Chapter 6 #2
“Did he teach yer mother, too?”
I blinked, momentarily distracted, but he didn’t take advantage of it.
“Nay, she was gone by the time I began my training. I doubt she would have approved—she was a fine lady, a daughter of a powerful chief. He chose my father for her because he thought—”
Thinking to catch him unawares, I halted my explanation mid-sentence and feinted high, dropped low, and swept at his legs. He stepped back, not quite fast enough—the flat of my blade caught his shin—and I heard the breath leave him with a huff of laughter.
“Clever lass.”
He pressed forward then, for the first time, and I felt the difference immediately.
There was a controlled power in his advance that my footwork could barely keep ahead of.
Each time I deflected one blow, another was already coming, measured and relentless.
I was fast; he was inevitable. I gave ground in a tight arc, the giant oak at my back, looking for the opening in his pattern.
There—a fraction of a pause at full extension.
I ducked under his arm and spun behind him, tapping my blade between his shoulder blades before dancing away.
This time he tipped his head back and laughed loudly at the leaves already beginning to turn bright colors.
“By the gods, lass, ye are a worthy opponent.”
“You underestimated me, even though I bloodied you once afore?” I mocked, breathing hard. “I am a fierce enemy, Stormseeker.”
He settled into the ready position, the laughter slowly leaching from his expression.
“I am no’ yer enemy, lass. I would be—och, never mind.”
I shook out my arms, watching warily for an opening as he circled.
“Why are we fighting, if we are not enemies?”
“We’re sparring, Rowena, because ye promised to show me what yer father taught ye, but no’ yer mother, whom yer grandfather sold to him.”
Surprised, I backed up, even though he hadn’t advanced.
“Sold? They were married!”
“Aye, but human marriages are like that. Females sold to make alliances.”
I couldn’t deny his words, and when Vrogul attacked again, I matched his patience, trading careful probing strikes, reading his guards and the slight shifts of his weight. His reach was immense—staying inside ‘twas the only real strategy I had.
When he overextended slightly to press me right, I stepped in close, too close for either blade to be useful, and we grappled for a breathless moment, his free hand closing around my wrist, mine braced against his forearm.
He leaned down, his jaw and tusks filling my vision.
“Do ye deny it?”
I twisted, trying to free my sword arm, but ‘twas fruitless.
“All marriages are thus,” I grunted. “Your parents, your sister—”
“Nay!”
He pushed me away gently and I stumbled backward.
“Orcs dinnae marry. We Mate.”
Since he hadn’t lifted his sword again, I kept mine pointed at the dirt as well when I scoffed.
“That is just a word for tupping—”
“Mating and fooking are different things, lass.”
His posture was loose, his expression serious.
“Surely ye’ve noticed we dinnae place the same stigma on physical relationships—”
I cut him off by lifting my sword and scowling.
“Aye, your sister explained.”
And aye, I have noticed. Every time I turn around, I see another couple showing their affection.
Just the reminder of those sights and sounds sent a wave of warm arousal through me, causing me to shift.
“But Mating is just another word for marriage?”
Vrogul’s nostrils had flared, and the green spark in his eyes grew darker. I wondered if ‘twas possible for him to somehow know my arousal.
“Mating and marriage are also verra different, dkaar.”
His voice had gone low, dangerous as he lifted his blade into the ready position. When he stepped sideways, clearly trying to circle me, I suddenly felt what prey must feel when confronted with the hunter. His gaze was intense. Determined.
“Mating isnae a choice. ‘Tis a kenning—that is what all kitlings learn. We are drawn to our Mates, we ken them, even when they are no’ with us.”
I swallowed, shuffling to the side to keep facing the threat. He hadn’t lunged, but I knew how fast he could move.
“What happens if you Mate to—with?—someone incompatible?”
Like an enemy.
Vrogul shook his head slightly, causing his braids to sway around his shoulders.
“Mates are always compatible, even if it cannae be seen at first. Physically, emotionally—”
He moved without warning and I was fooked.
Because I’d been hanging on his description, pinned by the power of his gaze and the way my core thrummed at the sound of his voice, I was caught off guard.
The first strike came high and fast, and I barely caught it, the impact ringing through both arms, since I’d added the strength of my left hand to the hilt.
The second came from the left before I’d fully recovered, then a third from below—I deflected it wide and danced back, heart hammering.
Vrogul gave me no room to breathe, pressing forward with that same relentless patience turned suddenly fierce, each blow deliberate and powerful, a hunger in his eyes that almost frightened me.
I blocked and parried and gave back what I could, landing two sharp blows with the flat of my blade that he absorbed without flinching, and God help me, even that thrilled me.
The scent of him wasn’t helping. Warm skin and leather and something darker underneath, something that had no business being in my head while he was trying to hammer my sword from my grip. My pulse pounded in my ears as I flashed my tongue over my lips, imagining I could taste him.
I missed a step. He pressed the advantage instantly, as if he’d been waiting for it.
I was moving backward now and couldn’t stop.
My footwork was clean, my blocks were sound, but he was simply too large, too strong, and every blow I turned aside cost me ground.
The oak’s shadow fell over me. I felt the gnarled root beneath my boot a half-second too late—my heel struck the trunk and I had nowhere left to go.
I fought harder.
I drove forward with everything I had left, a grim smile on my lips, blade flashing, trying to ignore the unexpected arousal thrumming in my core—and he caught my wrist as his sword pushed mine above my head.
I was trapped against the tree, my hands over my head, my breaths coming too fast as his massive body pressed forward, pinning me there.
“Sexually,” Vrogul murmured, and I blinked.
“What?”
“Mates are suited for each other: Physically, emotionally, and...”
He shifted, and suddenly his knee was between my thighs.
“Sexually. A Mated pair can find pleasure…”
He lowered his chin, and his voice, his gaze sweeping down my body even as he bent closer.
“In all sorts of delicious ways.”
My lungs didn’t seem to remember how to work. I tried to drag in a breath, but all I could smell was Vrogul. After days in his presence, I would have thought I’d been used to it now, but oh God, it made my blood hum.
He made my blood hum.
Pinned over my head, my palms were beginning to sweat. I knew I was in danger of dropping my sword, but I didn’t care, because all I could focus on was the hard length of his body, pressing against me.
And another hard length.
His cock was growing against my stomach, and the realization made me want to close my eyes and tip my head back. I didn’t want to give into the first instinct—lest he think me afraid—but I couldn’t help lifting my chin, the back of my head scraping against the rough bark of the tree.
“Rowena,” he rasped. “Beg me to kiss ye.”
With that, he lifted his knee just slightly, and his thigh—oh God, his thick thigh!—pressed against my overly sensitive core. I saw white stars and gasped in pleasure.
“Never,” I groaned, even as I rocked forward against his thigh, trying to capture that delicious pressure.
“I will not beg.”
His thigh pressed the leather of my trews against my linen chemise and my already wet cunny. I ground against him, my vision going blurry with need.
“Rowena.”
Now his voice was a mere growl as he lowered his mouth toward mine. At the last moment, he turned his head so his tusks scraped lightly along my cheek and his lips found my ear.
“Ask me to kiss ye.”
Kiss me kiss me kiss me!
But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. The dual sensation of his lips on my skin and his hardness against my desperate clitoris—
I was going to come.
I was going to come, from sparring.
“Vrogul!”
“Aye, lass.”
His tongue slid along the sensitive skin beneath my ear and I rocked forward again in shock when I realized ‘twas ridged.
“All ye need to do is ask.”
Oh God, oh God.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I rocked against him, no longer caring if I appeared weak.
“I need…”
“I ken it, dkaar.”
Slowly, I felt him removing my sword from my fingers and wondered when he’d dropped his. His fingers—so big, so thick, callused, talented!—encircled my wrists, pressing my hands against the bark of the tree, claiming me.
Victory.
When he slid his hands down my arms, his tusks and tongue still teasing my throat most cruelly, I dropped my hands to his head, twisting my fingers through his braids.
Holding him against me.
“Ye’re mine, Rowena,” he growled against my skin as his hands slid to my sides, and up to cup my breasts through my bodice.
“I have won ye, won this. And I want my prize.”
Oh God, oh God.
I whimpered as I humped his leg like a bitch in heat.
“Vrogul!” I panted, ready to beg, if that’s what was necessary.
“Come for me, dkaar,” he commanded.
And my pleasure peaked.
“Please!” I wailed, giving in to the inevitable.
Before the word had left my lips, he was there, swallowing it. His tongue claimed mine as his fingers cupped my breast, and I came hard against his leg.
I have no idea how long my climax lasted. I was pinned to the tree by him, his thick cock throbbing against my navel, his lips and tongue teasing out my pleasure, nipping and sucking and causing me to moan as I clutched at him.
This kiss was naught like the first time we fought.
This was…a celebration. A celebration of victory.
But whose?
Because I’d never, not in my entire life—even lying in bed at night, using my fingers—imagined a climax like that. I was gasping, writhing…and he’d done naught more than kiss me.
With a gasp, I pulled away from him, knocking my head against the tree as I did. I stared up at him, wide-eyed and confused, pleasure still coursing through my limbs, causing little white-hot twitches and jolts, which in turn sent my core throbbing again.
Vrogul’s eyes were green.
Completely.
His eyes were green, and he seemed…dazed.
As I watched—barely coherent myself—his tongue flicked against his tusk, then across his lower lip as if he were trying to center himself. I watched him blink, watched him realize where he was and what he was doing…and I dared him to say something about me begging.
Instead, his lips curled into a slow smile. Not satisfied, not gloating, just…gentle. Sweet. He slowly lowered his leg away from my core, allowing me to rest my weight on my heels, then bent to brush a soft kiss across my lips.
Until today, after that disastrous first kiss on the beach while we fought for our lives, I would have said that an orcs’ tusks would make kissing awkward. But when Vrogul kissed me…when I kissed him…we fit perfectly.
“Thank ye,” he whispered, and my mind shut down.
He was thanking me?
Then he was pulling away, my hands were falling from his hair, and he was stepping back. My palms fell to the rough bark of the tree to hold myself upright.
Vrogul stooped to pick up both swords, then straightened and held my father’s out to me. As if naught had happened. As if he wanted to continue sparring.
As if his world hadn’t been completely altered by bringing his enemy pleasure.
I was never going to be the same, was I?