Page 75 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

I obey, muscles spasming, then fluttering in turns. “But... Wife?”

“What do you think happens when someone says they love you and want to keep you?” King’s raspy chuckle is like a waterfall down my spine, a tickle that makes me smile inside.

“Ummmm. I don’t know. If you listen to a lot of women, nothing.”

“Hm. Maybe listen to a lot of Orcs, instead.”

“I don’t know a lot of Orcs.”

“Then I’m the expert, and I say that I’m serious.” King lets go of my hand and brings his fingers to his lips. I crane my neck and watch him sucking on his first two digits, his tongue working over them like he works over my clit, and my pussy jumps. His fingers descend, working between my thighs and attacking my clit with firm circles, then hard strokes up and down, just the way I like.

“Oh... Oh, God!” I whimper.

“If the expert makes you come, will you consider wearing something shiny on your finger for me?” King demands. His fingers stop, and I groan at the loss, quivering on his cock.

“Yes! If you make me come. But that’s not fair.”

He’s silent, working me inside and out, and kissing my neck with his sharp tusks tracing over the softest, most ticklish part.

“Ah!” I let out one short, harsh cry that’s followed by a babble of curses and happy noises as my peak hits.

“Totally fair,” King says, all smug. “Maybe just a little trickery.”

He’s still rock hard inside of me, and so big that I ache, but the ache is like that epic post-workout burn that makes you want more, combined with orgasmic bliss. It’s my turn to drive. I brace one hand on the shower wall and start to pound my still spasming pussy around him, knowing I’ll bring myself off again and cause King to burst.

“I suppose a little trickery is in order tonight—along with a very,” I squeeze down hard and listen to him whimper, “big treat.”

“Oh, fuck,” King moans, slumping back as I use his cock like my personal toy. Hm. I suppose it kind of is.

“Happy Halloween.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: Helping

“Hi, Mom.”

“You never texted me back. Do you know what that does to a mother?”

“No, but I know what it does to you, and I’m sorry. Yes, the guy in the photo is my boyfriend, yes, he’s younger, he’s a minor league hockey player, and yes, I’ll bring him home for Thanksgiving. Yes, we’re serious. Just be nice to him and don’t expect us to stay until Monday. Okay?”

I let out a deep, shuddering breath. I said it all at once, and my mind is made up. If anyone says anything—I don’t have to deal with them right now. I can deal with them later. That’s part of this life I’ve carved out, and it’s my choice who I let into it.

“What’s his name?”

“King.”

“King! What sort of parents name their child something so lofty?”

“His parents.”

“What’s his sister’s name, Queen? Princess?”

“Gruoch, and she’s dead. Died when she was a baby, Mom,” I hiss.

“Oh. Oh, goodness. I’m sorry, Ingrid. Well. This is a change.”

“Makes a heck of a step up from Chris, Robert, and Larry, I can tell you that,” I agree ruefully. “It has style.”

“Not the name, I mean that when we talk, you usually just make small talk about all of your fun plans and your travels. You’ve never mentioned this young man. How young, exactly?”