Page 24 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights

THORNAK

T he world shrinks to the salt-sting of tears on her cheeks.

I meant to be careful. Gentler. But she's rising on tiptoes, calloused fingers digging into my tunic's collar, and thirteen weeks of starving snap like rotten timber.

My mouth crashes into hers harder than intended—a question and apology and claim all at once.

She doesn't flinch. Just swallows my growl and gives back a hum that sets my veins alight.

Her apron's still gritty with flour between my fingers.

Harvest-soft hips press closer as she twists, bootheel catching on a root.

We go down in a flurry of laughter and cracking oak leaves, sunlight fracturing through branches as my forearm slams into dirt to cushion her fall.

She lands half atop me, apple-sweet breath huffing against my neck.

"For a carver," she pants, "you're awful bad at taking it slow."

My thumb finds the hinge of her jaw. "Keep talking, sparks, and I'll show you how orcs court proper."

Her retort dies against my teeth. I taste honeycakes and the black tea she guzzles every dawn, learn the curve of her lower lip like it's a valley I've wandered a hundred times. When her nails scrape up my nape, my control frays—tusks drag her earlobe, hands tightening on her waist.

She shifts and my brain whites out.

Hairpins scatter. Chestnut waves spill over green knuckles. She freezes.

"Thornak…"

Her hands are already working the buckle of my belt. I should stop her—should ask if she’s certain—but her palms flatten against my chest, silencing words and reason. "Enough talking, carver." The challenge in her gaze burns hotter than summer lightning.

She yanks fabric until my cock springs free, her breath hitching.

Those clever fingers grip me with no ceremony, no coaxing.

Just a firm stroke that makes my hips jerk upward.

Before I can warn her about the size difference, she’s straddling my thighs, skirts hiked to her waist. The slick heat between her legs glistens as she rises up, knees digging into leaf litter.

Her pupils swallow the honey-brown as she sinks down, taking me inch by ruthless inch. No coy sighs—her mouth parts in a silent gasp, thighs trembling but relentless. I grip her hips hard enough to bruise, tendons screaming to thrust, but she slaps my wrist.

Her first roll of hips steals my breath.

Tight velvet sheathing me, retreating until just the crown remains, then swallowing me whole again.

She finds a rhythm as precise as chisel strokes—deep and slow, then quickening like a drumbeat.

Each downward grind presses her clit against my pelvis, her moans sharper each time.

"Faster—" I grind out.

Her nails bite into my sternum. "Make me."

I snap upward, seating myself to the hilt. She yelps, laughing through gritted teeth. "Cheater."

"You started it." My hands clamp her waist, lifting her just enough to drive back in. The slap of skin crescendos as she surges against me, fingernails raking my chest. Her head falls back, curls cascading over apple-red cheeks.

"Thornak—"

I sit up, catching her mouth mid-syllable. Her pussy clenches around me, milking my cock as we kiss filthy and open-mouthed. She grinds in circles now, chasing her peak. I bite her collarbone, earning a shattered cry.

"Let go," I growl against her throat.

"You first."

One hand fists in her hair, tugging her head back. The other slips between us, thumb finding that swollen bud. She goes rigid, back arched like a drawn bow. "Now," I command—and she shatters, inner walls fluttering as her scream scatters crows from the trees.

Her laughter breaks into a gasp as I flip us both, dried leaves crunching beneath her shoulder blades. She claws at my biceps, heels digging into the backs of my thighs. "You’re such a—ah!—overgrown?—"

My hips snap forward, cutting off her insult. Her pussy clenches around my cock like a vise, wet heat rippling as I drag out slow until just the tip remains. "Say it," I growl, smearing her swollen lower lip with my thumb.

She arches, sweat-slick breasts brushing my chest. "Again. Harder."

I oblige. The forest air chills where our skin parts between thrusts. She fists the roots beneath us, hips tilting to take me deeper each time. When her teeth sink into my shoulder, I lose rhythm for three brutal strokes, slamming into her with enough force to make her cries fracture.

Her thighs tremble when I hook them over my elbows. The new angle makes her gasp—a wet, punched-out sound. "Gods, yes—there, right there?—"

I grind into that spot relentless, her nails leaving half-moons in my forearms. Her pussy flutters.

"Not yet." I still my hips despite her whimper. Lean down to suck a bruise below her ear. "I’ll have you dripping before I let you come."

She thrashes, my cock twitching inside her as she struggles. "Bastard. Absolute bastard."

I laugh against her throat. Let her buck and curse for a dozen heartbeats before resuming, slower now, dragging each thrust until she sobs. Her inner muscles spasm around me, desperate, aching. "Now," she pleads, voice unraveling. "Please, Thornak?—"

My hand slips between us, thumb circling her clit as I piston into her. "Now."

She shatters with a scream that shakes the last autumn apples from their branches. Her climax rips through me, muscles milking my cock as I spill into her with a roar—one hand tangled in her hair, the other pinning her wrist to the earth as we ride the aftershocks.

Her chest heaves beneath me. "Well," she rasps, tracing a finger along my jaw, "that’s one way to?—"

My kiss swallows her smirk. Slower now, tender where moments ago we were teeth and fury. Her legs loop around my waist like she’ll never let go.

Her breath hitches when I pluck a crimson leaf from her hair. "You've got half the forest in here." My tusks brush her earlobe as I pluck another—maple, this time, edges crisp with November's bite.

She shivers, tucking her nose against my throat. "Says the lumberjack. You think autumn's your personal bedspread?" Her forefinger traces the scar snaking down my collarbone. "Got a pinecone imprint on my left butt cheek now, thanks to your... enthusiasm."

"Complaining?" I roll onto my side, shielding her from the wind that rattles bare branches overhead. Her skirts are still rucked up around her hips, milk-pale legs joined with mine.

"Bragging." Her grin's a flash of mischief before she nips my jaw. "Though next time, maybe aim for a patch without acorns."

My palm splays across her back, pressing her closer. She smells like sweat and yeast and home. "Or what? You'll withhold your famous blackberry tarts?"

"Worse." Her thumbnail flicks the silver ring through my nipple. "I'll tie you to that walnut tree and lick honey off your?—"

A twig snaps.

We freeze.

Maddie's hand dives under my tunic for the knife sheathed at my ribs. Unnecessary—two deer crash through the underbrush thirty paces west—but gods, the way she moves...

I pin her wrist to my chest. "Easy, sparks."

Her pulse thunders against my thumb. "Could've been bandits."

"People tend to announce themselves before stumbling onto rutting orcs." My chuckle rumbles through her. "Most scream first."

She full-body eye-rolls, a skill honed through months of needling me. "Keep laughing. You'll wheeze when I carve tally marks into your workbench." Her fingertip sketches nonsense on my sternum. "One for every time you've nearly scared me to death."

I catch her hand mid-scribble. "If we carve for near-death..." My lips graze her knuckles. "You need bigger lumber."

The sky bruises toward twilight. Frost creeps across fallen leaves where our clothes lie scattered. Maddie twists, reaching for her chemise. A maple key spins down, lands in her hair like some absurd crown.

"Leave it," I rumble, hating how her warmth retreats. "We've got time."

She pauses, linen halfway over her head. Blinks at me through the fabric. "Thornak. Was that a request?"

Teeth sink into my tongue. Too tender—too close to the raw thing howling in my chest.

Her stockinged foot hooks around my calf. "Say please."

"Never."