Page 22

Chapter 21

H e lifted me effortlessly, turning and lowering me onto the workbench beside us, never breaking the kiss. The hard edge of the bench dug into my thighs, but I didn’t care. Not when his hands were gripping my hips, roaming over my waist, sliding up under my shirt, and leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His palms practically swallowed my body with their size, and my breath hitched as he caressed each curve reverently, as though committing every inch of me to memory.

His lips broke away from mine, trailing down my jaw and lower, planting soft, heated kisses along my neck. When his tusks grazed the sensitive spot just below my ear, a gasp escaped me. My head fell back, offering him more.

Slowly, his fingers traced the curve of my waist before tugging at the hem of my shirt. I raised my arms, helping him lift it over my head and toss it aside. The forge’s warm air brushed my skin, but it was nothing compared to the searing heat in his gaze.

“Soraya,” he murmured, reverent, his voice low and thick with need. “ Durlan .”

His large palms skimmed my shoulders, glided down my arms, then traced over my curves, cupping my breasts. Every brush of his skin sent waves of warmth through me, sparks igniting a slow burn beneath the surface.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensations. By the Alders, I'd forgotten it could feel like this—so raw, so consuming. How had I lived without this connection for so long? The way Vorgath touched me, as though I were something precious, and the way he looked at me, as if seeing all of me, made me feel whole again.

His lips found the hollow of my throat, and a moan slipped from my lips as my fingers gripped the edge of the bench. He was everywhere—his presence, touch, scent—surrounding me, pulling me under until there was nothing but him.

“What does that mean?” I asked breathlessly. “ Durlan ?”

“Beloved,” he murmured roughly, his breath heated against my skin with each kiss. His lips moved lower, down the swell of my chest, as his hands spanned my waist, holding me steady. “My beloved.”

My hands found their way to the hem of his tunic and tugged, desperate to feel his skin beneath my fingertips. He stopped only long enough to pull it over his head, tossing it aside before his strong arms were around me again, pulling me close.

I ran my hands over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the ridges of scars beneath his skin—each one a story, a battle fought, a reminder of a life before this. He was still for a moment, letting me explore, before a deep rumble started in his chest.

He took my hands in his, kissing my palms before pinning my hands over my head and leaning down to take a pert nipple into his mouth. I gasped as his warm mouth closed around the sensitive peak, his tongue swirling, his tusks carefully grazing the soft flesh of my breast. I arched into him, desperate for more, as he lavished attention on one breast and then the other, his mouth teasing and tasting. My fingers flexed in his grip, wanting to touch him, to pull him closer, but he held me firmly, taking control.

And Seven save me, it was hot—this dominant side of him, the raw power, used to bring me pleasure.

He released my hands, trailing his fingers down my arms, across my collarbone, and down to my breasts, where he replaced his mouth with his hands, rolling and pinching the hardened nipples between his fingers.

I moaned, my head falling back, my eyes fluttering closed.

Vorgath's deep voice rumbled, as if the words had been waiting on his tongue forever. “Your breasts are so perfect.”

I froze for a moment, caught off-guard. Perfect? That couldn’t be right. My breasts were too big, too soft, far from the smooth, perky ones I used to have in my twenties. Years of nursing Elias had left their mark—stretch marks tracing circles around my nipples like little silver rivers, a slight sag that gravity had claimed.

They weren’t perfect . Not by the standards of the world, anyway.

But in Vorgath’s hands—there, in the forge where the light flickered, soft and warm—his touch, his gaze, made me second-guess everything I’d thought I knew about my body. His large hands molded over me as though I was something exquisite.

His intense eyes locked onto mine when he spoke again. “ Perfect .”

And just like that, I chose to believe him.

I took a shaky breath, letting myself feel every inch of what he was showing me through his touch. There was no hesitation in the way he pressed soft kisses over the stretch marks that lined my skin, no judgment in the way his big hands caressed the soft swell of my breasts. Just reverence.

And a burgeoning heat building slowly in the pit of my stomach.

I groaned, shifting my hips to press against him, feeling the hard evidence of his desire through the thick layers of his pants. We were just two imperfect beings, yet he worshipped me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Vorgath...” His name came out as a soft moan, my hands now tangled in the messy locks of his hair, urging him closer, lower.

His mouth trailed fire down my stomach, his breath hot and heavy as his lips passed the line of my navel, and I couldn’t stop the shiver of anticipation that ran down my spine.

He hooked his big fingers in the waist of my skirt. “I'm going to taste you, durlan . I'm going to make sure you are ready.”

I lifted my hips, helping him ease the skirt down, and when the warm air kissed my bare skin, I resisted the urge to clench my knees together. His eyes never left me, not for a second. The intensity of his gaze, the way it burned into me, was almost too much to bear. But I didn’t dare look away. Not this time.

This time, I wanted to see everything written in those molten, dark eyes.

Vorgath settled between my legs, his large hands spreading over my thighs. “You’re shaking,” he said softly.

“Maybe that’s because you’re about to... you know,” I whispered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. One look from him, and I was back to feeling like a maid in the spring of her first romance.

He gave a low chuckle. “I know,” he said, his voice dropping low—steady. “Relax.”

I opened my mouth to argue that I was fine —that I wasn’t nervous—but before the words could leave my lips, his mouth pressed against the inside of my thigh, and whatever I’d planned to say turned into a breathless gasp.

I gripped the edge of the bench, knuckles white as he kissed his way up, slow, insistent, trailing the heat of his lips higher and higher. One of his large hands slid up to cup my hip, his thumb brushing in lazy circles that made my body arch despite myself. And then, finally, he reached his destination.

The first touch of his tongue was gentle—slow, deliberate, maddening .

I moaned, throwing my head back as my legs tightened around his shoulders. He teased at first, brushing over my most sensitive spot with soft laps of his tongue before withdrawing, only to return again with a flick that sent shudders through me. The contrast was exquisite—the heaviness of his touch followed by the delicate strokes of his tongue.

It was almost as if he was testing the limits of my patience and control, which, at this point, I had none.

“V-Vorgath,” I gasped, my fingers leaving the edge of the bench to sink into his hair.

The intensity, the fire… it was building inside me, pulling taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

His response was a low growl of approval, the sound vibrating against me, pushing me closer to the edge. He grabbed my hips, firm and sure, holding me exactly where he wanted me—where I wanted to be—and his movements quickened, no longer teasing. His tongue delved deeper, swirling, flicking, until my thighs trembled around him.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, the breath hitching in my throat as I dug my heels into his back, arching toward him.

Like a command he was too eager to obey, his hands gripped harder, and his mouth worked faster, drawing me closer and closer until the rising heat inside broke free in a wave of pleasure so intense that it left me crying his name into the rafters.

His breath was still hot against my thighs, his tongue just barely tracing over sensitive flesh, teasing out the last tremors of pleasure.

Then came the press of his finger—gentle but insistent—sliding inside me with deliberate slowness. I gasped, still riding high on the force of my climax. The feel of him stretching me, moving in sync with the ebb of pleasure still pulsing through me, stirred something new. Something deeper.

Darker.

“I’ve got you, durlan ,” he murmured against my skin.

I heard the softness in his promise, but I felt the heat of it—the raw desire thrumming beneath the careful way he moved. That one finger, slick from my arousal, pressed in again, slow and steady, as he watched me intently, as if measuring every breath, every shift of my body responding to him.

“More?” he asked after a moment, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Yes,” I breathed, voice ragged from the intensity. “More.”

He pushed gently again, adding another finger alongside the first, and though it was slow and careful—achingly so—I couldn’t help but buck my hips toward him, seeking more contact. The stretch was so different from anything I’d felt before—his hands, so much bigger than mine or my late husband’s—and yet, there was no fear. Only the strange, beautiful awareness that this was Vorgath.

My large, scarred orc who knew exactly how much of his strength to give.

His fingers curled inside me, brushing over that perfect spot that made another wave of heat surge through me. I had to bite down on my lip to stifle the sound of the moan that threatened to escape, swallowing it back down, but he caught it all the same.

“No,” he growled, his free hand coming up to my jaw, tilting my face toward him. “No hiding. I want to hear.”

It was bold. Direct. But so was he. Always bold. Always unafraid to say what he wanted, what he needed.

“I'm not hiding,” I shot back, but the words came out breathy, all sharp edges dulled by the molten heat he was coaxing from deep within me. I shifted against his fingers, wanting more, wanting everything , and damn it all, I didn’t care if he heard.

Vorgath’s grin, the slight curve of those tusked lips, was both a warning and a promise as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing my flushed skin. “Good.”

Then he lowered his mouth again, and all coherent thought was incinerated.

Every sensation was sharper, brighter than before—the slick heat of his tongue, the insistent pressure of his fingers curling just right, the strong, steady pulse of his hand holding me down like I might float away from the sheer intensity of it all.

I could only gasp, my hands clutching at anything to ground myself—his hair, the edges of the workbench—nothing steady, nothing solid enough except him.

And in that moment, he was everything.

He pulled another wordless moan from my lips as he doubled down, his rhythm quickening, perfectly attuned to the building pressure coiling low in my belly. Sweat trickled down my spine, and my chest heaved beneath Vorgath’s relentless touch.

His fingers—there were three now—worked deep inside me. The stretch was unfamiliar, full of pressure, but by the Alders, it felt right. Every time he moved, I felt his strength—controlled, measured, calculated to build me up, never to break me down.

“Vorgath,” I whispered, lifting my hips more, wanting the burn, wanting him. My voice shook with the strain of holding back, of riding the delicate edge he so expertly crafted beneath his hands, his mouth.

The vibrations of his growl—somewhere between frustration and satisfaction—grew stronger against my skin, and I couldn’t help but shamelessly clench my legs tighter around his thick shoulders in response.

“You're incredible,” he rumbled against me without lifting his head, the heat of his breath skimming the sensitive flesh below my hips. “So beautiful. So strong.”

Those words hit me harder than any caress, further fraying my already tattered restraint. I couldn’t find airs or retorts or cheeky comebacks under his force.

Just desire. Raw, unguarded.

I curled my fingers deeper in his hair. “Then don’t hold back.”

His fingers flexed deep inside me, curling at just the right moment to make me keen softly into the night air. No hesitation this time. No question about my fragility. Vorgath’s hungry lips returned with renewed fervor, fully committing to my downward spiral. Each stroke of his tongue matched the thrust of his fingers, curling, beckoning me further into the gray abyss between pleasure and complete surrender.

And oh, I wanted to surrender. I wanted to let go of everything until there was nothing left but him and me and the fire burning between us.

My stomach tightened, every muscle tensing, and my vision blurred as the pleasure built and built until…

Everything shattered.

I gasped as the release hit me—sudden, all-consuming. Waves of pleasure rolled through me, stronger than anything I’d ever felt. My back arched off the bench, my body bowing toward the man who'd touched every corner of me.

He held me through it, his touch steady as my body quaked. And when the waves finally ebbed, and I caught my breath, he stood—slowly, eyes dark with hunger and something deeper, something possessive. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his predatory gaze fixed on me, like he wasn't done—not even close.

But I wanted to give him more than just my body. I wanted to feel all of him, in every way.

“Come here,” I breathed, not caring that my voice trembled, not caring that his presence had completely overwhelmed every coherent thought I had left.

He hesitated, just for a beat, and I saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. That same, too-gentle wariness from earlier, as though one wrong move from him could destroy everything we’d built.

But I wasn’t going to break. Not this time. Not ever, not with him.

So, I reached for him. Boldly, fiercely. I grabbed onto the hem of his trousers, never breaking eye contact. “ Here , Vorgath.”

His nostrils flared as understanding replaced doubt, raw desire simmering just beneath the surface. With a low growl, he hooked his fingers into his waistband, peeling away the last barrier between us.

It was impossible not to gasp when he stood fully revealed before me. Every inch of Vorgath was a study in strength, his broad chest tapering down to a narrow waist and powerful legs, the expanse of his green skin covered in scars and hard-cut muscles that spoke of countless battles. His arms, as large around as tree trunks, bulged as he set his trousers aside, and my gaze followed the rough lines of his abdomen, every ridge visible even in the low light of the forge.

And then... my gaze lowered.

Between his thick thighs, his cock stood proud and heavy—larger than I had imagined, even knowing how big he was. Orcs certainly had a reputation for size, and it wasn’t just legend. My breath hitched again as I realized the full scale of what I had invited into this night.

“Stars above…” I whispered under my breath, half in awe, half amused at the shock zipping through me. He was intimidatingly perfect in every way.

“You can still say no,” he muttered, his voice low and guttural, like every single muscle in his body was taut, waiting for my next command.

No? No? Was he mad?

I slid off the bench and took a step toward him. My fingers traced down the taut line of his abdomen, reveling in the tension that coiled beneath his skin.

“Vorgath,” I whispered, feeling the heat rise between us again, “Do I look like I want to say no?”

My hand drifted lower, wrapping around his thick shaft, and I felt the sharp intake of his breath as I touched him. He twitched in my hand, impossibly hard and hot, and for a brief, heady moment, I felt both powerful and vulnerable in the same breath.

I gave him a long, slow stroke, savoring how his eyes fluttered shut, savoring how this mountain of a man, this towering orc, trembled at my touch.

When he opened his eyes again, they were burning, their intensity dark enough to set the room aflame.

“Soraya,” he growled. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist gently but firmly, stopping my motion for just a moment. “You are human,” he repeated, as though desperately reminding himself.

I met his gaze. “And you’re my orc,” I said, my voice filled with a quiet but fierce certainty. “So, stop holding back.”

He let out a shuddering breath, and with one fluid movement, he lifted me off the ground as if I weighed nothing, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. His warmth enveloped me, his hands firm at my hips, pulling my body flush against his. The sensation of his hardness pressing against my slick folds sent a shock of pleasure through me so intense, I let out a gasp, my nails digging into his back.

“You need to be ready for me,” he murmured.

He rocked his hips gently, teasing us both, the head of his cock just barely brushing against me, and stars, it was already too much. My body was thrumming with desire—desire for him, for this, for us.

“I am,” I breathed against his lips, kissing him hard, dragging my teeth across his bottom lip until he groaned. “For you... I am.”

Our auras pulsed around us, swirling together in the dim light of the forge—gold clashing with red, silver whispering between the creases. It was a promise—a vow without words.

And then, finally, Vorgath lowered me onto the workbench and moved between my legs, taking his time, spreading my legs wide, hooking them in the crooks of his massive arms.

“Soraya,” he murmured above me, voice deep, dark, dangerous in its intensity. “ Durlan ... tell me if it's too much. I need you to tell me.”

I nodded, my breath hitching with equal parts anticipation and need.

Slowly, gently, his thick shaft pushed into me, my body accommodating inch by inch of him. The stretch—the sheer fullness—was unlike anything I’d ever felt, both overwhelming and perfect. I arched my back, toes curling as my breath stuttered in my throat, my whole body trembling under the intensity.

“By the Alders, Vorgath,” I whispered, feeling every ridged vein of him moving deeper inside me, stretching me in ways I hadn’t even dreamed possible.

He froze, his dark eyes blown wide with concern, every taut muscle in his body tense, locked in place as if waiting for a signal. His hands, those big, scarred hands, trembled ever so slightly where they were braced on either side of me, holding him above me like a shield.

“If it’s too much, we stop,” he rasped, his voice low, raw, as though the restraint was physically painful for him.

But oh, I didn’t want him to stop. I couldn’t. The pleasure and pressure blurred together, wound so tightly inside me that I needed to go further, to see what more there could be. The sensation of him filling me so completely made me dizzy with lust and something far deeper… something I didn’t have a name for yet but felt in every touch.

“No,” I managed to breathe out, my fingers curling into his shoulders, urging him on. “Don’t stop.”

With a guttural groan, he sunk further into me, the stretch now impossibly deep, sending flames licking up my spine, pleasure overwhelming everything else. My body, impossibly full, was screaming for more. I wrapped my legs tighter around him, desperate, needing him closer than seemed physically possible.

His hands shifted to cup my ass, lifting me slightly, angling to press even deeper. When he finally bottomed out, I let out a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a sob of raw need. I felt him everywhere, filling parts of me I hadn’t even known existed. The sensation of being so tightly connected to him was overwhelming, yet it wasn’t enough.

I wanted more—needed more.

“Yes,” I gasped, tilting my head back. “More.”

“You're perfect,” he rumbled, his voice dark, gravelly, barely restrained. His forehead dropped to mine, his breath hot against my skin. “You were made for me.”

And then, he began to move.

Slow at first, each thrust careful, testing, almost reverent. My breath hitched with every shift, every inch of him pushing deeper until I thought I might break under the sheer weight of it all.

“ Durlan ,” he growled, inching back just enough to watch my reaction when he thrust forward, the sudden fullness ripping a gasp from my lips. “You feel... so damned good.”

I couldn't respond, not with words, at least. Instead, my body did the talking, arching toward him, my nails digging into his arms as wave after wave of pleasure hit me with every slow grind of his hips. I was drowning in him—the heat, the thickness, the way my body stretched to fit him perfectly.

His rhythm grew faster, more urgent, and with each stroke deeper than the last, I felt myself unraveling, an all-consuming ache building in the pit of my stomach, ready to burst.

“Vorgath,” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “Don’t—don’t stop. Please.”

His next thrust was harder, rougher, burying himself fully inside me with a growl so feral, so primal, I felt it resonate deep in my bones.

I couldn't help it—I cried out, my head falling back as his strokes became more powerful, each one sending a shockwave of pleasure through me.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

I forced my eyes open, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, were wild now, full of raw hunger. He growled, low and deep, before he surged forward again, his hips snapping into mine with renewed fervor. He was everywhere, all at once, and I moaned, wrapping my arms tighter around his neck, arching into him in answer to that pounding rhythm.

His hands moved to my hips, gripping hard as he lifted me, changing the angle just enough that when he thrust again, I felt him deeper. I cried out, the sound echoing in the dim glow of the forge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his deep voice sending vibrations through my entire body. “Let me hear you.”

Every word, every low rumble of his voice, pushed me closer to the edge. My skin felt impossibly sensitive, each thrust of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me. I’d never felt anything like it—the way he filled me, consumed me, yet somehow left me needing more.

“Vorgath—” I gasped, my hands scrabbling for purchase on his shoulders, his arms, anywhere I could hold onto as he pushed me closer and closer to oblivion. I felt the sweat beading on his skin, felt the powerful flex of his muscles with every thrust, the raw strength that could bend iron but right now was focused entirely on me.

His forehead pressed against mine, and his dark eyes drilled into me with such intensity that it felt like he could see straight through to my soul.

“Are you close?” he asked.

I nodded frantically, unable to form coherent words, barely able to breathe with the pressure building inside me. But he didn’t need me to answer.

“I can feel it,” he rumbled, his breath jagged, his control slipping. “Your body... you’re squeezing me so tight, durlan ...”

His pace quickened, his thrusts harder now, each one pushing me to the brink of breaking. My whole body quaked under the intensity, my thighs trembling. The sounds filling the room were animalistic—his gruff groans mixing with my breathless cries, the soft slaps of our bodies meeting over and over.

And then, just when I didn’t think I could take anymore, the pressure building inside me snapped.

My release crashed over me in wave after wave of blinding heat, and I cried out his name, trembling in his arms as my walls clenched tight around him, dragging him deeper into me. He growled, barely holding onto his control as my body convulsed beneath him.

But it wasn’t enough for him—not yet.

Vorgath wasn’t satisfied until he wrung every ounce of pleasure from my body, his strokes never relenting as he pushed me through the aftershocks, coaxing whimpers and gasps from my lips that I didn’t even know I was capable of.

My body was burning, completely overwhelmed by sensation—it was almost too much, the intensity of him, the way his thick shaft pressed into me deeper and deeper, even as I quivered and clenched around him.

“Vorgath—oh yes,” I moaned, trying to catch my breath, my hands raking down his back to anchor myself in the storm of pleasure.

But it was like he knew exactly where I stood—what I could handle—and his movements didn’t stop, didn’t slow, perfectly mindful of my fragility without needing to treat me like glass.

And Seven save me, I loved him for it.

He grunted, his movements growing rougher, more desperate, and I knew he was teetering on the edge of his own release. His grip on my waist tightened as his pace became relentless, each thrust a mix of pleasure and delicious pain as his body met mine.

“Soraya,” he groaned, the word barely a breath, but filled with raw emotion. His face was intense, his dark eyes barely able to keep focus on me, like he was already lost to the pleasure consuming him.

I felt it coming, that moment when he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer, and my body responded, clenching around him, pulling him closer, allowing him the freedom to let go.

“Take me,” I whispered against his lips, my voice thick and low. “Vorgath, take me.”

A guttural sound ripped from deep in his chest as he plunged deep inside me one last time, his arms like iron bands around me as his release hit, powerful and overwhelming. The sensation of his warmth filling me, his heavy breath against my skin, and the sheer erotic intensity of his body trembling with need sent another ripple of aftershocks through me, leaving me gasping in his arms.

For a long moment, the only sound in the forge was heavy breathing, the soft crackle of the forge, and the quiet sigh of spent bodies clinging to one another.

Vorgath didn't pull away—he stayed there, nestled deep inside me, our bodies still tangled together, his forehead resting against mine as we both fought to catch our breath. His hands rested on my hips, gentle now, but grounding—holding me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

“Well... that was...” I panted, my chest still heaving, trying to find the right words amidst the haze of what had just happened.

“Incredible?” Vorgath offered, his lips curving into a satisfied smile.

“Definitely incredible,” I agreed, running my fingers through his tousled hair, noting how his dark eyes never wavered from mine. “But now... I don't think I'll be able to walk properly for a week.”

His grin widened, those tusks of his adding a dangerous edge that somehow only made him look more tempting. “We'll take it slow next time.”

I could have melted right there, beneath the weight of his affection, the way his hands lingered over my skin even after we’d both completely unraveled. But no more words were left to be spoken, nothing that could capture what we’d just shared. Not just a moment of passion but a promise.

A future.

“I choose you,” he murmured softly, echoing my own words from earlier.

I smiled, pressing my lips to his, savoring the warmth and certainty that only he could give me. “And I choose you,” I whispered against his mouth. “Every day.”

And as I let sleep take me, wrapped in Vorgath’s arms, it felt like the world outside couldn’t touch us. Not now. Not here.

For a moment, everything was beautiful.