Page 15 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights

MADDIE

M y thigh burns where it’s slung over Thornak’s hipbone. His chest rises sharp beneath my palm like he’s been holding his breath. Rain still taps the roof in leftover whispers, dawn light threading gold through his lashes when those dark eyes blink open.

“Mornin’,” I murmur, thumb brushing his brow. His throat bobs under the scrape of stubble.

He doesn’t bolt. Doesn’t tense. Just rasps, “You’re squishing me,” in that gravel voice that hasn’t quite woken up yet.

I press closer, nose bumping his jaw. “Liar. You’ve got enough muscle to bench press a draft horse.”

A huff stirs my hair. His hand flexes where it’s been stranded on the small of my back since god-knows-when. “Should get up. Check the storm damage?—”

My teeth graze the hinge of his jaw. He chokes.

“Maddie.”

“Thornak.” I mimic his growling tone, all smoke and gravel. His pulse jumps under my lips. “Still pouring earlier. Heard the gutters sloshing.”

“You’re trouble.” The words rumble through me as his palm slides up my spine, cautious as a man handling spun sugar.

I tilt my chin, catching his mouth in a slow press of heat. He freezes for a heartbeat—then answers with a hungry noise that vibrates straight through my ribs. His calloused thumb sweeps my cheekbone, the other hand splaying wide between my shoulders to drag me flush against him.

The bed creaks. Something thuds outside—probably a wind-lashed apple branch hitting the roof. I don’t care. Not when his tongue swipes my lower lip, when his hips roll up just enough to make my breath hitch.

“Wait.” His growl’s gone ragged. One massive hand cages my wrist where it’s crept under his borrowed flannel. “You’re…” The emerald skin at his temples darkens. “This isn’t—I don’t want you thinking I’m like?—”

I still his words with another kiss, softer this time. “You’re you.” My thumb traces the shell of his ear, sharper than any human’s. “Sculpts chess pieces for the schoolkids. Growls at anyone who tracks mud through my shop.”

His snort shakes the mattress. “Not a compliment list, woman.”

“It’s a Thornak list.” I nip his collarbone through the flannel, grinning as he shudders. “Best kind there is.”

He mutters something in Orcish before rolling me beneath him with terrifying ease. Dawn catches the edges of his silhouette as he braces over me, black hair half-loosed from its tie.

“Still scared I’ll crush you?” I whisper.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Terrified.”

Heat pools low as his knuckles skate down my side, stopping just shy of my hip. I arch into the touch. “So crush me.”

A ragged inhale. Then his mouth crashes into mine, all desperation and teeth and the salt-sweet taste of last night’s cider. His hand fists in my sleep-mussed hair, tugging just enough to pull a moan from my throat.

His thumb brushes my lower lip, callouses catching. “Need to be sure?—”

My teeth close around the digit, watching his pupils flare. “I’m flour-dusted and stubborn, not fragile.” Arching into him, I slide my knee higher along his ribs. His flannel parts under my nails, revealing emerald skin taut over the hard plane of his stomach.

A rumble builds in his chest as I trace the ridge of a scar. “Maddie.”

“Thornak.” I palm the thick outline of his cock straining against his trousers, swallowing his choked groan. His hips jerk, the mattress groaning. “Still worried you’ll break me?”

He seizes my wrist, breath sawing. “You don’t know what I?—”

I stretch up to lick the seam of his lips. “Show me.”

He splinters.

His mouth crashes into mine, all hunger and hesitation shattered. Large hands rip fabric—his own shirt buttons pinging against the wall—as I work his belt loose. My borrowed sleep shirt tears at the collar when he drags it off, his growl vibrating against my breastbone.

“Fuck. Fuck.” His tongue swirls around a nipple, teeth grazing just shy of pain. “You like this?”

“Yesss—”

He pins my hips, kneeling between my thighs. His knuckles brush my inner thigh, rough and deliberate. “Tell me. Now.”

I fist the sheets. “Your mouth. Please.”

A dark chuckle. His stubble rasps down my stomach, tongue dipping into my navel. “Demanding.”

“Learned from the best—” The words dissolve into a gasp as his lips close over my clit. Two fingers slide into me, curling just right. My heel digs into his shoulder blade. “Thorn—oh god—right there?—”

He hums, the vibration ricocheting through me. His free hand grips my thigh hard enough to bruise tomorrow. “Louder, little fox.”

The nickname unravels me. I arch, crying out as he quickens his fingers, tongue relentless. The headboard thumps the wall in time with his rhythm.

“Look at me.” He drags his chin up my body, wet and gleaming. “Need to see you.”

I fist his hair, yanking his face to mine. Taste myself on his tongue. Reach between us to stroke his cock—thick and hot, veins pulsing. He bucks into my grip with a snarl.

“Now,” I pant against his mouth. “Need you?—”

He braces over me, trembling. The broad head nudges my entrance. “Slow. Slow, or I’ll?—”

“Don’t.” I rock up, taking his cock in a ruthless inch. His groan shakes the rafters. “Break the bed. Break me. Just move?—”

A fanged curse in Orcish. He sheathes himself fully, our moans tangling. His forehead drops to mine, breath hitching. “Too much?”

I lock my ankles behind his back. “Not enough.”

He snaps his hips.

His cock stretches me wider, fuller than anything I’ve known. I bite his shoulder to muffle a cry as he pulls back, the drag of him almost unbearable. His growl vibrates against my teeth.

His fingers dig into my hip, stilling my arch. Gold-flecked eyes burn through the dim.

I rock upward, taking him deeper. “God, yes?—”

A fanged grin flashes before he pins my wrists above my head. His hips snap hard enough to shift the mattress. The wet slap of skin drowns out the drizzle outside.

“Feel that?” He licks the sweat blooming at my temple. “How fucking perfect you take me?”

My thighs tremble around his waist. “Show me again.”

He does. Angles deeper. Hits a spot that whites out my vision. His pace turns brutal, the bedframe screaming protest.

“Thornak—”

“Say it.” His thumb circles my clit, rough and perfect. “Need to hear it, Maddie.”

“Don’t stop,” I gasp, nails raking his back. “Please, don’t ever?—”

He swears in Orcish, plunging faster. The room smells of sex and spice. I claw at his biceps, my moans climbing higher.

His mouth crashes over mine, swallowing my scream as I shatter. His rhythm falters, cock pulsing hot inside me. A broken groan escapes his throat, forehead pressed to my collarbone as he spills.

We breathe in ragged unison. His fingers still tremble where they cradle my waist.

“Still think you’ll hurt me?” I whisper.

He huffs against my damp skin. “Know I did.”

I guide his palm to my racing heartbeat. “Alive, aren’t I?”

His laugh sounds frayed. Dangerous. He nips my earlobe. “Barely.”

The weight shifts as he pulls out. Cold air licks my thighs before he drags the quilt over us. His arm settles around my ribs like forged iron. Dawn gilds the apple blossoms plastered to the window.

“Need to check the greenhouse,” he mumbles into my hair. “Storm might’ve?—”

I knee his shin under the covers. “Five minutes.”

A sigh rumbles through me. His hand slides possessively over my hip. “Three.”

I trace the whorl of his ear. “Compromise at four?”

“Hm.” His lips brush my forehead. “Brat.”

Rain taps its lazy rhythm. His breath evens against my throat. I count each beat—proof he stays.

His heartbeat thunders beneath my ear like a war drum with no battle left to fight.

Morning light turns the apple blossoms outside into stained glass shadows on the quilt.

I trace the tribal tattoos spanning his pec—ink older than our friendship, raised lines telling stories in a language I’ve never asked to learn.

His chest stills. “Stop thinking so loud.”

My fingernail follows a spiral pattern. “Says the guy holding his breath.”

A grunt. His thumb brushes my shoulder blade in apology. The silence stretches, sticky as caramel glaze.

“So.” I press my grin into his sternum. “Legally speaking, does this mean you owe me half the orchard now?”

He stiffens. “Maddie.”

“Too fast? Fine.” I prop myself on one elbow, quilt pooling at my waist. “Minimum, you’ll have to start paying for cinnamon buns like a regular customer.”

His jaw clenches. Gold eyes track a water droplet sliding down the windowpane. “This isn’t… I don’t do this. Ever.”

“Sex? Hadn’t noticed.”

A flare of nostrils. “Involvement.”

I pluck a stray black hair from his chest, stretching it between my fingers. “Hmm. Decent length.”

“Maddie.” His hand engulfs mine, stilling the fidget. “Be serious.”

“You first.”

He mutters a curse in Orcish, sitting up. The quilt slips to his waist, revealing the hard V of his hips. “You make everything a joke when you’re scared.”

Fire licks up my throat. “And you’ll what—carve me a lecture about emotional intimacy? Bake me a thesis on commitment phobia?”

He pivots, looming over me with that predator’s grace. “You want words? Fine.” His knuckles graze my cheek. “You’re reckless. Hopeful. Infuriating.”

I arch into the touch. “Flatterer.”

His thumb presses my lower lip. “Mine.”

The word hangs between us—bone-bare and terrifying. My pulse trips. “That a promise or a threat?”

He exhales through his nose, jaw working. Leans in until his forehead rests against mine. “Problem?”

My laugh comes out breathy. “Depends. You gonna start growling at tourists who flirt with me?”

“Already do.”

“True.” My fingers twist in his hair, tugging. “What changed?”

His hesitation lingers like winter’s first frost. Then, barely audible— “You didn’t run.”

Outside, a branch taps the window. Three beats. Four.

I press a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “Still here.”

His arms lock around me, crushing me against his chest. The mattress groans. “Stupid.”

“Thick-skulled.”

“Bullheaded.”

I nip his collarbone. “Pot, meet kettle.”

A rumbling chuckle shakes through him. His palm slides up my spine, possessive and gentle. No resolution. No promises. Just warmth and the sharp spice of his sweat.

We drink in the silence, legs together under shared heat. The orchard waits, storm-wrecked and patient.