Page 49 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

King goes on like he hasn’t heard me. “I figured since my leg wasn’t hurting that much, I might as well go into the store with Bryce when he stopped at the Fresh Market to get the milk. The baking aisle is only an aisle or two away from the pet stuff—”

“I shop there every week. It’s like the last aisle before the freezer section, and the baking stuff is near the front.” My arms cross, and my smirk turns into a fake scowl.

King looks visibly sweaty and nervous now. “I saw the dog food and remembered seeing it in your kitchen. It was on sale,” he ends in a whisper.

I pounce. Harder than I should with his bum knee, plump little body crashing into his big, broad one, yanking his collar down so he has to bend to kiss me.

Quiche crashes to the floor, a big crack running down the center of the golden surface, still contained in its aluminum pan with aplastic lid. “You went to the store and bought my furbabies their own bowls and food? To keep at your place?” I demand between kisses.

“Uh-huh,” King grunts as he grabs me and lifts me, spinning me to sit on the kitchen counter while he curses in pain and his crutches fall to the ground.

“I’ll get them,” I gasp as his mouth finds that amazing spot on my neck, the spot that only seems to come alive to the combination of his tusks and his talented tongue.

“Leave them,” he growls, and shivers race up my spine.

“The dogs—”

“Sleeping off a tennis ball hangover on my couch.” His hands knead my waist before moving to nestle between my legs.

“The quiche is on the floor...”

“In a pan. It’s clean. I’ll pick it up later. Right now, I’m not hungry for anything but you.” The shy, sweet King disappeared when I took the lead and kissed him, giving him the signal that I wasn’t mad, I guess. He was telling the truth when he said he’d move at my pace.

Only I know my pace shouldn’t be racing ahead, legs spread in a V on some guy’s kitchen counter while his fingers sneak down the front of my leggings and find my pussy. My pace shouldn't be letting my head loll back while he buries his head between my breasts and two fingers in my slit, rushing me to an orgasm.

But that’s what happens. It’s fast and desperate and immediate—his huge hand demands my pleasure, moves my clit in furious circles one second, then sends two fingers arching up against my upper wall to milk another scream of pleasure out of me.

The dogs don’t even make a curious woof or leave the sanctuary of King’s couch.

In the tangle of insta-orgasm and brain-melting delight, I have a hazy realization that my dogs trust him, and that he loves them.

That I might be distancing myself from my family, but that the four of us could be our own little family.

“Want you,” I gasp, hips bucking forward.

“Drink your tea,” King snarls, kissing me hard, his tusks scraping my lower lip and making me see stars, the sting of pressure putting a neat bow on my climax.

“Wha?” I ask through uneven breaths as my legs keep shaking against his relentless hand, even after my peak passes.

“Knotting tea. Heard you went to get some with Marina today. Drink it. It makes me fit inside of you—with a little practice.” King slides a third finger in me and looks into my eyes. “Mmm. See? Already, that tight little pussy is so soft and open. Lets me right in.”

My heart thuds in my ears, maybe trying to drown out the naughty words and the cocky lilt in his voice. King stares into my eyes and twists his wrist, grinding his three thick fingers deeper into me, opening me up more than I’ve ever been. The soft, slick sound of my juices engulfing his fingers makes me moan and squirm, but that’s just what he likes.

“That’s it. That’s my girl. I can make you feel good?”

“So good.”

“Two fingers. Three fingers. Toys...”

“God...”

“The tip and some friends.” He jerks his hips forward, his eyes briefly shutting.

“I want that. I want to be full of you,” I admit, past caring as he takes control, opening me, marking me so that I fit him.

“All those inches? My whole cock?”

I nod. Don’t know if it’s possible. Right now, his fingers make me feel like I’m going to explode, like my sides are splitting, and I fucking adore the stretch, the urge that grips me as my walls flex and ripple on his fingers. “I’m going to squirt if you keep—”