Page 17

Chapter 16

T ell him how?

That strange warmth ignited again, burning low, starting in my stomach and spreading up my spine. For a moment, I just stood there, breathless. Every muscle, every nerve in my body on edge, desperate to move but unsure if I dared cross the line he’d drawn.

And then—I crossed it.

“Kiss me,” I demanded.

Vorgath’s lips hovered a mere breath away from mine. “How do you like to be kissed, durlan ?”

I gazed up at Vorgath, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. My breath caught at the endearment. Durlan . I didn't know what it meant, but the way he said it, low and reverent, made my skin tingle.

“Slowly,” I whispered, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. “And then not slowly at all.”

For a moment, he simply looked at me, his gaze roaming over my features as if committing them to memory. And as he did, something inside me settled—like an iron bar set into a molten forge, finding its place after being adrift in fire.

Why wasn't I hesitating anymore? Because... I was tired of hesitating. Tired of standing still at the edge of cliffs that terrified me.

I’d done that already. I'd been there when Elias was born, full of hope and love but also fear—fear of all the things I wouldn’t get right, the ghosts I couldn’t chase away. I'd stood at the edge as I held the crumpled letter that told me Kald was never coming home, and when I'd decided to take up his hammer, cold and brittle in my unsure hands, because I had no other choice.

This was another one of those moments, wasn’t it? A moment when life stretched into “before” and “after.” The kind where I stood frozen, knowing that stepping forward would change everything, but standing still felt even worse—the kind where there was no turning back.

Only this time, I wasn’t frozen in fear.

I wanted this. Him.

Vorgath, with his formidable strength, his scars, his quiet intensity. And underneath all that—layers more—his gentleness that could soften even steel. He made me feel safe, yes, but more than that, he made me feel alive. Like I was still capable of creating something, of building something new, something real.

Even after all that had been broken.

This wasn’t just about a touch or a kiss. This was about trusting that I could fall and Vorgath would be there to catch me. Maybe not with tenderness—though, it seemed he'd mastered that, too—but with a trust built on fire and force and... him . All of him.

I was ready now.

So, instead of waiting, instead of holding back... I leaned in.

And with a courage that felt both reckless and sure, I repeated, “Kiss me.”

A growl rumbled low in his throat, and his mouth descended on mine, slow at first, just as I had asked. His lips brushed against mine, warm and firm, holding back the storm he was clearly capable of unleashing.

And Seven save me... it wasn’t enough.

I tilted my head, gripping the front of his tunic, tugging him closer, pressing harder. “More,” I whispered against his lips.

His restraint shattered.

Vorgath’s hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into the kiss. He tasted like smoke and ale, but there was something else—something utterly him that made my knees weak. He kissed me like he was forging me into something new: deliberate, powerful, absolute.

His other hand braced against the wall behind me, his massive frame shielding me from the world beyond the alley. Heat radiated from his body, mingling with the warmth already coursing through me. His tusks brushed the corners of my mouth, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips and beard, and it sent a delicious shiver down my spine.

I melted into him as his touch roved from my neck down my arm, the roughness of his callouses a reminder of the strength contained in his hands. Somehow, that made the gentleness he was still capable of even more intoxicating—a beautiful contradiction in every brush of his skin against mine.

My hands moved of their own accord, fingers gripping his broad shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple beneath his tunic as he held me close, as though afraid I'd disappear if he let go.

“Vorgath…” I whispered into his mouth, the word halfway between a plea and a prayer. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was asking for.

But he heard it, whatever it was, and growled in response—a low, reverberating sound that felt more like it belonged in his chest than his throat. His hand slid lower, tracing the curve of my waist and down, until it landed on my hip, fingers nearly spanning the entire breadth of it.

By the Alders, his hands could probably lift me without issue. I had no idea if I liked that or if it terrified me. Maybe both?

No, I definitely liked it.

Vorgath kissed me harder, tugging me closer, so close the only thing between us was the rapid rise and fall of my chest as I struggled to catch my breath. His thumb brushed the side of my throat, just below my jaw, sending a fresh wave of heat rolling through me—not that I wasn’t already burning, but this… this was a different kind of fire. This was the kind that sparked and flared until it consumed everything in its wake.

Then he pulled back, just an inch, his breath hot against my lips.

“Is this…” His voice was deep, rough, like he had to drag it from somewhere buried inside. “Is this what you—?”

“Yes,” I blurted, not caring what he was about to ask. I didn’t need a question. We didn’t need words right now. “Yes, just—don’t stop.”

I barely finished the sentence before his mouth was on mine again, lips parting, tongue sliding against mine, and I moaned softly, fingers digging into his shoulders like I needed him to steady me, to keep me grounded or else I might float away in the storm of feelings that were rushing through me. I had never been kissed like this. It wasn’t just passionate—it was… intentional . Like he was telling me without words all the things I had never dared to dream someone would say.

My back arched against the cold stone as he pressed me harder into the wall, his hand moving from my waist to the small of my back. His other hand went to my hair, fingers tangling in the loose strands that had escaped my bun. He tugged gently, just enough to make me tilt my head back slightly, giving him better access to my lips.

And he took it, his mouth moving fiercely against mine with a possessive edge that left me breathless. I’d never felt so wanted… never . That realization hit me like a hammer to the chest—not in a painful way, but like a truth I hadn’t allowed myself to see until now, in this moment, with this orc who held me as though he'd die if he let go.

I was alive. I was alive, and I could feel again. Want again. Be wanted.

Vorgath pulled back just enough for me to see his eyes. They were molten now, dark and intense. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, and I could see the restraint in his tense jaw as though he was waiting for me to stop him, to tell him this was moving too fast.

I didn’t want to stop.

My hand slid down his arm, tracing the dips and grooves of his muscles, until it reached his hand still clutching my waist and dragged it up, up, along my side, until I pressed his palm against my breast. His massive hand cupped me, fingers splayed wide, and I marveled at how perfectly I fit in his grasp, like I was made to be there. He brushed his thumb across the peak, sending a jolt of pleasure through me, hardening my nipple beneath his touch.

A small gasp escaped my lips, and Vorgath growled low in his throat, his eyes never leaving mine as he did it again, slower this time, deliberate. His thumb circled the bud, teasing it until it stood taut and aching, begging for more. I arched into his touch, pressing myself firmer into his hand.

He took the invitation, squeezing gently, testing the weight and softness. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure coursing through me, pooling low in my belly, making me ache.

“Vorgath...” His name left my lips like a secret, whispered into his mouth as I leaned up to kiss him again.

He met me eagerly, his lips claiming mine with a hunger that matched my own. His hand continued to work its magic, kneading and caressing, his thumb brushing against my nipple again and again until I was panting into his mouth, my body alive with sensation.

His other hand trailed down my side, tracing the curve of my waist and hip before sliding around to grip my backside. He pulled me tight against him, and I could feel the hard length of him pressed against my stomach, extending up to almost nestle between my breasts. Seven save me, he was enormous—his arousal a thick, solid presence. I shifted slightly, rubbing against him, and he groaned into my mouth, his grip tightening. His hips moved instinctively, pushing against me, and I could feel the sheer power and size of him. It was intoxicating, the knowledge that he wanted me this much, that I could drive him to this point of need and desperation.

His hand moved from my breast, trailing down to the laces of my bodice. With a deftness that surprised me, he began to unlace it, his fingers working quickly and expertly. I could feel the cool night air against my skin as the fabric loosened, and then his hand was sliding inside, cupping my bare breast, his thumb brushing against my nipple.

I moaned softly, arching into his touch. His mouth left mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, lingering on the sensitive spot where my shoulder met my throat. I tilted my head back, giving him better access, and he took full advantage, his teeth grazing my skin, his tongue soothing the sting, until finally, his mouth moved lower, kissing the swell of my breast, his tongue circling my nipple before drawing it into his mouth. I cried out softly, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to me as he suckled and teased.

“Vorgath,” I gasped, my head falling back against the wall, my breasts bared to him and anyone who dared to walk past.

He looked up at me then, eyes dark in the shadowed alleyway. “You keep saying my name, durlan .”

I laughed breathlessly. “It's your fault,” I teased, my voice barely above a whisper. “You keep doing... that.”

A small smirk played on his lips, and he leaned in, his breath hot on my ear. “Doing what?”

I shivered, goosebumps prickling my skin. “Making me feel... everything.”

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through me. “Good.”

His hand moved from my breast, sliding down my side, tracing the curve of my hip. He gripped the fabric of my skirt, slowly pulling it up, inch by inch, his fingers brushing against my thigh. I held my breath, anticipation coiling in my stomach. His touch was deliberate, each movement calculated to drive me wild.

And it was working.

My heart pounded in my chest, my body aching for more. I gripped his shoulders, my nails digging into the leather of his tunic. His hand moved higher, pushing my skirt up around my waist, his fingers tracing the edge of my undergarments. I sucked in a breath, my eyes fluttering closed.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I opened my eyes, meeting his intense gaze. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing against the soft curls. I bit my lip, a small gasp escaping as he delved deeper, his fingers finding the sensitive bud that ached for his touch. I squirmed, my hips moving instinctively, seeking more. He leaned in, his tongue sliding against my lower lip. I opened for him, our tongues tangling as he continued to tease me, his fingers moving in slow, torturous circles.

“More,” I pleaded, my voice a breathy moan.

He growled, his fingers moving faster, applying more pressure. I squirmed, my hips arching to meet his touch, the sensation building as he stroked and teased. Each circle sent jolts of pleasure through me, making my breath hitch and my body tremble.

I gasped, my breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “Vorgath… I… I’m…”

He nodded slightly, his eyes locked onto mine, and it was as if he could see every part of me—not just the surface, but the depths I kept hidden, the fears and hopes I barely dared to acknowledge. For a moment, everything else faded—the sounds of the festival outside the alley, the world itself—all that remained was his touch, unraveling every thread of composure.

My body tensed, coiling tighter and tighter until I burst into a wave of pure sensation, a cry slipping past my lips. I clung to him, my fingers digging into his tunic as his touch sent me spiraling over the edge.

Vorgath held me through it, swallowing my moans, his hand slowing but not stopping, guiding me gently back to him. I sagged against him, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body trembling with aftershocks.

For several moments, the world was still, the only sound the hammering of my heart and the distant clamor of the festival.

And then I laughed—soft at first, dazed and breathless, but growing louder as the laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. I pressed my forehead against his chest.

“That... that was...” I couldn’t even form the words, a giddy, post-orgasmic warmth coursing through me.

“Good?” he ventured, that rough voice of his dancing with amusement.

I lifted my head, still grinning in disbelief. “More than good.”

But as the haze of bliss began to clear, a new hunger flared. I needed more of him—the feel of his skin against mine, his weight pressing me into—

I tugged at his tunic, whispering urgently, “Vorgath, I need you. Now.”

But instead of leaning in, he stilled completely. Every muscle in his large frame tensed as if he was holding back an internal war. His hand, the one that had just sent me into orbit, rested firmly on the wall beside my head. His brow furrowed with something caught between desire and restraint.

“No,” he said, his voice thick with an edge of torment.

I blinked, my body still humming, trying to process the word, the sudden withdrawal. “ No? ” I echoed, confusion lacing my voice.

“You’re not ready,” he said firmly, his voice rough yet unyielding.

Not… ready? I was practically dripping for him. “What do you mean?” I said breathlessly, my lips barely keeping up with the rapid thrum of my heartbeat. “Look at me! Look at what you just did to me. How can you say—?”

Vorgath shifted, tilting his head forward so that his brow pressed gently against mine, his breath heavy against my cheek.

“You are a human woman,” he said in that deep rumble. “Beautiful and strong, yes, but I am an orc. You need patience—practice—before your body will accept mine.”

His words hit me like a bucket of cold water, but not in the way that snuffed out the heat still throbbing through me. No, this was... startling. Confusing, even.

“Practice?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up. I wasn’t some blushing maiden! I was a widow, a mother. I knew what I wanted, and right now, I wanted him .

But before I had a chance to argue, he slid his hand down from where it had braced against the wall, looping his fingers under my chin. He tilted my head back so that our eyes met fully, his gaze intense and smoldering.

“Yes, practice,” Vorgath muttered in that low, gravelly voice of his, the word coiling in my stomach.

As if to prove his point, his fingers traveled down my body again. This time, there was no rush. His fingers were slow, deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world. They dipped between my thighs, brushing through the slick heat between them, teasing me once again.

I gasped, legs trembling as his hand pressed firmly against me. He grunted softly, as if my body's response was something that settled his internal conflict.

“You're wet for me, durlan , but still... too tight.”

I blinked up at him in disbelief, my cheeks flushing hotter with every word. “Too tight?”

“Aye,” he growled, leaning down so that his tusks grazed the shell of my ear. “An orc male is not like the men you're used to, Soraya. We are... bigger.” His voice dropped an octave, sending shivers down my spine. “Stronger.”

My breath hitched in my throat, imagining just how vast the difference might be—which wasn’t hard, considering the length I’d felt pressed against me earlier.

“So,” he continued, voice rough with desire but laced with tenderness, “you need proper preparation.” His finger circled me again, making my body hum. “You need to get used to this... first.”

This? My brain fumbled to keep up with whatever it was he was suggesting. And then, without waiting for further discussion, Vorgath slid one thick finger inside of me.

Seven save me.

I dug my nails into his shoulders, my entire body arching into the sensation as he filled me with just that single finger. I had never... never felt anything like it.

Just one finger and I already felt stretched, a delicious pressure building inside me, coaxing little gasps and moans from my lips. He moved so slowly, so deliberately, and I realized with a wave of heat that he was right... I wasn’t ready. Not yet. But sweet Seven, I wanted to be.

Vorgath's eyes never left my face as he pushed deeper, watching my reactions carefully, gauging how my body responded to him. His other hand came up to stroke the side of my face, a contrast of tenderness against the sinful pleasure building below.

“See?” he rasped, his voice barely containing the strain. “You're already taking me so well... but this is just the beginning.”

I moaned, unable to form a coherent response. Instead, I rocked my hips against his hand, desperate for more, desperate to fully give in to the sensation.

His finger began to move then, sliding in and out of me with a pace that was almost torturous. He added a slow, twisting motion that made me clench around him, my breath hitching again as that unbearable heat coiled low in my belly, growing hotter and tighter with every stroke.

“You're doing so well, durlan .” The way the word rumbled from his throat made warmth spread through my chest even as the ache intensified.

His thumb brushed deliberately against the swollen bud between my legs, and stars—actual stars —flashed beneath my eyelids.

“I... I can’t—” I gasped, arching into his hand, feeling myself unraveling again at the edges. He tugged gently on my hair with his other hand, the sharp sensation only adding to the recklessness bubbling inside me.

“You can,” Vorgath whispered, his tusks brushing against my temple.

With another twist of his thumb, the pressure snapped, releasing a torrent of heat and pleasure that rushed through me, wave after wave. My body tightened around his finger, gripping him as if I couldn't bear to let go, every nerve igniting in a firestorm of sensation. I cried out, the sound swallowed by the night's cool air and the solid wall of muscle that was Vorgath, holding me steady as I shattered in his arms.

My head fell back, my breathless laughter once again bubbling up uncontrollably. “By the Alders, Vorgath…”

He withdrew his finger slowly, reverently, as if savoring every second. His hand stayed warm where it rested against my hip, grounding me as my pulse slowed, returning me to reality.

“If that was practice…” I began, still out of breath, “I’d like a lifetime of it.”

He chuckled low in his throat but shook his head. “You’ll tire of lessons if you’re not careful.”

I raised an eyebrow, emboldened by the heat still pooling low in my stomach. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Vorgath kept his hand firm on my waist and leaned in, his lips hovering just above mine, his breath hot. “We’ll see just how strong that claim holds up when the real work begins, durlan .”

I shivered at the promise behind his words. His tusks brushed against my cheek, hinting at future pleasures I could barely begin to contemplate.

But then, with a sigh that had weight to it, Vorgath took a small step back. His body still radiated that intoxicating warmth, but now there was resolve etched into his features, even deeper than the scars that marred his skin. He helped me straighten my skirt and then lace my dress, tucking all parts of me away again.

“Come,” he said, guiding me away from the shadows of the alley and back into the ambient glow of the festival. “You should rest.”

I frowned, reluctant to lose even an inch of him. “Rest?”

“Aye.” His deep voice rumbled against the backdrop of the crowd, now more distant as the stalls and fire-eaters continued their revelry without us. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I blinked up at him. “For what?”

His lips twitched up in a knowing smile—the kind of smile that was rare from him, but when it appeared? Well. It set my entire body ablaze all over again.

“For more practice,” he finally replied.

I stared at him for a moment, my mind still foggy, muscles weak but eager, pulsing from everything that had just happened. A laugh—soft, tired but undoubtedly content—escaped me as I shook my head.

“Well, I suppose practice does make perfect,” I teased.

Vorgath’s eyes glimmered in the soft light of the festival, and for a fleeting moment, I could see it—just under the surface of his quiet, stoic demeanor. The craving. The pulling weight of restraint and the tug of something he wanted just as much as I did.

But instead of giving in to it, he merely nodded, that ghost of a smile still on his lips as he placed a warm, steadying hand at my back and guided me through the drifting crowd.

One glimpse over my shoulder, back at the shadowed alley, and I knew something inside me had irrevocably shifted. The forge wasn’t the only thing feeling the heat these days. The idea of what tomorrow might bring made my pulse kick up all over again. And oh, Seven… I wanted to see just how many more lessons there were to learn with him.

Or, at the very least, how many times we could go over the first one.