Chapter 17 Falla
FALLA
The fire's burned low, conversation settling into drowsy satisfaction as clan members begin drifting toward their homes. Ressa's weight against my shoulder has grown heavier over the past hour, her responses to Saela's stories coming slower and softer.
I glance down and catch her fighting a yawn, her brown eyes heavy-lidded in firelight.
"Ready to head back?" I ask quietly, not wanting to embarrass her by pointing out her exhaustion to everyone.
She nods, straightening with visible effort. "Yeah. Long day."
We say our goodbyes—Kai giving me a knowing look I ignore, Saela hugging Ressa with genuine affection, Ursik already half-asleep against Kerra's shoulder. The walk toward Ressa's cabin feels longer in darkness, the path lit only by scattered torches marking the way.
She doesn't pull away when I take her hand. Just laces our fingers together like it's natural, like we've been doing this for years instead of days.
"I had fun this week," I say, the words coming easier than expected. "More than I thought I would."
Ressa's laugh carries warmth that has nothing to do with alcohol this time. "Me too. I didn't think I could feel this way again."
"What way?"
"Light." She squeezes my hand. "Like I'm not just carrying weight everywhere I go. Like there's space for joy instead of just survival."
My chest tightens at her honesty, at the trust it takes to say something that vulnerable. "You deserve more than survival."
"I'm starting to believe that." She pauses, then continues quieter. "This week healed something in me. Made me remember I'm more than what happened to me."
We reach her cabin too quickly, the small structure appearing between trees with its simple porch and dark windows.
I should go. Should let her rest, give her space to process everything.
Should probably think about what happens now that the festival's over and I don't have built-in excuses to see her every day.
Should definitely not be imagining ways to create new excuses.
"Thanks for walking me back," Ressa says, turning to face me on the porch. The torchlight catches in her red hair, painting copper highlights across freckled skin. "And for everything this week. For being patient with me."
"You don't have to thank me for basic decency."
"Maybe not. But I want to anyway."
I start to step back, to put proper distance between us before I do something stupid like ask if I can see her tomorrow. And the day after. And every day until she gets sick of me showing up.
Ressa's hand catches my shirt, stopping my retreat. Then she's rising on her toes and kissing me with intent that burns away any pretense of casual goodbye.
Her mouth tastes like honey mead and determination. I respond automatically, my hands finding her waist to steady us both. She makes a soft sound against my lips and deepens the kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair to pull me closer.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"Come inside," she whispers against my mouth. "Please."
Every professional instinct screams warnings about moving too fast, about making sure she's ready, about not taking advantage of someone still healing from trauma. But the want in her eyes matches the heat spreading through my veins, the way her pulse races visible in her throat.
"Are you sure?" My voice comes out rough.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
She pulls me toward the door and I follow because I'm apparently incapable of denying her anything. The cabin's interior is dark and quiet, familiar from my many medical visits but feeling completely different now. This isn't healer and patient. This is something else entirely.
Ressa lights a single candle, the flame casting dancing shadows across sparse furnishings. Then she's kissing me again, backing toward her bedroom with clear intention.
"Your injuries," I manage between kisses. "Your shoulder—"
"Is fine. The salve worked. Everything's healed enough."
"Your ribs—"
"Don't hurt. Falla." She stops moving, her hands framing my face to make me look at her. "I trust you not to hurt me. You're the only person I trust with this."
The words hit harder than any physical blow. Trust. From someone who has every reason not to give it, especially not to an orc male.
I kiss her with everything I can't put into words—reverence and want and the promise to prove that trust isn't misplaced. She responds with equal intensity, her fingers working at the ties of my shirt until it falls open.
We make it to her bedroom through fumbling navigation and desperate kisses. I ease her down onto the simple bed, following to brace myself above her. The candle's positioned close enough I can see her face clearly—flushed and eager and beautiful in ways that make my chest ache.
"Tell me if anything hurts," I say, my healer instincts refusing to shut up completely. "If you want to stop—"
"I won't want to stop." She pulls me down for another kiss. "But I'll tell you. I promise."
I work her shirt up and off with careful hands, revealing freckled skin and the faint marks where bruises used to bloom. All healed now. My salve did its job, helped her body repair itself until only memory remains.
I plan to replace those memories with better ones.
My mouth finds her collarbone, kissing along the line where I once applied healing paste to swollen tissue. She arches into the contact, her breathing already unsteady. I take my time exploring—learning what makes her gasp, what draws soft sounds from her throat, where her skin tastes sweetest.
Her breasts are small and perfect, nipples already tight with arousal. I circle one with my tongue and she moans, her fingers tangling in my hair to hold me there.
"Good?" I ask against her skin.
"So good. Don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. I lavish attention on both breasts until she's writhing beneath me, then kiss my way down her stomach. Her pants come off easily, revealing simple undergarments that I remove with reverent care.
She's spread before me, vulnerable and trusting and so fucking beautiful I have to pause just to take her in. The way candlelight paints her skin. The way her chest rises and falls with anticipation. The way she's watching me with heat in her brown eyes instead of fear.
"I want to taste you," I tell her, my hands settling on her thighs. "Can I?"
"Yes. Please, yes."
I lower my mouth to her center and she cries out, her hips lifting from the bed.
She's already wet, ready, her body responding to arousal instead of bracing against pain.
I take my time learning her here too—what pressure she likes, what rhythm makes her thighs tremble, where to focus my tongue to draw those perfect desperate sounds.
Healer's hands know anatomy. Know exactly where nerves cluster and how to stimulate them for maximum effect. I use every bit of that knowledge now, my fingers working in tandem with my mouth until she's gasping my name like prayer.
"Falla, I'm—I'm going to—"
"Come for me." I seal my mouth over her and increase the pressure, sending her over the edge.
She breaks apart beautifully, her whole body tensing then releasing in waves while she makes sounds I want to memorize. I work her through it until she's pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive and shaking.
When I rise up to look at her, she's flushed and gorgeous and smiling with satisfaction that makes pride bloom warm in my chest.
"That was..." She trails off, apparently unable to find words.
"Good?"
"That's an understatement." She pulls me up for a kiss, tasting herself on my mouth without hesitation. "I want more. I want all of you."
I'm painfully hard, have been since she first pulled me inside, but I make myself pause. "I need to be careful. I'm—"
"Massive. I know." Her hand drops between us to stroke me through my pants and I groan at the contact. "I'm not afraid of you."
The words settle something fundamental in my chest. She's not afraid. This woman who has every reason to fear orc males isn't afraid of me.
I strip off the rest of my clothes and her eyes go wide when she sees me fully bare. I'm not small by any standard—even among orcs I'm considered well-endowed. But instead of fear, I see curiosity and want in her expression.
"We'll go slow," I promise, positioning myself between her thighs. "You tell me if it's too much."
"Okay." She spreads wider to accommodate me, her hands settling on my shoulders. "I trust you."
I line myself up and press forward slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. She's tight and wet and perfect around me, her body accepting me inch by careful inch. When I'm halfway in, she makes a sound that could be pleasure or pain.
"Alright?" I freeze, not moving.
"Yes. More. I want more."
I sink deeper, my control hanging by threads as heat and pressure surround me. She's taking me so well, her body adjusting to my size with each careful thrust. When I'm fully seated, I have to stop and breathe before I lose it completely.
"You feel incredible," I manage, the words inadequate for the reality of being inside her.
"So do you." She rolls her hips experimentally and we both groan. "Move. Please move."
I start slow, withdrawing partially then pressing back in with measured strokes. Testing. Learning. Watching her face for reactions—the way her eyes go heavy-lidded with pleasure, how her lips part on silent gasps, the flush spreading across her chest.
She's not in pain. She's not afraid.
She's enjoying this. Enjoying me.
The knowledge breaks something loose in my chest, permission to want this as much as I do. I increase my pace, still careful but with more confidence. My hands map her body—cupping her breasts, tracing her ribs that no longer hurt, holding her hips to angle her exactly where I need.
"Harder," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders. "I won't break."
I give her what she's asking for, my control slipping as pleasure builds at the base of my spine. She meets each thrust with equal enthusiasm, her body arching to take me deeper. The bed creaks beneath us but neither of us cares, too focused on the heat building between us.
I want this to last. Want to memorize every sound she makes, every expression of pleasure crossing her face. Want to prove that intimacy can be good and safe and perfect instead of violent.
My thumb finds where we're joined, circling the bundle of nerves that makes her cry out. She tightens around me immediately, her whole body tensing.
"Close," she whimpers. "I'm so close."
"Then come again." I increase the pressure, angling my hips to hit deeper. "I want to feel you."
She shatters with my name on her lips, her inner muscles clenching around me in rhythmic pulses that destroy what's left of my control. I follow her over with a groan, spilling inside her while pleasure whites out everything else.
We collapse together, both breathing hard and tangled in rumpled blankets. I manage to shift my weight so I'm not crushing her, pulling her against my chest where I can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing.
"You okay?" I ask when I can form words again.
"Better than okay." She tilts her head up to kiss my jaw. "That was perfect."
Perfect. Yeah. That's exactly what it was.
I hold her close while our breathing steadies, my hand tracing idle patterns across her back. Outside, the settlement's gone quiet for the night. Inside this small cabin, everything feels right in ways I didn't know I was missing.