Chapter 19
Carla
The wall kissed goosebumps up my spine, but Becken’s body was made up of all wildfire and heat. Hot enough to scorch away the chill. His hands framed my face, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
His mouth claimed mine, each kiss threaded with something reckless. I responded with equal hunger, fisting the front of his Santa costume, pulling him closer, needing more contact, more of everything.
“This outfit has to go,” I gasped against his mouth, tugging at his red velvet jacket.
“Rip it off me. I don’t need it.” His grin was as wicked as sin.
His fingers found the zipper of my coat, working it down with fumbling urgency while I struggled with the buttons of his red velvet jacket. We were all hands and desperate breathing, trying to undress each other, unwilling to break the kiss for more than a heartbeat.
“How many layers are you wearing?” I asked in frustration as I encountered the fifth pillow.
“Too many,” he growled, shrugging out of the Santa jacket and letting it fall to the floor. Pillows tumbled away, revealing skin and a simple loincloth. If I’d known that was all Santa was wearing beneath his red suit, I wouldn’t have been able to think of anything else.
When his hands found the hem of my sweater, I lifted my arms to help him pull it over my head. The cool air bit my skin, but his touch burned hot enough to keep me warm. His calloused fingers traced along my ribs, driving goosebumps ahead of his touch.
“Lovely,” he murmured, kissing along my collarbone. “So lovely.”
“You’re just saying that because my bra matches my elf skirt.” Red and green, with tiny white bows.
His low laugh rumbled through his chest, and he dipped his tongue to trace the curve where my neck met shoulder. “I’m saying that because you’re driving me absolutely out of my mind, though the matching helps.”
I couldn’t form words. My awareness narrowed to his touch. Everything rerouted through him. When his lips found the hollow of my throat, I arched against him, a soft sound escaping that I didn’t recognize as my own voice.
“Carla.” My name was a prayer on his lips as he worked his way lower, his mouth trailing fire across my skin.
I’d been dreaming about touching him for days. His skin was warm and smooth, stretching over muscles that flexed beneath my palms. I traced the ridges of his abdomen, fascinated by the contrast between his gentleness and the raw power I could feel coiled beneath the surface.
“You’re lovely,” I whispered, and felt him smile against my throat.
“Orcs aren’t lovely.”
“You are.” I cupped his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. “You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.”
Vulnerability flickered beneath the desire in his expression. “You mean that.”
“Every word.”
He kissed me with such tenderness it made my chest ache. This wasn’t just physical need anymore. This was connection, recognition, the acknowledgment of something deeper and more precious than attraction.
When he lifted me higher against the wall, I wrapped my legs around his waist, bringing us flush together. The contact sent heat spiraling through me, and I couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped.
“Tell me what you want,” he said against my ear, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my entire body.
“You,” I breathed. “All of you. Everything.”
His hands found the fastening of my jeans, and I helped him work them down my legs, kicking them aside. When his fingers slid along the hem of my underwear, I thought I was going to come apart from anticipation alone.
“Please,” I whispered, not entirely sure what I was asking for but knowing I needed more.
He seemed to understand. His touch became more purposeful, more intimate, drawing responses from my body that made me forget where we were, forget everything except the sensation of his hands on me.
“So responsive,” he said, his mouth finding that sensitive spot beneath my ear. “I love the sounds you make.”
I whimpered as his fingers worked magic, tipping my head back against the wall, surrendering completely to what he was doing to me.
“That’s it,” he said. “Let me hear you.”
The world narrowed to the points where he touched me, tasted me, whispered praise against my skin. When he finally removed the last barriers between us, I felt exposed and treasured at the same time.
Then I saw his cock. Frowned at it, even.
“You…”
“Coorails,” he said, stroking his sizable length. “We’re born with them. They enhance our pleasure.”
It looked like he had a Jacob’s ladder spiraling around his cock, with beads on the strands that quivered. I could only imagine how they’d feel inside me.
“I, um…” Color rose into his pointed ears, and he stopped touching his cock. “We could wait.”
“Absolutely not. Give me that cock and give it to me now.”
His low laugh rang out. “Yes, ma’am.”
I reached out, fascination and arousal twined tight in my core as I curled my fingers around him. He hissed softly, his hips jerking forward involuntarily at my touch.
“Easy,” I said, stroking him slowly, feeling the texture of the coorails beneath my palm. Each bead rolled under my fingers, and I watched his face transform with pleasure. “I want to explore this first.”
His breathing grew ragged as I traced the spiraling pattern, learning the shape of him. “Carla, if you keep doing that…”
“What? This?” I applied gentle pressure to one of the larger beads near his tip, and he groaned, his free hand slamming against the wall.
“Stars above, Becken.” I tilted my head, my eyes locked on his as I continued my slow exploration. “That’s not a cock. That’s a promise.”
His breath caught. “Say that again and you’re not making it out of this hall for at least another hour.”
“Maybe I don’t want to make it out,” I whispered, guiding him closer. The heat radiating from his skin made me ache with want.
He leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was all hunger and restraint warring against each other. When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide. “I need to be inside you, but I need to go slow. The coorails… They can be intense.”
“Show me,” I breathed, tightening my legs around his waist.
He braced one hand against the wall beside my head, his other arm supporting my weight as he positioned himself at my entrance. The first touch of him against me sent shivers through my body. I could feel the texture of the beads, foreign and thrilling.
“Just the tip first,” he said, his voice strained with control. “Tell me how it feels.”
He pressed forward barely an inch, and I gasped at the sensation. The beads created a texture unlike anything I’d ever experienced, each one a point of exquisite pressure.
“More,” I said, digging my fingers into his sides.
Slowly, so slowly it was almost torture, he sank deeper. Each bead that passed inside me drew a soft cry from my lips, and his jaw clenched with the effort of holding back.
“Still good?” he asked, pausing halfway.
“Perfect,” I whispered, amazed at how my body was adapting, stretching to accommodate not just his size but the incredible sensation of the coorails.
When he finally joined with me completely, the stretch of him inside me was a breaking open, like hearing music where there’d only been silence. The vibrating beads pressed against sensitive spots I didn’t even know I had, creating waves of sensation that made me tremble.
“Carla.” My name was a reverent whisper as he stilled, giving me time to adjust. “Are you…?”
“Amazing,” I breathed. “You feel amazing.”
His breath hitched, then came out in a groan, his restraint threatening to shatter.
He rolled his hips, a slow rhythm that teased more than satisfied, each retreat making me whimper, each return making me gasp.
I struggled between the overwhelming desire to pull him deeper and the need to tell him to slow down so I could savor each heady sensation.
Every movement became a lesson in tension, a study in pleasure held just out of reach.
He flexed inside me with every stroke, his hips rolling with barely leashed power.
The ridged beads of the coorails sparked new sensations where I hadn’t known nerves existed, dragging moans from my throat that sounded feral.
“Damn, Becken,” I panted, stroking his chest and sides as he curled forward to take my nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing, tongue stroking, every bit of him worshiping my body.
“I knew you’d feel like this,” he rasped against my skin. “I’ve thought about it too many times before sleep. Imagined how you’d tighten around me, how you’d fall apart for me.” He thrust deeper, slower, grinding until I cried out.
My body arched instinctively, my legs tightening around his waist. He filled me utterly, delicious bliss everywhere. Our hips moved together in a rhythm that felt primal, inevitable, like gravity had pulled us into this exact shape.
“More,” I begged. “Faster.”
“Whatever you want,” he said, his voice rough as gravel before he gave in.
Each pounding thrust hit deeper, truer, the coorails sending sparks of sensation with every drag. He followed every sound I made with a kiss, every plea with more heat.
He slowed his pace, like he was savoring every shiver that passed through me. Every thrust was a question. Can you take more? Do you want me deeper? And the answer was yes, yes to everything.
The rhythm we found was ancient and natural, a dance our bodies seemed to know instinctively. Each movement sent heat spiraling through me, building toward something I could feel gathering like a storm.
“More,” I cried, digging my nails into his sides.
He responded by shifting the angle, hitting a spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. I gasped his name, and he groaned in response, his control finally slipping.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he said roughly, thrusting harder, faster.
“Then die beautifully. Right here. Wrapped in me.”