor in his touch. His thumb skims my cheekbone, then tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I feel my cheeks go nuclear.
“You’re shaking,” he says, voice very low.
“So are you,” I shoot back, because I’m incapable of letting the moment stay serious. He snorts, then catches himself, and for a flash, he looks like he might bolt.
But instead, he steps even closer.
“You aren’t afraid?”
I should be. His hand alone could crush my windpipe, and yet it’s softer than silk. I breathe deep, nod. “No. Just… nervous.”
His eyes flare, a wild gold. “Good. I want you nervous.” He says it so matter-of-factly I almost laugh.
The tension breaks. I let out a breath I’ve been holding since I got here, and a laugh escapes. He stares at my mouth, and suddenly, my entire body is hot.
“Do you want this?” His voice is gentle, but the words are a challenge.
“Yes,” I whisper, barely audible. “More than anything in the world.”
He grins, wide and wolfish. It’s the first time I’ve seen him actually smile. My knees nearly buckle.
His hands go to my shoulders. The heat from them seeps straight through my shirt. He’s breathing hard, like he just ran up a mountain, and when he drops his head to rest his forehead against mine, I feel the gentle scrape of his tusks on my skin.
The air is thick with the musky, primal, and intoxicating scent of him. His deep emerald skin looks like he’s been carved out of the earth itself. His tusks gleam in the dim light, curving up from his lower jaw, and his lips are full and damp, parted like he’s ready to devour me whole.
I’m trembling, my thighs already slick with anticipation, as he towers over me, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. His eyes are pitch black, nearly swallowing the light, and they’re locked on me like I’m his next fucking meal.
“Orcs mate for life,” he reminds me, his voice so deep it vibrates through my chest and straight to my core. “Once I claim you, you’re mine. Forever.”
My breath hitches, my pulse thundering in my ears. “And you’re mine.”
He shakes his head, his tusks catching the light again. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you. Don’t worry, little warrior, I’ll make sure you feel every fucking inch of me.”
Before I can respond, he crashes his mouth to mine, and it’s not any old kiss. Oh no. This is a declaration of intent. His tongue, thick and hot, plunges into my mouth, claiming me like he owns me already. I moan, my hands clawing at his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
He rips at my clothes, shredding fabric like it’s tissue paper. My tits bounce free, nipples hardening instantly under his hungry gaze.
He cups me, rough palms dwarfing my breasts, and holy hell, the sensation almost knocks me sideways. His fingers knead and squeeze, rolling my nipples between thick digits like he’s determined to memorize their shape.
Each pass sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. My whole body arches into his touch, desperate and greedy, because somehow, it’s not enough, not even close. His grip is confident and possessive, but there’s a gentleness behind the power that hits me right in the chest.
He keeps working my nipples, tugging and twisting until I’m gasping, the peaks glossy and flushed from his attention. My skin feels hypersensitive, as if every nerve ending is wired directly to his hands. I could die happy with him touching me like this.
He whispers all the dirty things he’s going to do to me, and I gasp, my inner core throbbing with every word, every touch.
He drops to his knees, his tusks grazing my stomach as he licks a hot, wet stripe down to my panties.
He doesn’t bother taking them off. He just rips them apart, the sound of fabric tearing making me whimper.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he snarls, his nose nudging my slit as he inhales deeply. “I want to absorb your smell into my soul.”
I’m shaking, my knees threatening to give out, as his tongue drags through my folds, slow and deliberate. He groans like he’s starving, and his tusks scrape against my thighs as he devours me.
“More,” I beg, my fingers tangling in his thick, short hair. “Please, more.”
He pulls back, his lips glistening with my arousal, and smirks up at me. “You want more, little human?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Fuck me. Claim me. Please.”
He stands and shreds his pants. His cock springs free.
My eyes go wide and my mouth practically waters.
Oh, holy hell. Oren’s cock is massive. I mean, I expected impressive, but this is straight-up legendary.
It’s long, thick, veined, and the dark green skin is ridged with veins that pulse hotter than anything I’ve ever seen in my life.
The head is blunt and fierce, glistening, and the whole length curves up against his rock-hard abdomen. My thighs squeeze together just looking at it.
He lays me across the bed and crawls over me.
“Mine,” he growls as he places his huge erection at my wet opening, and then he’s pushing into me, inch by inch. I scream his name as my pussy stretches to accommodate him, the burn so intense it’s almost too much. Almost. The brief flash of pain quickly disappears as magic flows around us.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, his voice a gravelly rumble that vibrates straight through my core like an earthquake.
His hips snap forward, slamming into mine with the force of a freight train, and I gasp as I feel him bottom out, his thick, throbbing cock buried to the hilt inside me.
This should be painful, but a wave of magic swirls around us, combining our life forces into one.