Page 16 of Orn and the Real Girl

And I was screaming once more, my throat raw, as the tight coil of my muscles released all at once.

I’d still been throbbing and weak from the first orgasm, but that orc, my sweet Orn, had worked some magic on my body that had my body rallying and coming hot and hard.

Heat and glitter thrummed through me, warm wetness gushing from me, and for one mad moment I thought it might be my spirit leaving my mortal flesh.

If anyone was going to be able to fuck me to death, it would be Orn. I knew that with the certainty that I knew the sun would rise in the morning.

He was still parked between my thighs, growling and moaning as he lapped up every drop of my slick that he could find, his blade of a nose nuzzling my flesh and his fingers still buried deep inside me, stroking my sweet spot.

“Orn,” I said weakly, my voice a raw rasp that even I could barely hear.

“Orn,” I said again, louder. He ignored me, or perhaps was beyond hearing me, and I whimpered as I felt another orgasm begin to flick at the ends of my nerves, a hungry fire that I was certain would burn me to ash if I let him kindle it.

I shoved at his head, using every ounce of strength left in my wrung-out muscles and still only just managing to push hard enough to get his attention; moving him was impossible. “Orn!”

He growled again, his dark eyes and hair wild. I swallowed, half from nerves, half to try and restore my voice. “Down, boy,” I told him, sitting up on an elbow so I could reach him better. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and held it tight. “I need a break, honey. Can you calm down?”

I thought I heard another growl—bloody gods, this blood song was something else—but he nodded, pressing his face into my wrist and kissing it softly. “I’m sorry, Sara.”

I flopped onto my back, laughing weakly. “It’s alright, sweetness. It was amazing. Just…too much.”

“When can I taste you again?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that shivered along my exposed thighs.

Again? “You want to do it again? Honey, I’m flattered, but I don’t know if I have any more in me tonight.

And shouldn’t we be resting up, getting ready for tomorrow?

” By Orn’s estimation, we were close—he’d begun to catch the scent of our hamlet, my fading scent mingling with sharp herbs and sweet woodsmoke, with the bright tang of magic and the sour rank of fear.

Or so he said; I could smell none of it.

And while we’d eaten and cleaned up a bit, there was still gear to check over and potentially repair, reagents I needed to work on for ready-made spellwork once we found my coven, and sweet Delenaa, we just plain needed rest!

Orn frowned, shooting my pussy a longing look that was almost comical, before he got to his feet and stepped beyond the light of the fire.

He ignored my confused calls, passing through the barrier I’d made and into the howling storm.

Naked from the waist up, he lifted his arms from his sides and tilted his head back, before tipping backwards and falling into a thick drift of snow with a gentle crunch and a whump.

He lay there for several minutes, making me worry something was wrong, but just as I was pulling on my clothes to go to him, he rose, shivering and damp but looking much calmer.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepish. “I got uh…carried away.”

“Are you alright?”

He nodded, flushing, and then settled by the fire once more. He pulled a blanket around his shoulders and left his legs spread wide and bent at the knees. “Will you sit with me?” he asked, holding out one huge hand.

I smiled, all but falling to the ground and settling between his legs once more. He adjusted the blanket to cover me, too, then sighed and melted against me.

“When we find your people, what will you do next?”

“You mean me?”

“No, I mean all of you. The whole coven.” He paused. “How many of you are there?”

“Every coven has twelve. It is a sacred number, and precious enough to the gods that no matter what, a coven stays at twelve from its creation to its dissolution. Which hopefully never comes, but it has happened, from what the Mothers have said.”

Orn hummed thoughtfully, pressing a kiss to the side of my head. “You have more than one mother?”

I shook my head. “Not in the literal sense. It’s what we call our elders, our leaders. Usually there are three, though they are not always the oldest among us. Gretta, for example, is older than Mother Tonn by at least a decade, but she’s not a Mother herself.”

“Fascinating, I had no idea. And this is just how it works out?”

I smiled, easing back into his warmth as my eyes slipped closed.

He had many questions for me, some I had no answers for, like how it was that we knew about the sacred numbers, or who had first discovered the spell structures and what reagents they needed to work.

His curiosity sparked my own, and I realized that there was much about my life as a witch that I had taken for granted, that I had made commonplace and never bothered to wonder about.

I vowed I would find those answers, for myself as much as him, as I told him all I could.

I didn’t remember falling asleep, but woke to Orn’s gentle snoring and the shrill calls of frost doves welcoming the dawn.