CHAPTER 3 — Where’s the Harm ? #6
Panicked, my eyes fly open, afraid he’s going to leave before we finish.
I don’t want this to be over. I’m not okay with the emotional portion of this, but the sex is off the charts.
I’ve been hovering at the edge, so close to coming again I can taste it.
My insides clench, unhappy with his disappearance.
With baffling control, Roarg takes hold of his length, twisting his grip and giving himself a stern squeeze.
He administers this punishing hold without ever taking his eyes off of me.
“Stephanie. I will hear you say it,” he declares, unrelenting.
His authoritative tone is a weird turn-on that makes my knees squeeze his sides.
He lowers his gaze only for a moment to take note of that before he adds, softer, “It will make me... very pleased.”
The softness is actually more dangerous. Something pangs in my chest. Something really strange. It’s in the vicinity of my heart—because inside, something in me wants to please him.
I slap a hand over my chest, trying to whack some reality back into it. We hardly know this guy, heart! Yes, he’s making me feel good, and yes, he’s more attentive and confident and skilled than any human I’ve been with, but now is not the time to get sentimental! I need to keep it together!
Glancing down at my hand holding my heart, something predatory flashes across Roarg’s face, making me freeze.
He backs up and slides his hands expertly under me.
“No!” I tell him.
He stops, easily spreads my suddenly locked knees, and stares at me from between them. “Why?”
My sex quivers at his face’s proximity. It makes it hard to think. “Because…” I try to snap my brain into coming up with a good reason. I also try to snap my knees closed, but his broad hand prevents this.
Before I can make up an answer—any damn good answer— he bites, “Stephanie, why won’t you let me kiss you here?”
He slaps the side of my butt, the audible smack and the red-hot rush of blood to the spot firing all sorts of crazy things in my brain.
And I jolt, blurting, “Because I already feel too vulnerable with you!”
Triumph colors his expression, and he hauls my rear off the bed, scooping me up to bring me to his face.
All my weight falls back on my shoulders and arms, and his hot, wet tongue licks up my center, making me shriek.
The pressure of his tongue is perfection; this is a man who knows exactly what he’s licking and how to do it right. His confidence is sexy, his hold on me is completely dominating, making me stifle a scream.
Then he feathers his tongue over my clit, and latches onto it with his lips.
I rip one of his pillows away from the headboard and try to smother my face.
His mouth pops off me. “No,” he says so firmly, my womb trembles.
I’d say he wrestles the pillow from me, but that’s not true.
He plucks the pillow out of my hands with ease and tosses it to the side.
“I want to hear you call me husband. Before this night is done, I will hear you say it. Even if I have to suck and lick at this,” he pinches my clit, making me howl and kick ineffectively at him, “until the sun comes up.” He looks me dead in the eye.
“I vow to you, Stephanie, I will do it.”
“You psycho,” I pant, eyes wide.
He pretends to frown at me—and even pretending, it makes my belly tighten and my inner muscles flutter.
I am not comfortable with how in tune my body is to this Orc.
“No, I’m sorry,” Roarg pretends to say sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not what I want to hear you call me. Seems like you’re going to be very tired tomorrow. I’m going to make you scream all night.”
My eyes plead with him, trying to make him see reason as he brings his mouth to me again. “Roarg, I can’t call you that! I’m not staying—!” I start to cry.
Roarg pulls away, hands still cupped under my butt, still keeping my bottom half jacked in the air, his eyes fixed on mine, the iron-will in them making a shiver travel up my spine.
“You gave me your vow. I will have your surrender.” He leans in and bites the inside of my thigh, causing me to thrash in shock.
He repeats it on my other leg, the nip of teeth and the slide and press of tusks, then he licks the spot, the wetness cooling on my overheated skin.
Body crazed, I feel a wet rush of excitement trickle out of me as his tongue drags along my thigh before he gives me another nip, this time close enough to my mound that I feel his tusk brush the lips of my sex.
My channel contracts, excited and confused. My body is giving all the come-hither signals, wondering why he’s not riding me into next week already.
But my head knows. Roarg locks eyes with me again. Give in to me, he tells me with his gaze.
JUST SAY IT! My body hollers.
“You’re my—” I swallow.
Roarg exhales on me, and my slick, desire-swollen skin feels everything, short circuiting my reasoning.
“MY HUSBAND!” I cry, slamming my fist on the covers.
Roarg rewards me by burying his face in my pussy.
But he only bestows a single gratifying lick.
I whimper when he lowers me a fraction and stares over my belly and breasts to give me an infuriatingly patient look. “Say it again, without rancor this time.”
I gape at him. Maybe I don’t want to have sex with him. Maybe I want to hit him with an oil lamp.
Smiling like he knows what I’m thinking, he sweetens the pot. “I can give you incentive.” He dips his nose into my curls and inhales, his eyes briefly falling closed. “For all the forges… You smell delightful.” And he mouths my clit, toying with me.
“You’re my husband!” I shout.
Still playing with my clit—making my eyes cross as tension skyrockets in me with no release on the horizon—Roarg’s hand finds my clenched fist, and works it until our fingers are laced.
“You’re my h-husband,” I stutter, teeth chattering as he does something clever and wicked with his tongue.
My ass thumps to the bed, my body bouncing, my breath forced out at the shock.
Roarg comes over me just as quickly, covering me, raising my leg around his hip and driving into me hard enough to make me bite my tongue.
“Ouch!”
Roarg makes an apologetic purr that widens my eyes, and he shoves his face close, teasing my lips open with a lick that tastes like me.
He sucks my smarting tongue into his mouth, sucking the sting out of it, and while he seduces my mouth, he moves inside me with tight, hard strokes that steal my breath as much as his kiss is doing.
When he lets me go, he declares, “I am your husband.” He tenderly brushes his lips over my temple, then my nose as he stares into my eyes.
“And you are my wife.” He reaches over me and grips the headboard with one hand.
With the other, he easily raises my hips, angling me up.
And his next thrust makes my vision explode.
The orgasm rocks me from the inside out. It makes me shake and twitch and cry out his name—but he corrects me, not wanting merely that. He growls into my neck, “Call me husband.”
What’s one more? “Husband!” I sob, body racked with pleasure shocks that have me bucking under him, toes curled. I dig them into his hairy, meaty calves.
It’s no punishment, and he doesn’t take it as such.
He rocks into me with approval and plunders my mouth with a bruising kiss.
His tusks press so hard along the sides of my mouth it feels like my jawbones are molding around them.
When he pulls away, I’m gasping, staring up at him as he pumps into me forcefully enough to rock the whole bed.
Even made of rope like they are, the bedsprings start to squeak.
It’s a weirdly attractive sound.
Somehow, it’s heightening my excitement even more. This is akin to the best hate sex I’ve ever had—not that I’m angry. But it’s all that intensity.
The emotions I’m experiencing as Roarg speeds up his thrusts are going to be messy later. I’m feeling a heightened sense of wonder as I stare up into his face, as I brave kissing his shoulder. It’s thick, hot, and sticky with sweat.
In other words, delightfully male. And for the moment, all mine. I might as well enjoy it to the fullest. I kiss him again, and give him a gentle show of my teeth.
He rewards me for that affection by nosing my cheek. At first, I think it’s because he wants to kiss my neck, but when I move my head, he follows, tracing a path along my face…
...Along my tattoos. He’s following the artwork that was poked into me today—and as soon as I realize this, I wonder why my face doesn’t hurt. What the heck was in that drink his wives gave me? It’s that or the post-tattoo salve, because otherwise I’m pretty sure it’s so fresh it should hurt.
His ownership stamped over my skin seems to excite him. He surges into me more urgently, and he nuzzles behind my ear, pants into it, making me bite my lip in delight as his chest hair scrubs my nipples and his immense weight anchors me perfectly to the loudly protesting bed.
“Do you want me to finish inside you?” he asks, breaths choppy, eyes on fire as he pulls back to gaze down at me. He grits his teeth, urging, “Tell me now.”
My insides give him an eager squeeze. But I choke out, “Don’t cum in me.”
With bared teeth, he pulls out.
Breathless, my head falls back, my glazed eyes going to the beautiful rafters above us.
...Until the wet, meaty thwk! thwk! thwk! sound of him beating off intrigues me enough to raise up on my elbows and watch.
His arm is bunched, a forearm vein visible and pounding—mouthwatering, as his big hand roughly tugs his gleaming, angry apple-green shaft, racking himself.
And then the first jet of cum lashes me. It shoots all the way to my breasts, surprising me, making my wide-eyed attention lock on the eye of his cock. His next spurt manages more distance and hotly lands on my chin.