Chapter 11 Carla #2
When he slid more fingers inside me, stretching me, I nearly came on the spot. I rolled my hips into the motion, seeking his drives without shame. He dragged his fingers across that perfect spot inside as his mouth continued its exquisite rhythm above.
I shattered like glass, my voice a hoarse cry in the room. My body bowed off the bed, my thighs trembling around his shoulders and my head thrown back. He kept going, drawing every last tremor from me as I came undone beneath him.
With a sharp groan and a tightening of his body, he came as well—solely from giving me pleasure.
We shuddered together, overcome by the wonder of this moment.
Finally we both stilled, him splayed on top of me, me a limp thing beneath him.
“That was…” He kissed my neck before rolling to lay beside me, tugging me into his arm. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’ve never…” Would it be bad to tell him that no one else had ever done that for me without first seeking his own pleasure?
Unsure, I just snuggled against him, boneless and thoroughly satisfied in a way I’d never been before. My body still hummed with aftershocks.
“Good?” he asked, and I could hear a smile in his voice that reassured me.
“Beyond good.” I kissed his chest, tasting salt and something uniquely him.
We lay there in the afterglow, my head on his chest, his arms wrapped around me while the morning light grew stronger.
That’s when a round, circular imprint on my left inner wrist caught my eye. At first, I thought it came from me grabbing at the sheets, Becken’s hair or shoulders. I held my arm up, frowning, squinting at the pattern in the low light.
I rubbed it, but it didn’t go away. It also didn’t feel like a crease in my skin. Circular, it looked like a pretty, golden tattoo the size of a quarter with a swirling design in the center.
“What…?” I shook my head and squinted harder. “What is this?”
When he followed my gaze, he stilled. With a gulp, he lifted his arm, twisting it in the light coming in through the window.
He had a matching golden circle, and I’d swear it wasn’t there yesterday. I would’ve seen it when we were playing cards.
“No,” he breathed, sitting up so abruptly I slid onto the bed. “This can’t be happening.”
“What can’t be happening?” I scrambled to sit up, clutching a blanket to my chest.
“Mating marks.” His voice sounded strangled, panicked. “We’re… You’re…” He ran a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than I’d ever seen him. “Fated mates. The marks appear for destined partners.”
I stared at him, then at the glowing circle on my wrist. “We can’t be fated mates. I’m human.”
“So are Rosey, Gracie, Jessi, among others. Tell that to Beth who’s about to deliver Ruugar’s youngling.”
“They have these marks too?”
Growling, he nodded. “It’s a permanent bond. Orcs mate for life, Carla. For life.” His breathing came rapid, shallow. “This means… It means we’re connected now. Forever.”
I’d never planned on finding forever with anyone, especially not a grumpy orc I’d known for barely a week.
“One good orgasm means we’re married?” I shrieked. “No way. Not in this lifetime, buddy.”
He shook his head. “I understand. I feel the same way.”
Well…that sucked, but I’d just rejected him. Could I expect anything but rejection in return?
I thrust all that emotional stuff aside.
“But I’m leaving Lonesome Creek,” I said, instead of all the words scrambling through my mind about how I didn’t do permanence, that we couldn’t be fated mates. That this must be a mistake. “My contract ends after Christmas.”
“I know.” His voice came out flat, emotionless. “I’m well aware that you’re leaving.”
The golden marks remained, both beautiful and terrifying for a variety of reasons.
The weight of their implications settled over me like a wet blanket.
I wasn’t ready for this. Wasn’t ready for forever, for the kind of commitment that apparently came with mystical golden circles and orc mating bonds.
“I need to get dressed.” I was suddenly aware of my nakedness in a way I hadn’t been moments before.
“Of course.” Becken’s voice came out carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched the blankets.
We moved around the cabin like strangers, carefully avoiding eye contact as we gathered our clothing. The easy intimacy of moments before had evaporated, replaced by awkward tension and the weight of whatever this was between us.
I pulled on my shirt with shaking hands. Every time I caught sight of the mark on my wrist, my heart leaped against my ribs as if it, too, wanted to escape. Fated mates. Forever. The concept felt too big, too overwhelming to process.
“The snow’s stopped,” Becken said from the window, his voice still carefully controlled.
He was right. Sunlight streamed through the trees, illuminating a world transformed by snow but no longer under a white barrage. I should feel relieved. Instead, I felt only dread at the prospect of returning to the real world, where we’d have to figure out what these marks meant.
Nothing. They meant nothing.
Or did they?
“We should eat something.” Focusing on practical matters might help.
“Before we figure out how to get back.” I also needed to go to the bathroom, but since it appeared my ankle was much better—I barely felt any pain when I moved—I’d handle that myself.
No more carrying me in his arms through the snow.
No more climbing between my thighs to give me pleasure.
He’d actually come when I did, and I wasn’t sure what to think about that. Who did something like that unless…
No, my orgasm couldn’t have been satisfying enough to make him come. He’d…been turned on in general and come from that. Not me. Never me. I was… Well, I irritated him on my best days, and I irritated him even more on my worst.
Except here, inside this sweet cabin where we’d connected in a way I hadn’t with anyone else.
I wasn’t going to think about that, either.
“Right. Food,” he said.
When we returned from the bathroom, we ate in silence, the bread and cheese tasting like sawdust. Every few seconds, I’d catch Becken glancing at my wrist, his expression unreadable. The golden mark shone in the sunlight, a constant reminder of what had happened between us.
“The snow’s pretty deep,” he said eventually. “Walking back will be difficult.”
“We can do it.” We had to. The prospect of trudging through knee-deep snow wasn’t highly appealing, but we needed to get away from each other long enough to think. We couldn’t remain here until spring, him sucking me to orgasm and him coming against my shin every morning.
“It’ll take most of the day.”
“No one’s going to come roaring in with a big truck and snowplow.”
“They don’t know where we are.”
“Well, I’m not staying here any longer.”
“Agreed,” he ground out.
We fell into silence. The marks continued to catch my eye. I found myself touching mine, wondering if I’d ever get used to the sight of it.
A low rumble from outside made us both freeze.
Becken strode to the window and looked out, stiffening.
“Peeka’s here.” There was too much relief in his voice.
The sorhox stood at the edge of the clearing, her dark green hide stark against the white snow. Her head hung low, and even from a distance, I could see something almost contrite in her posture.
“She came for us,” I said, as if that fact needed to be stated.
“She looks sorry.” Becken’s mouth quirked in what might’ve been a smile under different circumstances. “Sorhoxes don’t like abandoning their riders.”
“It’s a good thing they feel that way. I guess we should pack up.”
“I guess we should.”
We gathered our few belongings. The intimate morning felt like a dream now, something that had happened to other people. But the marks were real, undeniable proof of the connection we’d forged.
As I folded the blankets we’d shared, I found myself thinking about the look in Becken’s eyes when he’d seen the marks. Panic, yes, but also something else. Longing mixed with fear. I’d nearly missed it in my own stunned wonder.
He’d lost one mate already. The thought hit me, making my heart spasm. He’d loved Wexla, cared for her through illness and death. Now the universe had given him another mate, one who was planning to leave soon.
No wonder he looked terrified.
“Ready?” he asked.
After zipping my coat and pulling up the hood, I nodded, though ready felt like the wrong word. I wasn’t prepared for any of this. Not the marks, what they might mean, or the way my heart raced every time he glanced my way.
But ready or not, it was time to return to Lonesome Creek.
We stepped out into the crisp morning air. The snow crunched beneath our boots as we approached Peeka, who lifted her head. She released a soft whoof, almost like an apology, and nuzzled Becken’s shoulder when he reached her.
“It’s all right.” He ran a hand along her neck. “Thanks for finding me.”
Turning, he lifted me onto the sorhox’s back, his hands feeling much too impersonal. He leaped up behind me and settled his body against mine. I suppressed a shiver of awareness.
“Hold on,” he said as he slid his arm around my waist.
As Peeka began to move through the forest at his heel command, I chided myself for losing control.
Behind me, Becken’s breathing was steady but controlled, as if he was working to hold onto his own composure. I wondered what he was thinking, whether he regretted what happened between us.
I was a jumble of emotions, too tangled together to figure them out. Confusion. My own mix of longing and fear.
The forest gave way to open plain, and in the distance, I spied Lonesome Creek. Our refuge was ending, and with it, the strange bubble of intimacy we’d created. Soon we’d be back in the real world, where we’d have to face the consequences of what had happened.
I touched the mark on my wrist. Whatever this meant and whatever came next, it was clear everything had changed.
What were we going to do about it?