Page 15 of Agor the Merciless (Orc Mates #10)

Night after night, the ritual repeated, with Agor tying Zoe’s wrists above her head and using the belt on her before applying the ointment. One night, when he stopped at his usual count, she twisted to look back at him.

“Hit me again,” she said.

He paused with the belt hanging from his hand. “That’s the usual amount.”

“I want extra.” She pulled against the rope. “Make it hurt.”

Her request puzzled him, but he added a few more strikes, hitting harder as she grunted and moaned from want rather than pain. Her demands stirred something in him – she wasn’t just taking what he gave but asking for more.

As days went by, she kept asking for more hits each time.

The belt left dark marks that would’ve made most people cry, but her face relaxed when the cream touched the welts.

Agor noticed the change in her – bolder requests, faster responses to his touch, and how the ointment worked quicker on her each day.

Her body seemed to rush toward the magic now.

He felt both confused and proud. His own desire took hold of him stronger than ever, and seeing her beg like she did erased his worries about her wanting harsher treatment.

During the day, Zoe stopped sitting by the cave or going alone to the stream.

She started testing what she could get away with.

One morning, she went to the garage and stood in the doorway, shoulder against the wood frame, one foot over the other.

Grol bent over an engine while Tarn put metal parts on a bench.

Both orcs looked up when she arrived, then went back to work.

The captain’s mate was in a forbidden area, and it was better for them to keep their distance and not even address her, or they’d have to answer to Agor the Merciless.

Zoe tapped the door frame with her fingers. She said nothing but stared at the tools and equipment. She stayed until Agor walked across the clearing, grabbed her elbow, and pulled her away.

“You don’t belong here,” he said.

She decided to give him attitude. “And what happens when I break the rules?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, dragged her to the main fire pit, and deposited her in the vicinity of Pira the Forager and Zana the Tanner. He then walked away, but Zoe knew he had his eyes on her. She smirked to herself.

Later that day, she went to his meeting with his raider and a few grunts by the entrance of the cave.

Of course, no one had invited her. They were discussing hunting areas and patrol times.

Durnak the Morose stood at Agor’s right side – an older orc with scars who used head movements and looks instead of words.

Agor and him spent most days together, checking the camp, talking about plans Zoe couldn’t say she had any curiosity about.

She walked into their group, moved past the present orcs, and ran her hand down Agor’s arm from shoulder to wrist. The orcs shifted their feet, coughed, and looked at the ground or the trees.

The captain stopped talking and stared at her hand, then at her face.

He told Durnak they’d continue later, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into the cave so fast that she had to run to keep up.

This became her new daily routine – break a rule, make Agor angry, get taken back to the cave for punishment that led to mind-blowing sex.

Each time he grabbed her by the arm to march her away, her skin tingled, because his anger always ended with the magic salve giving her relief from the pain.

There was something she wasn’t telling Agor, though.

A new development. The pain faded after each night, but returned when she woke up, pushing her to find better ways to get a reaction out of him, to increase the punishment, to get more ointment on her skin.

She felt like a sinner, like she was doing something bad but couldn’t stop.

Then she gave herself a silent lecture, because why would she feel guilty?

All she wanted was to fuck her very big, very handsome, very fierce and fuckable orc husband.

That was all it was. Right? With nothing better to do and so much time on her hands, of course she’d become sex obsessed.

Zoe soon learned what got him deliciously riled up – going near the garage, interrupting his meetings, touching him in front of the others, or standing near Roric the Smith, for some reason.

Part of her brain knew she acted desperate, but that thought disappeared when the belt hit her buttocks and the cream followed, easing the pain that lately…

wouldn’t go away from more than a few hours.

***

Agor the Merciless stood by a pine tree at the edge of the camp, watching the activity around him.

His bride wandered between groups, stopping with Pira at the cooking fire for a moment before moving on.

When she first came to camp, she walked confidently and met everyone’s gaze.

Now she fidgeted constantly, startled when Borz the Krag-Tender dropped a feed bucket, and kept looking toward the cave, even though evening was hours away.

She was good for him, and he’d known it after their first night together. She accepted what happened, took both sides of it, and got up the next morning without complaint. These days, she asked for the pain, wanted more of it, seemed to need it, unlike the other women who had failed his test.

Borz the Krag-Tender spotted the captain and walked to him, striking a conversation about the krags. That got Zoe’s attention. She joined them, listened for a minute, then pushed between them and reached to touch Agor’s chest, making Borz feel like he wasn’t welcome anymore.

To her surprise, Agor moved back, grabbed her hand, and pushed it down.

“Not now. Pira needs help with the herbs. Please go.”

“I need to talk to you inside,” she said, attempting to grab his arm so she could pull him toward the cave.

Agor shrugged her off.

“Later.”

He went back to his conversation with Borz, who shuffled his feet and stared at the ground.

Zoe huffed, and she would’ve stomped her foot, but she caught herself in time.

It would’ve been unbecoming of her to throw a hissy fit.

The orcs who’d noticed the exchange were already staring at her in a weird way.

She didn’t like it. She decided to walk away for now and wait for nightfall, when she knew Agor wouldn’t refuse her advances.

As soon as dusk fell, she and the captain went to their private gallery. Zoe tugged at his vest before he even got to light any candles, her fingers clumsy on the leather straps, pulling too hard in her hurry.

“Tie me up and get the belt,” she said, walking to the bed while pulling off her shirt. “Hit harder than yesterday.”

Agor remained near the entrance. “No belt tonight.”

She froze and spun around. “Why not?”

“We can skip it sometimes.” With a sigh, he walked toward her, reaching for her face. “Let’s try something else.”

She swatted his hand away and crossed her arms over her chest. “We have a way of doing this.”

“Maybe we should try it differently.” Agor took another step toward her.

She backed away until she hit the wall, then slid down it. A sort of weakness overcame her, and she felt frail and a bit hysterical.

“It has to be the same. You tie me, use the belt, then the ointment.”

Agor shook his head and reached out again. Zoe moved away sharply and bumped into the storage chest, knocking it sideways.

“I’ll do whatever you want after, just start it the right way,” she insisted, her voice now trembling.

Agor thought for a minute, then seeing that she was impossible to reason with, conceded.

He motioned for her to get onto their bed of pelts, and he tied her wrists to the iron bolt.

He removed his belt but didn’t strike her yet.

He’d always loved how Zoe filled the room with her cries and encouragements, her voice carrying down the long, dark corridors.

He wasn’t worried about his orcs hearing her.

In their culture, sex wasn’t taboo. However, he couldn’t help but feel that this routine had gone wrong somehow.

He couldn’t say exactly when or how it happened, just that as much as he wanted to claim his bride every night, it had turned into something that was less…

satisfactory. Like something tainted the act now.

Zoe pulled at the rope, waiting. Agor just stood there thinking, which pissed her off beyond comprehension. She found she could barely breathe. Her body hurt everywhere, and the only thing that could help was the stupid salve. Why wasn’t he giving it to her?

“What are you waiting for?” She kicked the furs. “Start already.”

Agor set the belt on the floor.

“We need to stop this.”

Tears ran down her face as she fought against the rope. No belt meant no ointment. No ointment meant the burning inside would get worse until she couldn’t focus on anything else.

“You have to.” She yanked so hard the rope cut her skin. “If you don’t, I’ll go crazy before morning.”

Agor sat on the edge of the bed and untied her wrists. She hit his chest and tried to grab the rope back, but he caught her arms and pulled her against him.

“Let me go,” she sobbed, twisting to break free. “I need it. You don’t understand.”

He held her tighter, one hand on the back of her head, pressing her face to his shoulder.

“Shh. Just breathe.”

She fought him for a while, pushing and hitting until her strength gave out.

Eventually, she stopped struggling and went limp in his arms. He rocked her slowly, stroking her hair, murmuring words she couldn’t understand but somehow made her feel safe.

When her tears stopped, he laid her down on the furs and wrapped himself around her, his chest against her back, his arm heavy across her waist. She fell asleep like that, exhausted from fighting him.

Morning came with a pounding headache, sore joints, and skin that felt like it was covered in tiny biting insects.

Zoe reached behind her, seeking Agor’s warmth, but found only empty furs.

Something was seriously wrong with her. She felt like she had the flu, except worse.

The captain had left during the night. The spot where his body had been was cold, meaning he’d been gone for hours.

The betrayal of waking up alone hurt almost as much as her whole body.

She tried to get up but fell back as dizziness hit her. After a few deep breaths, she managed to sit and then stand on shaky legs. She had to find Agor. Had to make him understand.

Outside, the settlement buzzed with activity. She spotted him talking to Hestra near the weapons rack, both dressed for hunting, with bows slung across their backs. She stumbled toward them, ignoring the looks she got from various orcs, and ignoring Pira, who reached out to help her.

“Agor,” she called, her voice cracking.

He turned to her. “You’re awake.”

“We need to talk.” She reached for him, but he stepped aside.

“I’m joining Hestra’s hunting party today. We need meat for the storage cave.”

“But I need…”

“Not now.” His voice was firm. “I need to clear my head, and you need time without me.”

Hestra nodded to her before they both walked away, joining three other hunters at the edge of the clearing.

Zoe stood there, arms limp at her sides, as they disappeared into the trees.

What the hell? Had he just… dismissed her?

Couldn’t he see how ill she was? How she felt like she was dying?

All she needed was a bit of him. A bit of the medicine.

How could he refuse her when it was literally his fault she had become the person she was?

It was as if Zoe Cross, the mechanic, the car whisperer, was no more.

Now all she could do was wait for him to get his head screwed back onto his shoulders.

Indeed, maybe a hunting session would help him clear his stupid brain and see it was his responsibility to give his bride what she craved. He’d promised!

Speaking of cravings, they clawed at her insides as the morning stretched into afternoon.

She paced the camp, unable to sit still, unable to eat the food Pira pushed into her hands, unable to focus on anything but the burning need for relief.

No one paid much attention to her now. The orcs had grown used to her strange behavior and kept their distance.

Only Pira tried to engage her, but Zoe couldn’t listen to her chatter about herbs and cooking.

The ointment. She needed the fucking ointment.

It was her only thought, repeating over and over in her mind until she couldn’t hear anything else.

Without it, she would break apart. Without it, she would lose herself completely.

Agor and the hunting party wouldn’t return until evening.

She couldn’t wait that long. She glanced around the camp – everyone was busy with their tasks, no one was watching her.

She walked casually toward the cave, then slipped inside and hurried to her and Agor’s room.

She marched straight to the wooden chest where Agor kept his belongings.

Her hands shook as she lifted the lid, digging through folded clothes and weapons, tossing them aside in her search.

Where was it?

She turned to the smaller chest near the wall, the one he rarely opened. It wasn’t locked. She threw it open and rifled through its contents – dried herbs, a broken arrow head, a necklace of animal teeth. No jar.

Sweat beaded on her forehead as she looked frantically around the cave. She ripped the furs from the bed, checked under the stone table she sometimes used as a desk, even ran her hands along the wall crevices.

Where was it? Where had he hidden it?

She dropped to her knees and peered under the ledge on which the big wooden chest stood. A glint of something caught her eye. She reached her arm into the narrow space, fingers stretching, brushing against smooth clay.

The jar.