Page 69 of Her Orc Protector

"Ticklish?" I asked, surprised.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he growled, but there was no threat in it.

I touched him more boldly then, tracing the line of muscle that led down from his hip toward his erection. When my fingers brushed against him, he inhaled sharply but didn't move.

"Like this?" I asked, wrapping my hand around him.

"Yes," he said, his voice strained. "Just like that."

I stroked him slowly, watching his face, learning what made his breath catch, what made his eyes close briefly in pleasure. It was empowering in a way I hadn't expected—not because I was controlling him, but because I was pleasing him. Because I wanted to.

After a few moments, he covered my hand with his own, stilling my movements. "Enough of that," he said roughly. "Or this will be over before it starts."

I smiled, feeling a surge of confidence. I took a step back, then another, until I reached the edge of the bed again. I sank onto it, looking up at him.

"Show me," I said softly. "Show me what you like."

He approached slowly, a predatory grace in his movements that sent a shiver of anticipation through me.

"What I like," he said, kneeling at the edge of the bed, "is to take my time." His hands slid up my calves, warm and firm. "To learn every inch." They continued higher, over my knees, along my thighs. "To find what makes you sigh." His fingers hooked into the waistband of my undergarments. "What makes yougasp." He drew them down slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. "What makes you forget your own name."

I lifted my hips, allowing him to remove the last barrier between us. Now we were both bare, exposed to each other in the warm glow of the lamplight.

"Guide me," he said, his hands resting lightly on my thighs. "Show me how to touch you."

It was a struggle to find the words, to overcome years of silence and accommodation. But the need building in me was stronger than the fear. I reached for his hand and guided it between my legs.

His fingers were warm, patient. He didn’t push, didn’t assume. Just waited, letting me set the pace. I shifted my hips slightly, angling into his palm, and showed him how I wanted to be touched.

“Here,” I whispered, guiding his fingertips to where I was already aching. “Like this. Just—just circle.”

He obeyed without a word, his movements light at first, then firmer as my breath caught and my hips rolled into his hand. A low sound escaped him, and he kissed my cheek, my throat, the hollow below my ear.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “Open and honest.”

I laughed softly, shaky. “Feels like I’m shaking apart.”

“You’re allowed to.”

He kissed the corner of my mouth, slow and sure, while his fingers worked in steady circles, coaxing more heat from me with every pass. I clung to his shoulders, breath hitching as he dipped lower, sliding through the wetness he’d drawn from me.

My thighs tensed around his wrist. He didn’t flinch—just shifted his angle slightly, brushing the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again until my legs were trembling.

“Keep going,” he said softly. “Tell me everything.”

It felt strange—unnatural, at first—to stay in control. To say out loud what I wanted instead of waiting for someone else to decide. But the more I spoke, the more it shifted inside me, the more I realized this wasn’t a performance. It wasn’t about proving anything. It was mine.

I let go of his hand, but he didn’t change his rhythm. He stayed exactly where I’d shown him, exactly how I’d asked, working soft, slow circles over my clit while heat built deep in my belly.

“More,” I said, voice low, shaky. “One finger. Gently.”

He kissed my thigh in response and eased a finger inside me. I didn’t brace for pain—I breathed through the stretch, held onto the feeling of fullness, of being listened to. Known.

“Another,” I told him when I was ready. “Slow.”

He groaned as he complied, the sound vibrating against my skin. “Issy…”

I didn’t flinch at the name. Didn’t hide. I pulled him up by the wrist and kissed him hard.