Page 56

Our auras pulsed around us, swirling together in the dim light of the forge—gold clashing with red, silver whispering between the creases. It was a promise—a vow without words.

And then, finally, Vorgath lowered me onto the workbench and moved between my legs, taking his time, spreading my legs wide, hooking them in the crooks of his massive arms.

“Soraya,” he murmured above me, voice deep, dark, dangerous in its intensity. “Durlan... tell me if it's too much. I need you to tell me.”

I nodded, my breath hitching with equal parts anticipation and need.

Slowly, gently, his thick shaft pushed into me, my body accommodating inch by inch of him. The stretch—the sheer fullness—was unlike anything I’d ever felt, both overwhelming and perfect. I arched my back, toes curling as my breath stuttered in my throat, my whole body trembling under the intensity.

“By the Alders, Vorgath,” I whispered, feeling every ridged vein of him moving deeper inside me, stretching me in ways I hadn’t even dreamed possible.

He froze, his dark eyes blown wide with concern, every taut muscle in his body tense, locked in place as if waiting for a signal. His hands, those big, scarred hands, trembled ever soslightly where they were braced on either side of me, holding him above me like a shield.

“If it’s too much, we stop,” he rasped, his voice low, raw, as though the restraint was physically painful for him.

But oh, I didn’t want him to stop. I couldn’t. The pleasure and pressure blurred together, wound so tightly inside me that I needed to go further, to see what more there could be. The sensation of him filling me so completely made me dizzy with lust and something far deeper… something I didn’t have a name for yet but felt in every touch.

“No,” I managed to breathe out, my fingers curling into his shoulders, urging him on. “Don’t stop.”

With a guttural groan, he sunk further into me, the stretch now impossibly deep, sending flames licking up my spine, pleasure overwhelming everything else. My body, impossibly full, was screaming for more. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, desperate, needing him closer than seemed physically possible.

His hands shifted to cup my ass, lifting me slightly, angling to press even deeper. When he finally bottomed out, I let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sob of raw need. I felt him everywhere, filling parts of me I hadn’t even known existed. The sensation of being so tightly connected to him was overwhelming, yet it wasn’t enough.

I wanted more—needed more.

“Yes,” I gasped, tilting my head back. “More.”

“You're perfect,” he rumbled, his voice dark, gravelly, barely restrained. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot against my skin. “You were made for me.”

And then, he began to move.

Slow at first, each thrust careful, testing, almost reverent. My breath hitched with every shift, every inch of him pushingdeeper until I thought I might break under the sheer weight of it all.

“Durlan,” he growled, inching back just enough to watch my reaction when he thrust forward, the sudden fullness ripping a gasp from my lips. “You feel... so damned good.”

I couldn't respond, not with words, at least. Instead, my body did the talking, arching toward him, my nails digging into his arms as wave after wave of pleasure hit me with every slow grind of his hips. I was drowning in him—the heat, the thickness, the way my body stretched to fit him perfectly.

His rhythm grew faster, more urgent, and with each stroke deeper than the last, I felt myself unraveling, an all-consuming ache building in the pit of my stomach, ready to burst.

“Vorgath,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “Don’t—don’t stop. Please.”

His next thrust was harder, rougher, burying himself fully inside me with a growl so feral, so primal, I felt it resonate deep in my bones.

I couldn't help it—I cried out, my head falling back as his strokes became more powerful, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through me.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, were wild now, full of raw hunger. He growled, low and deep, before he surged forward again, his hips snapping into mine with renewed fervor. He was everywhere, all at once, and I moaned, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck, arching into him in answer to that pounding rhythm.

His hands moved to my hips, gripping hard as he lifted me, changing the angle just enough that when he thrust again, I felt him deeper. I cried out, the sound echoing in the dim glow of the forge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his deep voice sending vibrations through my entire body. “Let me hear you.”

Every word, every low rumble of his voice, pushed me closer to the edge. My skin felt impossibly sensitive, each thrust of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me. I’d never felt anything like it—the way he filled me, consumed me, yet somehow left me needing more.

“Vorgath—” I gasped, my hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders, his arms, anywhere I could hold onto as he pushed me closer and closer to oblivion. I felt the sweat beading on his skin, felt the powerful flex of his muscles with every thrust, the raw strength that could bend iron but right now was focused entirely on me.

His forehead pressed against mine, and his dark eyes drilled into me with such intensity that it felt like he could see straight through to my soul.