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“You accuse me of bringing chaos,” she says, cheeks flushed, “yet you’re the one who demanded this alliance. You pushed for peace, so stop blaming me for the consequences!”

“I’m not blaming you,” I grind out. “I’m blaming the saboteur. But you—” My breath comes in ragged bursts. Words fail as raw emotion wells up, frustration knotting my throat.This is impossible.

She exhales a trembling breath, tears glimmering in her eyes. “I’m trying, Ghorzag. I’m trying so hard.” That vulnerability cuts through my anger like a blade. Suddenly, the reality of how precarious her position is—caught between orcish hostility and her own desire to save her village—slams into me.

I stare at her, chest heaving. My pulse hammers. She stands so close, her mouth parted with unspoken words, and I can’t tear my gaze away from the softness of her lips or the faint sheen of tears threatening to spill.

The tension builds to a breaking point. Anger, fear, and an undercurrent of something pulsing deeper—some gravitational pull we’ve been fighting for weeks—collide in a flash of reckless urgency. I hear myself growl low in my throat before I reach for her.

We slam into each other, the force of our frustration and pent-up longing fueling the collision. Our mouths meet in a bruising kiss that is all heat and desperation, every ounce of anxiety poured into that heated contact. She gasps, fingers twisting in the leather straps across my shoulders, and I press her back against the table laden with herbs.

The lantern’s glow trembles as I pull her back against me. Her breath catches—softer this time, unsteady with want instead of fury. My calloused hands trace the length of her spine, thensplay at her waist, anchoring her as if I might lose her in the heat between us.

“Tell me to stop,” I murmur against her jaw. My tusks skim her cheek as I speak. “If this isn’t what you want?—”

“I want this,” she whispers, the words trembling but sure. “I want you.”

She cups my face, her fingers brushing the scar beneath my left eye. That simple touch, so unafraid, burns through me like a sacred fire. The look in her eyes isn’t just desire—it’s defiance and faith. In me.

I growl, deep and low, not out of anger but reverence. Then I take her mouth again.

This time, it’s slower—drawn out, deliberate. I savor her. Her lips open to me, warm and pliant, her body molding to mine as if it’s always known this shape, this need. My hands roam—over the curve of her hips, the slope of her thighs, the fabric separating us a nuisance I intend to strip away inch by inch.

I slide her tunic upward, baring skin that makes my chest seize. Sun-kissed and flushed, her belly trembles beneath my touch. She gasps when my calloused fingers graze just beneath her breast, and I pause, letting her decide if I go further.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, arching toward me. “Please.”

I press my mouth to the underside of her jaw, then down her throat, letting my tusks drag along her skin until she shudders beneath me. My tongue finds the hollow of her collarbone and lingers there, tasting salt and something uniquely her—sun and wildflowers and defiance. Her nipples pebble through the linen, and I reach between us, tugging the fabric down until I see her—bare, flushed, beautiful.

Her breath hitches again when I take her breast in my palm, thumb brushing over the hardened peak. She moans softly, her hips shifting beneath me. Her fingers trail down my abdomen,unbuckling the heavy leather at my waist with purpose I didn’t expect.

“I want to see you,” she says, voice low. “All of you.”

I sit back on my knees, my cock already straining painfully against the bindings of my pants. Her eyes widen as I begin to undo the ties. When I finally let the garment fall away, she stares—not with fear, but with awe and something hungry. My cock is thick, dark, veined, the head already slick with need. Her gaze dips lower, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“I’ve never…” she starts, cheeks coloring.

“I know,” I say, voice rough. “You don’t need to say it.”

“Will it… fit?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

I chuckle, but there’s no mockery in it—just reverence. “I’ll make sure it does. I’d never hurt you, Lirienne.”

She nods once, swallowing hard. I reach for her again, settling between her thighs. I slide her undergarments off, dragging them slowly down her legs, taking my time to admire the soft, glistening heat waiting for me.

“Fuck,” I rasp, breath catching at the sight of her pussy, flushed and already wet.

Her thighs tense when I lower my head, but I give her one long look, waiting for a word, a nod. When she grips my shoulder and bites her lip, I dive in.

She cries out when my tongue meets her, a sweet, strangled sound that has my cock throbbing with need. I groan against her folds, tongue parting her slick heat, exploring her with greedy precision. She tastes like sin and surrender, like the sweetest offering I’ve ever been given.

“Ghorzag,” she gasps, fingers tangling in my hair. “Oh gods?—”

I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her open, grounding her as I lap at her with a hunger that feels endless. Her pussy clenches with each flick of my tongue, and when Ifind the bundle of nerves at her center and suck gently, her back arches in a perfect bow.

“You’re shaking,” I murmur, dragging my mouth up her stomach, tasting the trail of her climax. “I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“I—I want you to,” she says, breathless, pulling me up until we’re chest to chest again.