Chapter 30
Too late, Raye cringed at the sound of her own voice, the appalling position of her own body. The unthinkable, humiliating thing she’d just offered.
Please come, and kneel. Do whatever you wish with me.
And gods curse her, she was still offering it.
Still waiting, kneeling, her face burning hotter with every silent passing instant, while her thoughts blared with the hysterical urge to lift up her skirts, just in case Kalfr had somehow missed the point.
But what even was the damned point, they were outdoors in the middle of the fucking day, what was happening to her, what was Kalfr thinking, why wasn’t he responding, would he laugh or mock her or just walk away…
But as Raye squeezed her eyes shut, about to shove herself backwards again, to perhaps try to pass this off as some terrible joke, there was a sound, from behind her.
Gaelfr, clearing his throat. And then the unmistakable sound of footsteps, moving closer, followed by… a touch. A hand. Gaelfr’s hand.
“Ach, mark this, ástin mín,” came his gruff voice, as that hand gripped at Raye’s skirts, and began… sliding them up. “Our mate seeks to honour and comfort you, upon your altar. Just as she should.”
That was approval in his voice, in the brief squeeze of his hand against Raye’s thigh, and oh, he kept raising her skirts higher.
Clearly not caring that they were outdoors in the middle of the day either, perhaps since he’d said the rest of them were staying inside.
And the altar was surrounded by all this greenery, and Raye couldn’t catch even a glimpse of the house from here.
But then again, anyone else could still be watching.
Anyone else could walk over at any moment, and witness this.
Raye’s trembling body kneeling on all fours on a public stone altar, while an orc brazenly kept lifting her skirts, exposing her entire bottom half to the second orc standing silently behind them.
“Look what your mate offers you, ástin mín,” Gaelfr murmured, as he settled Raye’s skirts up over her waist, and — oh gods — touched his warm hand to her exposed bare arse. “Look what she has kept only for you, all these summers.”
Raye twitched at the feel of Gaelfr’s hand moving, sliding further downwards. Toward where her hips were still tucked inwards, foolishly clinging to some paltry modicum of modesty — but then Gaelfr’s hand drew back, and landed on her bare arse-cheek with a light, taunting slap.
“Show him, woman,” he ordered. “If you wish my ástvinur to deem you worthy of him, you must tempt him with what you offer. With what you wish him to fill once more, and claim as his own.”
Oh, hell. Raye’s face flamed hotter, but she nodded, and… obeyed. Arching her back, tilting herself out, even spreading her knees wider. Exposing every private mortifying detail for Kalfr’s watching eyes behind her. Trying to… tempt him. To earn his claim.
But there was only stillness from behind Raye’s kneeling body, even as Gaelfr’s warm hand gave her an approving pat, and slipped downwards.
Smoothing easy and possessive over the bared open curve of her, his finger sliding down her crease.
Where she was shamefully wet, and quivering, and Kalfr could see that, he was watching that, deciding whether she was worthy…
“See, ástin mín?” Gaelfr’s husky voice asked. “You see how wet and open she already is for you. How she longs to be filled by you again. And” — his voice deepened — “how she yet scents only of you, also. How she has been awaiting you, and only you.”
His hand caressed her slick heat again, lingering even more this time, settling closer, until… his fingers. Three fingers, settling proprietary and close, and then, with a firm, familiar thrust, pushing up inside.
Raye shuddered and gasped, spasming tight against his solid invasion, and Gaelfr huffed a satisfied chuckle as he held his fingers there for a long, humiliating moment before drawing out again.
“I have been training her for you these past days also, ástin mín,” he murmured, and oh, his wet fingers spread her folds wider, showing off even more of her, damn him.
“Readying her to open wide for you again, and to bear aught you choose to grant her. Whether this is your ploughing, or your power, or your punishment.”
Your punishment. Those too-powerful words wrenched up Raye’s spine, bitter and painful, but laced with something else, too. Something base and dangerous, something reckless, something like… hunger.
And when Gaelfr’s hand drew back again, and gave another light slap to Raye’s bare arse, that hunger wrenched even higher. He couldn’t be doing this, offering this, and she couldn’t be still kneeling here, waiting, agreeing.
“What shall it be, then, ástin mín?” Gaelfr asked, with another thrilling slap, a little firmer this time.
“Shall you grant your wayward mate your perfect prick, and your strong Bautul seed? Or shall you mayhap join me in punishing her, until she is red and begging? Or, mayhap” — another firm slap, a hungry growl from his throat — “you could only empty yourself upon her, and walk away. Leave her empty and untouched, and dripping with the dregs of you.”
Oh gods, what the hell was Gaelfr saying, what was he offering? And no matter what Raye had promised, why wasn’t she arguing this, arguing any of it? Why wasn’t she getting up, and walking away? Why was she just waiting, her heart painfully pounding, to hear what Kalfr would say?
But Kalfr still didn’t speak. Didn’t reply. And Raye kept waiting, waiting, squeezing her eyes shut, trembling on her hands and knees, until —
Another touch. Just there, where Gaelfr had opened her. Something warm, and wet, and rounded. And Raye gasped and shuddered at the familiar feel of it, even after all this time, because it was —
It was that. It was him. Kalfr.
Raye shuddered again, clutching tight against the slick nudging truth of it, and when she shot an urgent, desperate glance over her shoulder, the truth was here before her eyes, too.
Kalfr’s tall, beautiful, achingly familiar body, now kneeling close behind her on the altar, with his trousers sagging around his hips, and his grey cock jutting long and thick from the dark curls at his groin.
Jutting out from him, and delving into her, oh gods, oh gods…
And his face. Flushed, contorted, twisting, as his hooded eyes held to the sight.
The sight of himself, prodding inside her — and then he gave an experimental little thrust forward, nudging himself deeper.
Burying the full head of him, now, spreading her fully around him, while Raye quivered and gasped.
At the sound, Kalfr’s eyes snapped up again. Finding Raye’s face, and narrowing hard and cold and intent. “Do not look at me,” he rasped. “Nor speak to me. You will only kneel, and offer, and pray. If you yet truly wish for this.”
Oh. Raye’s flinch was all too apparent, wrenching her body tightly against his, but she jerked a nod, and twisted herself back around again. Kneel. Offer. Pray.
And it should have been an unthinkable command.
One that Raye shouldn’t have even considered.
But she’d promised, she’d made a vow, she was doing this for Svein — and beyond all that, stronger than all that, she…
she wanted this. She wanted Kalfr. She wanted whatever he would give her, however he would give it, even if it was this. Especially if it was this.
So she again held herself there, her head bowed, her eyes closed.
Waiting. Offering. Feeling Kalfr’s body, Kalfr’s hope, Kalfr’s life, still prodding just there, inside her.
Still saying something, something crucially important, even if he wasn’t.
Especially with the way he swelled against her, the way she could feel the hot liquid trickling out of him, and into her…
Kalfr’s seed. Inside her. Raye spasmed all over at the thought, at the rising dizzying threat of it — but then again, he’d told them that his healer had stopped his seed, hadn’t he? That he couldn’t have sons?
But she should still confirm that. She should make sure.
She shouldn’t just be waiting here, bared and exposed and open, convulsing against the taunting, invading threat of him — and at his answering shudder, clutching him again and again, a steady rhythmic caress.
As if she was seeking to milk out even more from him, needing to welcome him, to honour him.
“Please, goddess,” she whispered, toward the hard stone beneath her hands. “Please, grant this to me.”
There was a soft, approving grunt from Gaelfr beside her, followed by a light pat to her arse.
Saying yes, he liked that, so Raye hauled in a breath, and said it again, and again.
Praying, offering, needing, waiting. Please goddess, please grant this to me, please bless me, forgive me, help me keep my vow, please…
And when Kalfr finally, slowly pressed forward, easing himself inside her clutching heat with agonizing slowness, it felt like an answer. Like a gift. Like pure, dazzling ecstasy, filling her breath by breath, flooding all her hidden empty places with warmth and colour and life.
“Oh, goddess,” she moaned, as she arched up to meet it, to welcome it, turning her face up toward the sky. “Oh, fuck. Oh, please. More.”
She didn’t miss Kalfr’s low groan from behind her, the spasm of his smooth, silken, sliding cock as it settled itself deep.
Filling her all the way, occupying her, with a perfect ache and stretch all around, and even a gently thrilling nudge of his soft heavy bollocks below.
Fitting into her with impossible ease, impossible perfection, and how had she ever forgotten this, how had she lived without this, all this time?