Chapter 11 #2
He kneels on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear. He drags them down slowly, his knuckles brushing the inside of my thighs. I raise my hips to help him.
Then I am naked, spread out on this absurd bed in front of an Orc who looks at me like I am a treasure he has spent years hunting.
"Perfect," he murmurs, settling between my legs. His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wider, and I feel exposed in a way that should terrify me but instead makes everything inside me clench with anticipation.
"Kruk—"
"Quiet," he says, his breath ghosting over my inner thigh. "You will speak when I ask you a question. Otherwise, you will let me work."
Then his mouth is on me and I forget how to speak at all.
He licks a slow stripe up my center and I arch off the bed, a broken sound tearing from my throat. His grip tightens on my thighs, holding me in place, and he does it again, this time circling my clit with his tongue in a way that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Stay still," he orders against my skin. The vibration of his voice makes me whimper.
I will try. I really do. But he is relentless, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention, learning what makes me gasp and what makes me shake. When he slides one thick finger inside me, curling it just right, I grab the sheets above my head and twist the fabric in my fists.
"Look at me," he demands.
I force my eyes open, force myself to look down the length of my body to where his face is buried between my legs. His eyes lock on mine, gold and fierce and full of dark promise, and he adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me.
"You taste like heaven," he says, pulling back just enough to speak clearly. "Like something I was not meant to have but will keep anyway."
Then he seals his mouth over my clit and sucks, and I come apart.
The orgasm crashes through me in waves, stealing my breath, turning my muscles to liquid. I think I scream his name. I might scream something incoherent. I cannot tell because the pleasure is too overwhelming, too all-consuming.
He works me through it, gentler now, easing me down. When I finally go limp against the sheets he presses a kiss to my inner thigh.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel in my bones. His thumb traces slow, reverent circles on my inner thigh, keeping me grounded even as my body still trembles with aftershocks. "And we are just beginning."
I blink at him through the fog, my brain struggling to process words. "Just..." I swallow hard, my throat dry. "Just beginning?"
He rises to his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and reaches for his belt. "You did not think I would be satisfied with only one, did you?"
The belt comes off. Then his pants. Then nothing separates us, and I get my first full look at him.
Oh.
"That's not going to fit," I blurted out, because apparently post-orgasm Colletta has no filter.
He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that vibrates through the bed. "It will fit. Your body will adjust. But first..." He leans over me, bracing one hand beside my head, and uses the other to guide my arms back above my head. "You will keep these here. If you move them, I stop. Understood?"
"That's not fair," I protest weakly.
"Neither is hiring a fake fiancé and then making me fall in love with you." He nips at my lower lip. "But here we are."
Then he kisses me again, deep and thorough, and I taste myself on his tongue. It should be strange but instead it is incredibly hot, this evidence of what he just did to me, what he made me feel.
His hand trails down my body, between my breasts, over my stomach, and lower. He strokes through my wetness, spreading it, preparing me. When he finally positions himself at my entrance I am already trembling again.
"Breathe," he instructs.
I suck in air and he pushes inside, slow and steady and completely overwhelming.
The stretch burns in the best way, my body struggling to accommodate him. He pauses halfway, giving me time to adjust. His forehead drops to mine, his breathing harsh, and I realize this is costing him too. The control. The restraint.
"More," I whisper.
He groans and sinks deeper, filling me completely, and for a moment we just stay like that, locked together, breathing each other's air.
Then he starts to move.
The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, each thrust calculated to hit that perfect spot inside me causing my toes to curl. But I can feel him holding back, keeping himself in check, and I do not want that. I want all of him.
"Harder," I demand.
His hips snap forward and I gasp, pleasure spiking through me like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. The sound that tears from my throat is raw, unfiltered, and his answering growl vibrates through his chest into mine.
"Like that?" he asks, voice rough as gravel, and I feel the rumble of it against my sternum when we're pressed together.
His breath is hot against my temple, and there's something almost predatory in the way he's watching me, waiting for confirmation, for permission to unleash what I can feel him holding back.
"Yes. More. Please, Kruk, I need—" The words dissolve into a moan as he moves again, deeper this time, and my fingers scrabble against the muscles of his shoulders, trying to find purchase, trying to anchor myself to something solid because I feel like I'm coming apart.
My thighs tremble where they're wrapped around his waist, and I can feel the cool metal of his gold-capped tusks brush my cheek as he buries his face against my neck.
His earthy and clean scent mixed with sweat and the faint hint of whatever soap he uses, fills my lungs, and I breathe him in like he's oxygen and I've been drowning.
He silences me with a kiss and gives me what I asked for, driving into me with a force that makes the headboard slam against the wall. The bed creaks in protest but holds. I wrap my legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper, trying to get closer even though there is no space left between us.
"Mine," he growls against my neck, the word vibrating through me like a physical thing, primal and possessive. His teeth graze the sensitive skin just below my ear, not quite biting but close enough that I feel the threat of it, the promise. "Say it."
My breath catches, and for a moment I can't find the words, can't find anything except the sensation of him surrounding me, filling me, claiming me in every possible way.
Then it spills out of me, half-moan, half-confession, the truth I've been dancing around since the moment he walked into my life and decided I was his to protect.
"Yours," I gasp, my voice breaking on the word. "Yours, I'm yours."
Something shifts in him. The restraint shatters. He pulls out almost completely and slams back in, setting a punishing pace that makes me forget my own name. His hand wraps around my wrists, pinning them to the mattress above my head. The complete surrender of it sends me spiraling.
"Come for me," he commands. "Now."
And I do, because apparently my body takes orders from him now, clenching around him as the second orgasm rips through me.
I hear him snarl something in Orcish, feel him pulse inside me as he follows me over the edge, and then we are just two people collapsing into each other, breathing hard, covered in sweat.
He rolls us carefully, keeping me tucked against his chest, and presses a kiss to my temple.
"My mate," he murmurs, the word thick with meaning I do not fully understand but feel in my bones anyway.
"Your mate," I agree, too boneless to argue.
We lie there in the afterglow, tangled together on the heart-shaped bed. For the first time all weekend I feel completely, perfectly calm.
And despite everything, despite Derek and the lies and the impending disaster, I smile.
Because for the first time in my life, I'm not facing chaos alone.