Chapter Fourteen King and Ingrid
Ithink this is what real relationships must be like. Scared dogs and storms, frozen pizza, tank tops, and messy hair.
Like home and happiness, where perfection doesn't matter, and oddly enough, that makes it feel so good. So right.
Like your special person helping you when you’re sick, her hands on you, undressing you, taking off the immobilizer with expert hands, neither of you speaking until you’re sitting on a fluffy green towel in a steamy shower, and you realize she’s getting in, too.
Ingrid kneels in front of me, messy bun repinned in a clip, her curves shrouded in steam as she stares into my eyes.
I want to say something clever. Something sweet. Something about how I want this to be real, forever, for always, and I already know it. “You spoil me.”
“I think it’s mutual,” she says, and her hands coast down my chest, leaving slippery trails of luscious-smelling bodywash over me.
This is just the start. My days could be filled with spoiling her, with doing the little things that make her happy, and that (selfishly) would make me happy.
“You have all the muscles. Jesus,” she whispers, and I puff up a little.
Girls always like the body. The funny thing is, I think Ingrid doesn’t give two shits about what I look like on the outside. She cares about my insides, how I act, who I am.
That place is a mess. “Wish my insides were as pretty as yours,” I mumble. “But I’m trying.”
“I like your insides better all the time. The outsides, though... Forgive me for staring, okay? Not every day does a girl have a green demigod lounging in her shower.”
“Not every day does a guy have a goddess kneeling in front of him, either.” I reach down and pull her up, her soft, heavy breasts meeting my chest and sliding in the soap. Her arms slide up my shoulders, and our mouths meet, my cock pressed between us.
I’m trying not to be rude, or obvious, or anything I shouldn’t be, but his cock is enormous. Like a green jumbo zucchini. How does that fit inside me? Okay, the tip maybe, but the green apple bulb at the bottom—that’s a no-go.
While our mouths are fused, tongues sparring, my hand escapes from its place on the back of his broad neck and slides between his legs, wrapping tightly around the long sheath. I can close my hand around him, but not all of my fingers touch.
Why does that make me wince and drip in excitement at the same time?
My fist pumps up and down, nice and soapy, my newly awakened siren inside enjoying how he starts moaning and squirming. “You were so patient. So sensitive,” I whisper, my thumb easing around his smooth, bell-like tip.
He says nothing, just growls as I stroke faster. I sit back on my knees so I can actually watch the show, watch this Adonis moaning and biting his lip, head tilted back as I own his cock with both hands.
“Ingrid...”
I love how his lips part just to gasp my name. “Be right back,” I whisper, rising to retrieve the shower head.
“Rinsing off already?” King asks, eyes opening.
“I don’t want to eat soap,” I answer, playing the spray over his chest and then over his thighs, my hand pumping clean water over the erection that makes my pussy ache when I look at it.
I’m careful to keep my elbows away from his knee, gently letting water wash over the indents from where the brace has bitten into his skin in the last few hours.
As a nurse, I’ve seen everything, but only on humans. King’s cock is unique. My lips hover over the head as my fingers teasingly circle the thick knot at the base.
“That’s so good,” King whispers.
“How’s that supposed to fit inside of me?” I ask.
“Practice. Not right away. It’s just kind of... It helps everything I deposit stay in the bank, okay?”
“Oh. For—for babies, huh?”
“And to keep your pussy locked around my cock for a long time. I’d like that. Being stuck with you for a long time,” he whispers, hands resting on my shoulders.
My head bobs, and the tip of my tongue flicks out, lapping the clear, shimmering trails that come from his tip. I’m pleasantly surprised by the taste, which is faint but very herbaceous, like mint and basil, fresh and green.
My boyfriend’s cock makes an awesome green smoothie.
“Why are you giggling?”
“Because I like the way you taste, and I was thinking how it would sound to tell someone I was on a health food kick. Getting my daily dose of greens. That my boyfriend’s cock makes an epic green smoothie.
” My tongue drags up and down the sides, and my hand tightens around his knot.
I watch as his jaw flexes and his eyes close in bliss.
“Boyfriend? For real?”
Damn.
But if you count tonight’s pizza, we’ve shared three meals and gone skidding into third base at the speed of light.
“I was thinking about it,” I say, not to toy with him.
I don’t want to toy with him. Under the big ego, there’s something much smaller and sweeter, carrying an overinflated weight out of a sense of obligation and loss.
Two things I know a lot about.
“What can I do to get from maybe to yes?” King asks.
“Give me time.” My mouth stretches over the tip of his cock, and King grunts, half lifting himself from the ledge.
He fills my mouth completely, with inches left over. My mouth and hand work together, pumping and sliding, occasionally flexing around his knot, listening to the sounds of water sprinkling and his frantic moans.
“I last longer, normally,” King groans as I pull back to breathe.
“You’ve been waiting for a very long time.” I wipe his apology away with a long lick that traces the pulsating vein in the back of his shaft. “You took care of me first.”
“I’ll always take care of you first. I’d always take care of you, Ingrid... If you were mine.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” The words spring out, a quick, sharp reflex that usually fends off rude questions about when this thirty-something “spinster” is going to settle down and have babies, or get a man, or whatever it is nosey people say.
“No. I know you don’t,” King’s voice is sober. Deeper. “War Maidens don’t. They favor a man by allowing him to be in their lives. He pledges to always honor her and treat her as his greatest treasure and bravest ally. He’ll care for her because it is his privilege, not her lack of ability.”
Orcs have this wooing thing down. I feel taller on my knees, kneeling in front of this guy, than I do in platform heels. He sets me on some pedestal—which is a mistake. Because I’m not the “War Maiden” he thinks. I’m a vulnerable mess inside sometimes, too.
“It’s nice to be taken care of when you want it, not when you need it,” I murmur before I go back to working his cock over with my mouth, sucking on him harder this time, feeling the stream of minty pre-cum grow thicker and more copious as my palm keeps up a steady rhythm against his shaft.
King pops with a harsh curse, his large hand digging into my scalp, which is a surprising turn on. “Oh, God. Ingrid... You’re amazing.”
I lick my lips and watch the spurts of cum still flowing from him, watch his knot shrink to half its size. I guess that’s because it’s not trapped inside of me. “There’s a lot,” I whisper in awe, catching a spray against my breasts.
“Because I don’t just want you. I think I need you. I think I—”
I kiss him hard. Fast. His cum is still on my mouth, and he doesn’t care, just pulls me up into his lap so that we’re a tangle of wet limbs and needy little cries.
I think I love you.
I think that’s what he was going to say.
Not ready for that. Not at all, no how, no way, my brain reminds me.
But my heart sure seems happy about it.