Page 29 of Cider, Spice & Orcish Nights

MADDIE

T he orchard’s last lanterns sway behind us as Thornak lifts me into his arms, his growl vibrating against my collarbone. "Need you somewhere the trees won’t gossip."

I snort, hooking my ankles behind his back as he carries me past the cider barrels toward the old caretaker’s shed. "Joke’s on you—maple by the fence’s a notorious blabbermouth."

He kicks the door shut with his boot, moonlight slicing through dusty windows to stripe the worktable we’ve covered in quilts. When he sets me down, my fingers fumble with his shirt buttons. His hands settle over mine, stilling them.

"Slow," he rumbles. "Want to unwrap you proper."

The shirt slips off his shoulders. I trace the planes of his chest, the ridge of his sternum, before dragging my palm down the hard line of his stomach. His cock strains against his trousers, and when I slide my thumb over the damp spot at the tip, his hips jerk.

"Cheat." His voice scrapes raw.

"Payback." I hike my skirts, guiding his hand beneath layers of lace. "For making me wait all night."

His fingers glide through my wetness, callouses catching just right. I bite my lip, knees buckling as he crooks two fingers inside me. "Thorn?—"

"Told you. Slow." He nips my earlobe, thrusting deep. "Savoring’s got its perks."

The quilts scratch my back as he lays me down. He peels off my stockings with teeth, tongue following the trail up my calves. When he grips my thighs, spreading me wide, I arch off the table.

"Look at?—"

"Nope." I grab his hair, tugging till his gaze snaps to mine. "Eyes here, husband."

He groans, low and feral, before his mouth crashes against my pussy. I fist the quilts, heels digging into his shoulders as he laps at me like I’m the last sip of water in the Deadlands. His thumb circles my clit, relentless, until my back bows off the table.

"Inside." I gasp. "Now."

He rises, shoving his trousers down just enough. The first thrust steals my breath—stretching, filling, his groan shuddering through us both. He stills, forehead pressed to mine. "Alright?"

I lick the salt from his lips. "Move."

He does. Slow, deep rolls that spark heat low in my belly. Each drag of his cock pulls a whimper from my throat. His hand moves between us, thumb working my clit in time with his thrusts.

His hips roll like stormclouds gathering over Blackspire Mountain, that thick cock stretching me with every purposeful thrust. I dig my heels into the small of his back, quilts bunching beneath my shoulder blades as he pins my wrists above my head.

"You taste like cinnamon." His tongue drags up my throat, pausing to suck the pulse point beneath my jaw. "Smell like…" A deeper push that steals my breath. " Home ."

I writhe, the worktable creaking beneath us. "That's the cardamom in my apron pockets?—"

He silences me with a kiss, all dark oak and iron, his thumb finding my clit again.

The dual sensation makes my thighs tremble—hard length pulsing inside me, clever fingers working in counterpoint.

Moonlight stripes his emerald shoulders as they flex, highlighting the woodsmoke scent clinging to his skin.

"More," I gasp into his mouth.

His free hand grips my hipbone, adjusting the angle. Each snap of his pelvis hits that sweet spot until I'm seeing starbursts behind my eyelids. The shed smells of crushed apples and sex now, our sweat-slicked skin sticking where our bodies meet.

"Made you break the rules." His chuckle vibrates against my breast before he takes a nipple into his hot mouth. "Quiet Maddie, so loud tonight..."

The orgasm rips through me—toes curling, back arching, his name spilling into the cobwebbed rafters. He drinks my cries with hungry kisses, never slowing the relentless pace. I claw at his biceps, overwhelmed but clinging as the pleasure crests again.

"Thornak, I can't?—"

"Shh." He releases my wrists to cradle my face, foreheads touching as he fucks me through the tremors. His rhythm fractures, breaths coming in ragged bursts against my lips. "Let me…"

I wrap both legs around him, heels locking.

His groan sounds like heaven as he spills deep, green throat working soundlessly. We breathe each other's air, his shuddering weight a grounding force. Somewhere beyond the shed, an owl hoots. He nuzzles the sweat-damp hair at my temple.

My legs tremble where they’re still hitched around his hips. The shed smells like sex and split apples from the bushel we knocked over earlier. His breath gusts warm across my shoulder while his softening cock twitches inside me.

I trace the knobs of his spine. “Don’t you dare get shy now.”

His rumbled laugh stirs the hair at my nape. “Insatiable sprite.”

Thick fingers glide down to cup my ass, kneading as he shifts us sideways on the table. Quilts slither to the dirt floor. His other lazily strokes my clit. My hips jerk.

I bite his collarbone, tasting salt.

He rolls my nipple between finger and thumb until the spark of pain melts into heat. His cock hardens again as he presses closer, the stretch making me gasp.

“Eyes,” he murmurs against my throat when my lashes flutter shut.

“Not fair?—“

His tongue slicks up the column of my neck. “Open.”

I obey.

The reverence in his gaze mirrors the slow drag of his cock, each withdrawal leaving me empty until the desperate clench of my pussy draws him back. His thumb circles faster. Our mingled sweat slicks the path between our bodies, my breasts sliding against his chest with every thrust.

“Say it.” His voice frays.

“Thornak—“

He stills entirely, muscles quivering. “Proper.”

I dig fingernails into his biceps. “ Husband .”

A growl rips from him as he pistons forward, the angle shifting to rub that sweet spot with every snap of his hips. My thighs quake, the sweet agony building like steam in a kettle.

“Let go,” he rasps.

The command unravels me. I arch with a shattered cry, walls fluttering around him as he drives deep. His groan drowns in the crook of my neck, teeth grazing skin as he spills. The worktable creaks a protest beneath our tangled weight.

His lips find mine in the aftermath—soft, lingering. The kiss tastes of apples and something ancient, like the cedar carvings he whittles by firelight. I card my fingers through his hair, sticky with sweat at the temples.

“Truce?” His smile ghosts across my jaw.

I bite back a moan as he slips out of me. “Until moonrise.”

He lifts me effortlessly, cradling my weight against his chest. Outside, the first birds test their dawn songs. Thornak’s heartbeat thuds against my palm, steady as a war drum.