Page 28

Chapter 27

V orgath froze for just a moment—just long enough for me to second-guess myself.

But then, his hands were on me, pulling me against his solid chest as he kissed me back. The rag he’d been holding dropped to the floor, forgotten, as his hands slid around my waist, gathering me against him.

The weariness of the day fell away, replaced by a swirling tide of heat and need. I threaded my fingers into his thick, tousled hair, tugging him closer. He growled low in his throat, a deep, reverberating sound that made anticipation coil tight in my stomach.

His hand spanned my lower back, warm and possessive, and I arched into his touch, gasping softly as his lips traced down the curve of my jaw, finding the sensitive skin at my neck.

“Are you sure?” He pulled back, just enough for me to see the concern shadowing his brow.

I blinked up at him, chest heaving. “I’ve never been more sure,” I whispered.

His arms tightened around me, and I felt myself lifted off the floor as his mouth found mine again. He shuffled me backward down the hall toward my bedroom, lips never breaking from mine, not until I'd shut the door behind us and pressed a hand against his broad chest. He barely budged under my touch, solid as a rooted oak. Slowly, carefully, I pushed harder until he stumbled backward, his powerful legs hitting the edge of my bed.

He sat, heavy and quiet, his hands gripping the side of the bedframe as I took a step back and reached for the laces at the front of my dress, fumbling with the knots. My heart was a wild thing in my chest, but I couldn’t stop now. I didn't want to. With each pull of the string, I felt the weight of fear, loss, and all my doubts slowly giving way, unraveling like the thread.

Vorgath’s stare never left me, his body still, waiting. As the strings came free of their knots and the fabric of my dress began to part, his hands tightened on the bedframe, the wood creaking beneath his strength.

I let the dress fall to the floor, a soft rustle of fabric against the wooden floorboards, and stood before him. Vulnerable. Exposed. And not just in the obvious, naked kind of way. I felt like I had laid bare every wound—visible or not. Like I had stripped away the years of survival, of getting by, of keeping my head down because the alternative was being seen, and being seen was too dangerous.

And yet… here I was, standing in front of Vorgath, nothing but bare skin and raw nerves. I had never thought of myself as desirable, not in any grand, sweeping way. Chubby , I’d always thought. Plain . I wasn’t the kind of woman novels were written about, not the heroine who made men lose their minds with a single glance. Not someone who commanded attention.

But the way Vorgath looked at me now...

His eyes, so intense and dark, roved over every inch of me with such hunger. But not the hunger you’d expect from a man about to take his pleasure. No. This was something deeper. His gaze wasn’t greedy; it was reverent, like each curve, each freckle, each imperfect part of me was a masterpiece he had been waiting to touch. Waiting to know .

And it was enough to undo every doubt that had ever wormed its way into my heart.

I took a step closer and lifted one of his huge hands, pressing a kiss to the silver scar on the palm before pressing it against one of my bare breasts. His thumb brushed over my nipple once, then again, the peak stiffening under his ministrations.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice—thick with desire, low with need.

His eyes still on mine, he leaned forward and took my nipple between his teeth, biting down until I gasped and arched into his touch, my body responding to the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain. His tongue soothed the sting, circling the sensitive peak before moving to lavish the same attention on the other breast.

I slid my fingers to the hem of his tunic and pulled it upward, slowly, teasing the fabric over his muscled chest until finally, I tossed it aside, tracing my fingers over the curve of his shoulders, down his chest, over each scar, each ridge of muscle.

Vorgath let out a sharp breath as I pushed him back onto the bed and fumbled with the laces of his trousers before finally tugging them down, freeing his enormous length. I stared for a moment, heat rushing through my veins as I took him in—large, thick, and pulsing with need—and a part of me marveled at the absurdity of thinking I could possibly be enough for him.

But when I touched him, the way his breath hitched as my fingers grazed the sensitive skin of his shaft, the soft groan rumbling deep in his chest, I knew I’d already undone him.

“Ah, Soraya,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, barely restrained as he closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to ground himself.

There was power in that. In knowing this orc warrior who had seen untold battles and horrors, who had faced demons both literal and figurative, was here and barely holding onto control because of me . The thought sent a jolt of heady thrill through me, emboldening me, wrapping me in confidence where once there had only been hesitation.

I gripped him more firmly now, my fingers not even wrapping fully around his girth as I stroked him slowly, teasingly. Vorgath let out a low growl, his head falling back against the bed as I worked him with deliberate care. His fingers gripped the sheets so tightly I thought they might tear.

“Stars, Soraya,” he groaned, his voice raw and ragged. “If you don’t stop—”

But I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to hold back any longer. I wanted to give him everything. Without a second thought, I crawled onto the bed, straddling him, my body aligning above his.

He caught my hips and sat up beneath me. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured roughly.

“You won’t,” I reassured him, threading my fingers into his dark hair. “We already know I can take you.”

“Let me make sure you're ready, then.”

With one hand still tight around my hips, the other slid between us, his fingers tracing a path down my stomach and through the soft curls between my legs. I shuddered, my hips instinctively tilting forward, seeking more of his touch.

He let out a low, appreciative growl, his fingers exploring further, parting my folds. When he found the sensitive nub at my center, I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure rippled through me. He circled it slowly, his touch feather-light, teasing out a moan from deep within me.

“Vorgath...” His name escaped my lips like a secret, whispered into his ear. I could feel his smile against my neck, a small, satisfied curve of his lips that sent shivers down my spine.

His fingers dipped lower, gathering the wetness pooling at my entrance. He brought them back up, coating my sensitive flesh with my own desire. My hips moved in rhythm with his touch, and his grip on my hip tightened, his fingers pressing into my skin, anchoring me as he continued to explore, to tease.

Vorgath’s lips brushed lightly over my neck, my shoulder, his tusks grazing gently as he moved. When his fingers slipped inside me, I gasped, my body stretching to accommodate his thick fingers. He moved slowly, carefully, his thumb continuing its relentless dance over my sensitive nub.

I clung to him, my hands gripping his broad shoulders, my forehead pressed against his as I ground against his hand. The sensation of being filled, of being touched so deeply, so intimately, pushed me closer to the precipice.

“You feel so good,” he murmured. “So warm, so soft.”

He filled the space between us, drawing closer until there was no room left, no distance to hide behind. His fingers never faltered, his movements growing more confident, more deliberate. My breath hitched, the ache for him building into something I couldn’t ignore, couldn’t push down any longer. His lips moved in a slow path down my throat to my collarbone. He growled softly into my skin, his tusks brushing against my pulse, a reminder of just how powerful he was.

My body trembled, my breath hitching as his fingers dipped deeper, his thumb pressing with just enough force to send sparks of pleasure shooting through me. My hips bucked against his hand, my body moving instinctively, chasing that cresting wave, that promise of utter release.

I whimpered, the knot in my belly tightening, winding tighter and tighter until I felt like I might break. My vision blurred, my senses narrowing down to nothing but the feel of him—his hand, his lips, the delicious roughness of his breath against my skin.

And then... oh, stars.

It hit.

My body clenched, muscles tightening as a moan tore free from my lips, raw and shameless. Pleasure exploded through me in a wild rush so intense it left me trembling and gasping for air. Vorgath held me through it, his strong arms supporting me as I convulsed in his grasp. His fingers slowed, easing me through the aftershocks, until I sagged against him, my face buried in his neck, panting softly, overwhelmed but utterly sated.

As my heart rate began to settle, I became acutely aware of him beneath me—how hard he still was, how tightly he gripped my hips, the faint tremble in his body that betrayed just how much he was holding himself back.

Without a word, I reached down, guiding him to me, gasping softly as the wide head of his cock pressed against my entrance. My body was still humming, sensitive and soft all over. He was so big, but I was ready for him. I wanted him inside me, wanted to feel every inch of him filling me, stretching me, claiming me.

His jaw clenched, and he ground out a soft groan as I pressed my hips down, taking just an inch of him inside me.

“Take your time,” he rasped, his voice strained, thick with need. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But I didn’t want to drag it out anymore. I wanted all of him, right now, every inch of him buried deep inside me, to fill the empty places I had forgotten were there until he’d come into my life.

I cupped his face in my hands, brushing a thumb over the scar that ran across his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I can handle you, Vorgath. Don’t hold back.”

His eyes flashed, and with a low growl that made the air between us buzz, his grip on my hips tightened. He thrust upward, hard and fast, filling me in one swift motion.

“Oh,” I moaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders as pleasure and pain burst through my nerve endings like wildfire.

He was so thick, stretching me in a way that felt deliciously overwhelming, his cock throbbing as my body tightened around him. I couldn’t think, couldn’t form a coherent thought beyond the feel of him. I was lost in the way his hands gripped my hips, guiding me, grounding me. With every rise and fall, I felt myself sinking further into that glorious abyss, where nothing existed but the intoxicating press of his body and the heat pooling low in my belly.

Our movements quickened as I rode him, my thighs burning with the effort but the pleasure spurring me on, pushing me ever closer to that peak. His hands traced lines up my thighs, gripping, squeezing, as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

I could feel the tension coiling tight in both of us, building toward something inevitable, something wild and fierce and perfect. His hips snapped up in time with every downward grind of mine, his control slipping by the second, and oh, I wanted that. I wanted him to let go, to let me feel all of that raw, untamed power focused solely on claiming me.

His mouth found the curve of my neck, his sharp tusks grazing the sensitive skin there before his teeth sank in just enough to blur the lines between pleasure and pain. Heat pulsed through me, and I clung to him, my fingers tangled in his hair, as his growls deepened, turning into rough, ragged breaths that thrummed against my skin. His hips bucked up, faster, harder, his control unraveling as he took me with a ferocity that matched the wild rhythm of my own heartbeat. Every thrust, every movement pushed me closer to the edge, and the pressure of his bite only pulled me in deeper, binding us in a way I couldn’t explain, a feeling raw and ancient that left me gasping, needing more.

“Vorgath, I—” I gasped, words breaking apart as the tension coiled tight, too tight. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I didn’t want to hold back anymore.

“Let go,” he growled, his voice guttural, primal, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me. “I’ve got you.”

And by the Alders, he did have me—completely.

His words were like a lit match to the fuse of my desire, and with a sudden, violent rush, my body exploded into pure ecstasy. I came hard, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave, unrelenting and unforgiving. Every nerve ending ignited, every muscle clenched around him, gripping him tighter as the pleasure tore through me, raw and all-consuming.

“Vorgath!” I cried out as I arched against him, throwing my head back, completely lost in the moment. I could feel him growl into my skin, his own control unraveling, his hands gripping me fiercely as my tightening walls pushed him over the edge.

With a final, deep thrust, he groaned—a sound so primal and desperately male that it sent another rush through me. His body trembled beneath mine, his forehead pressing hard against my shoulder as he buried himself inside me, pulse twitching with every spurt of release.

He was silent for a long moment, apart from the heavy breaths that left him in uneven bursts, his body locked against mine. Then, slowly, cautiously, his grip on my hips loosened—his hands slipped to rest more gently on my sides, their possessiveness melted into something tender.

I let out a long breath, catching his scent, the smoky spice that clung to his skin, and the faint smell of iron that seemed ingrained into who he was. I shifted just enough to rest more firmly against his chest, the beat of his heart steady beneath my cheek. For the first time in what felt like years, maybe longer, the world outside the walls of this room didn’t press down on me, didn’t demand or take anything more.

It was just us.

He curled an arm around me, and I couldn’t help but smile up at him as I brushed a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. A peaceful stillness softened the intensity that usually burned so fiercely behind those dark irises.

“I wasn’t too—” he began, but stopped, running a finger over my neck, a look of horror on his face.

“What is it?” I asked, pushing onto my elbows.

His gaze dropped back to the spot where his fingers hovered, then flicked back up to meet mine. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move.

“I hurt you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, thick with regret.

Hurt me? I frowned, confused.

But then his hand shifted, and I felt it—a hot, raw ache pulsing from the spot where his mouth had clamped down in the heat of everything.

I reached up and touched it with tentative fingers, wincing as a fresh sting blossomed beneath my touch. My fingers came away stained with a smear of blood, dark against my skin. I stared at it, surprised by the fierce tenderness that lingered beneath the pain. There was something powerful about it, something that went deeper than a wound.

“I didn’t mean to, Soraya,” he said quickly, his large hands falling to his lap, like the act of touching me was now out of bounds. “I—when things get heated, orcs, we… I should have been more careful.”

I leaned forward, placing both hands on his face. “Vorgath,” I whispered, bringing his eyes back to mine. “You didn’t hurt me.”

His brows drew together in disbelief. “But the bite—”

“I know,” I said gently. “I felt it. But I liked it.”

His eyes widened, and he shook his head as if he hadn’t heard me properly. “You liked it?” The disbelief in his voice wasn’t just flustered—he looked genuinely concerned for my sanity.

I smiled slightly, running my thumb along his jawline, tracing the scar that ran across his cheek. “Yes. We tend to get… passionate in the moment. I wasn’t expecting it, but you didn’t hurt me. In fact,” I added, my voice dropping to a whisper, “I wouldn't mind it happening again.”

His brow furrowed in that adorably perplexed way, but then, slowly, those dark eyes softened. He let out a low breath, almost like a sigh, his shoulders visibly relaxing under my touch.

“Well, in that case,” he murmured, his voice still thick with hesitation but colored with a hint of teasing now, “I suppose I should warn you. Bites like that aren’t taken lightly in orcish culture.”

“What do you mean?”

“Among my people,” he began slowly, “a bite like that, especially during... intimate moments, is more than just an expression of passion.”

“Oh?” I couldn’t help but smile at the way his cheeks darkened, the green hue shifting slightly toward a deep, almost embarrassed olive. It was downright endearing.

He nodded, his tone cautious but sincere. “It’s a mark of… claim. Orcs are strong, protective by nature, but when an orc bites their partner like that, it’s a way of marking them as theirs.” He paused, narrowing his eyes as though assessing my reaction.

My heart, already thundering in my chest from our earlier activities, picked up pace again. Marked. Claimed.

“So… Anyone who sees this…” I touched the tender spot on my neck with a smile. “…will know I’m yours?”

“…they’ll know,” Vorgath replied as his fingers brushed lightly over the spot on my neck again, his eyes following the motion as if trying to memorize the sight of me marked by him. “It’s rare for us to give that kind of mark to someone outside our people,” he said, almost to himself.

“Rare, but not unheard of?”

“My brother, Gorkath, had a bit of a reputation for it.” A faint, almost amused smile tugged at his lips.

I settled back against his chest. “A reputation?”

Vorgath nodded, his gaze turning distant as he recalled the memory. “Gorkath was… well, he had a way with words.” His lips twitched, as if recalling a fond but exasperating memory. “He was the opposite of me in many ways—loud, brash, always the center of attention. And he loved to flaunt his conquests—orc or fae or wolfkin. He’d mark them with these bold bites and then brag about it to anyone who would listen.”

“Sounds like he was quite the character.”

“He was.” Vorgath’s jaw tightened. “He made some mistakes, but he wasn’t a bad person.”

I reached up, cupping his cheek, feeling the tension there. “You loved him,” I said gently, my voice filled with understanding.

Vorgath’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, the stoic mask he usually wore cracked, revealing the raw grief and guilt beneath. “I did. I still do, even after everything.” He let out a slow breath, as if releasing some of the burden he’d carried for so long. “We were close when we were younger, inseparable, really. But when the war came, everything changed.”

I stayed silent, letting him speak at his own pace, my hand moving in slow, soothing strokes against his jaw.

“Gorkath couldn’t stand the idea of being just another warrior in the clan. He wanted more—power, recognition. And when the dark mage offered him that… he took it. I tried to stop him, tried to talk him out of it, but he said I was too scared, too weak to understand.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. “He was my brother, but on that battlefield, he felt like a stranger. I failed him, Soraya. I failed to save him, and I couldn’t stop him from becoming something he wasn’t.”

My heart ached at the pain in his words. I leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, then to his forehead. “You didn’t fail him. He made his choices, but you were there, trying to bring him back. That’s not failure. That’s love.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for not being strong enough to stop him. But being with you… it’s the first time I’ve felt like I can try to move past it.”

“Tell me more about him,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. “About your brother.”

Vorgath hesitated but then nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing as he began to speak. He told me about their childhood, the mischievous pranks Gorkath used to pull, the way he could charm even the grumpiest elders of their clan. He spoke of their first battle together, how proud he’d been of his brother’s strength and courage.

And I listened, holding him, until sleep claimed us both.

Hours later, I woke to the sound of silence, the kind that filled a room when everyone else was asleep, but my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I was still in Vorgath’s arms, his warmth surrounding me like a protective cocoon. His chest rose and fell steadily under my cheek, and the soft rumble of his breath was a soothing, familiar lullaby. I should have been at peace, but something stirred restlessly inside me.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, I untangled myself and slipped out of bed. The night air was cool against my skin, and I shivered as I pulled on a robe and padded quietly through the cottage. Each step sent a gentle ache through my legs, and I brought my hand up to my neck, touching the tender spot where Vorgath had claimed me. I relished these physical reminders of our connection, the way he had held me, taken me, and made me feel alive.

I checked on Elias and found him sprawled across his bed, one arm dangling off the side, snoring softly. His small face was peaceful, innocent, and I brushed a kiss against his forehead, smoothing a stray curl away before pulling his blanket up over his shoulders.

In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water, sipping it slowly as I tried to shake the unease that had woken me. I stared out the window, my gaze drifting to the silhouette of the forge against the night sky. It stood tall and proud, the new beams sturdy, the stonework strong.

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I froze, the glass halfway to my lips. There, in the shadows of the forge, a figure moved. I narrowed my eyes, straining to make out the details, and my heart leaped into my throat when I recognized the broad silhouette and the faint gleam of gray hair catching the moonlight.

Thorne Ironsmith.

It was too dark, and he was too far away for me to see his expression, but the way he just stood there, motionless and silent, sent a chill down my spine.

What was he doing here?

Was he here to sabotage my work again, to tear down what I had built before I’d even had a chance to get it off the ground? Or was he here because of Lira?

I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white, as I watched him. His presence, uninvited and looming, should have sent a chill down my spine. And yet, staring at him now, in the heart of my forge, I didn’t feel fear.

I felt anger.

I had worked too hard, lost too much, to let him intimidate me or scare me into giving up what I’d fought so desperately to reclaim. This forge, this life, this chance—it was mine.

With a deep breath, I set the glass down, opened the door, and stepped out into the cool night air, the soft glow of the forge lighting my way as I walked toward the shadowy figure of Thorne Ironsmith.

Because if he thought he could scare me away from what was mine, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.