CHAPTER 3 — Where’s the Harm ? #5
I’m too busy coming apart to take advantage of his hand’s distraction, to slam myself back and englove his cock. And he’s still got ahold of me where his mouth is working my overwrought breast. Both of my tits feel heavy, swollen with his attention and my excitement.
Roarg’s hand grips my thigh hard, his thumb sliding until it brushes the crease between my leg and my mons. So close to where I want him to be, and entirely unsatisfying.
Shuddering atop him, feeling delicious aftershocks burn through me with every strong suck of his mouth, I slump, barely keeping myself raised for his attention.
With a slow, dirty kiss to my nipple, he lets it go and sighs contentedly as he presses a surprisingly tender kiss to my forehead. “Is that what you need?” he asks.
“N-Not entirely,” I say shakily. There’s an unquenched ache between my legs. A sorry emptiness.
He knows it. And he stops wasting time. He curls up until I’m pillowed against his chest and my butt is shoved back to the cradle of his hips. His knees cup me from behind, and with one hand, he catches my hip and raises me enough to pull his cock between us.
And he leaves it there, long and proud against my curls, pointing straight at my belly button.
“Kind of off the mark,” I try to joke, although the sight of him, the sheer size of his pulsing hardness makes me almost faint with wanting.
Roarg meets my gaze, his face suddenly very serious—and somehow the sternness he’s projecting translates into pure sexuality.
“You say to me,” he begins to instruct me softly.
And his eyes tell me that if I don’t repeat the words he wants to hear, I will not have the pleasure of his cock.
“‘Roarg, be my lover and beloved. I will lean against your side as you lean to mine. I will nurture you with my whole heart, and I will be your willing helpmeet.” His cock, still upright and hungry, thumps against my belly, making me jump and gasp. His jaw flexes, his eyes closing briefly—but then he’s pinning me with a warning look. “For all of our days,” he adds firmly.
The air charges, as if just him saying this has created a ripple in the fabric of our reality.
Throat tight, I stare down at him, aware that his attention is wholly on me.
I can smell him, the potent maleness of him, and I want to experience him in full.
I’m starving for him now, this stranger who’s taken the time to wake my body more than any man I’ve ever met before, who only wants me to make him promises.
So I give him my vow. It takes three tries, but I even manage the last five words—the ones that unnervingly make it hard to swallow after I utter them. “For—for all of our days,” I finish haltingly.
With a triumphant rumble in his throat, Roarg cups my face in his hand, brings his mouth to mine, and squeezes my hip, pushing up, indicating he wants me to raise myself.
Nearly wild, I plant my weight on my hands, fingers splayed over his chest, and sit up on my knees, eager for the first touch of his cock.
He doesn’t disappoint. His foreskin has retracted, the glans an angry, wet helmet, his shaft shiny with precum trails. With a firm grip, he glides his fat crown back and forth along my folds, making me suck in my breath—and then he’s notched at my entrance, and with a buck, he breaches me.
“Ohhhh,” I moan, rolling my lips together and letting my eyes fall closed as I shift to sink down on him.
“No,” Roarg orders. “Eyes on me, wife.”
My entire body locks, hearing him call me wife.
Wife!
“Stephanie,” he grates.
I open my eyes, and immediately I’m pinned by his gaze. Panic rises inside me at the intent way he’s watching me.
“You’re mine now,” he declares. “You’re my wife, and I’m your husband.”
Before I can freak out at what I’ve hastily agreed to, he drops his weight on his heels and thrusts his hips up, forcing himself inside me like a spear.
“Unnh!!!” Although my guttural noise is ambiguous, his thrust doesn’t hurt; his long, thick shaft feels perfect.
Breath sawing out of him, Roarg grits his teeth, his eyes going slitted—leveling me with a claiming stare.
Instinctively, I try to edge back from him, try to escape this sudden intensity in an already charged moment—but I’m impaled on his cock, gripped between his hands, and trapped in his steely gaze.
What have I DONE? “I’m so fucked,” I whisper.
He steals my breath with his sinister smile. “That’s the idea.” And he pumps his hips up hard, making me gasp and crash back against the bar of his arm, which steals around my hips and braces me, keeping me in place for a ride.
He doesn’t let me catch my bearings. He sets a furious pace, making up for the lengthy warm-up by surging into me so brutally, my teeth clatter.
His other hand had been anchored at my hip, but he catches me by the wrist now, clamping around me with surprising force, and then he jerks my arm behind me.
He repeats the maneuver on my other side, collecting both my wrists in one hand, forcing my shoulders back, pushing my chest up.
His voracious gaze takes in the view, and when he raises his heated gaze to mine, he doesn’t make me guess what he’s thinking.
“Your breasts are exquisite,” he declares, like this is fact. Then his expression shifts, turning sharper. “Call me your husband, Stephanie. I want to hear you say it.”
Pleasure suffuses me at his praise; I’ve never felt very comfortable with my breasts.
They aren’t like the ones I’ve seen in movies or porn.
My nipples don’t point to the sky, my boobs aren’t globes of perfection.
To me, tits look like weird skin jugs, and whenever I touch mine, nothing happens.
They’re kind of just there, not doing anything for me personally, although guys pay them some attention during sex, giving them honks and nipple twists. But that’s pretty much it.
Tonight, Roarg has made me FEEL them. He’s nuzzled them, sucked on them, and he stares at them like he wants to eat them—and maybe fuck them.
He raises his gaze back up to mine and suddenly his hand clamps around my throat.
Shocked, I gasp, going rigid in his grip.
Fear locks my inner muscles around his hardness, squeezing him in a vice grip.
“Forge,” he grates, his eyes cranking nearly shut. Jaw parting, his narrow, heated gaze takes in my every feature, then he stares into my eyes, his lips stretching around his tusks as he plunges up, forcing my walls to admit his girth even deeper yet.
My muscles, clamped tight, flutter around him, making me gasp.
With a muttered curse, he works into me faster, in and out as I start to shake atop him, every cell in my body firing.
In the act of ravaging me, his thumb taps my throat. “Too tight?” he grunts.
Jerkily, I start to nod—but then I stop and look at him. Into his heated eyes. His taut, handsome green face. He doesn’t look angry. He’s not even showing a hint of it. And he’s watching me with a sultry expression as he asks me this.
My body relaxes from the inside out. He’s not gripping me too tightly; in fact, he’s barely gripping at all. He’s holding my throat, but he’s in control.
Control. That’s what this is. And now that I’m not afraid that I’m going to get choked to death by an Orc, I can access that having his strong hand wrapped around my neck is similar to the buzz I got at him grabbing my ankle earlier; with just this, he makes me feel small and dominated.
Also, having his attention squarely on my face, his eyes roving over me as I process what he’s doing, is making me feel more connected to him than when he drove his cock into me in the first place.
And that freaks me out more than the thought of asphyxiation. As I stare into his eyes, I’m suddenly feeling too much. “Let me go,” I gasp.
Thick tusks standing like imposing pikes on either side of his mouth, his lips press into a hard line, and his lids lower, making a dangerous sensation shiver up my back.
“You,” he says, punctuating the word with a deliberate thrust, stealing my breath.
“Gave. Me. Your. Word. Stephanie, you are now my wife. Tell me I’m your husband. ”
I’m quaking on top of him, on the verge of coming again even while an alarmed sensation gathers in my chest. Because that natural connection forged when two bodies join feels a million times more intense with Roarg than it ever has.
His body is owning me in a way I’ve never experienced before.
My mind is… feeling things with the way he’s drilling into me—his body, his eyes, his growled words.
Frightened by my unfamiliar emotions, I try to do the only thing I can: I look away from him.
He doesn’t let me have even this little escape. His long index finger comes up and presses into my cheek until I’m facing him again. Like he senses my conflict, Roarg leans in until his green nose touches the tip of mine. “Shhh. It’s already done, Stephanie. You’re mine now. Call me husband.”
He’s wrong. I mean, yes, something has changed here, that much is true—but if he makes me look at him and say this—makes me claim him—I know with a terrifying clarity that he will be my husband.
Making this declaration to him will mean something.
Something more than I want to give. I barely know this man!
I told him I’d marry him, but I didn’t freaking mean it! Wildly, I shake my head.
Roarg’s eyes narrow. Without warning, he flips us.
Pinned under him, his spread knees keeping my thighs stretched, his hand leaving my throat to stroke between my breasts, Roarg’s gaze is uncompromising. “Call me husband,” he orders again.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lips.
Between my legs, he’s still hard as a pillar of marble and hot as a roaring fire. When I don’t capitulate, he draws himself out slowly, the slide and friction so good a tear actually escapes my eye—and he softly brushes it away with the rough pad of his thumb before he sits up.