Page 12 of Pumpkin Spiced Orc

GARRUK

T he sun hangs low, bleeding red-orange across the sky, and I stand beneath the old Sentry Oak for a full ten minutes before I spot her.

Ivy’s sitting on a mossy stump near the creek, tracing patterns in the damp earth with a stick.

Her dark curls escape the messy knot at her nape, catching the fading light.

My pulse kicks against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Say it. Just say it.

I cross the clearing, boots crunching on fallen twigs. She looks up, eyes wide and wary, but doesn’t flinch. "Garruk."

The air thickens between us. I stop a breath away, close enough to see the freckle beneath her left eye. "Been thinking," I grind out, the words rough as bark. "About last night."

She drops the stick. "And?"

"This... whatever this is." Her gaze locks onto mine. "It won’t be simple. Not for you. The stares. The whispers. Folks cross the street when they see me walking alone. They won’t like some city lawyer mixing with an orchard-bound orc.

" Her hand curls into a fist against her knee.

"And I can’t change what I am. Or what I need to protect here. "

Ivy stands abruptly, closing the space until her chin tilts up toward mine.

Her scent—sun-warmed apples and rain—drowns me.

"Let me save us both some time." Her voice doesn’t waver.

"You can’t offer me an easy life? I never wanted easy, Garruk.

" A shift in the orchard wind lifts strands of her hair. "I wanted you ."

The admission cracks through me like lightning—raw, loud, terrifying. Any resolve snaps. I reach for her jaw, callused thumb brushing her cheekbone. "Gods help us."

Her fingers knot into my work shirt. "Took you long enough."

Our mouths meet. Not tentative like the moonlight kiss.

This is claiming. Surrender. She tastes like defiance and honeyed tea, and I pull her flush against me, arm banding her waist while my other hand tangles in her hair.

Her sigh shatters into a gasp when my tongue slides against hers.

Nobody speaks about the scar on my knuckle catching on her sweater, or how her hip fits against mine like a lost carving.

The orchard falls silent, holding its breath around us.

My voice scrapes against her neck as we break for air. "Still scared?"

Ivy’s nails skim my spine. "Only that you’ll stop." She drags me down again. The world narrows to her mouth, her heat, her tangled breaths against my skin. Mine . The word drums under my ribs, a truth too loud to ignore.

Her mouth still tastes faintly of tea, tart and sweet.

I lift her effortlessly, my heartbeat wild against her ribs.

She clings, legs wrapping my waist. We stumble toward the mossy bank by the creek where her stick still lies forgotten.

The air hums with crickets, the creek whispering below. My hands tremble on her sweater hem.

"Off," she pants, already tugging at my flannel buttons. "Now."

I dive in. Her sweater shreds at the neckline, my tusks scraping thread, my patience gone. Ivy arches against me. "Yes?—"

Her breast fits perfectly against my palm. I’m lost in her skin—the shock of heat, the pebble-hard nipple under my thumb. I bend to close my mouth over it. Her cry unravels into a sob. Her hips rock against my half-hard cock, friction like wildfire through denim.

She pushes me backward onto the moss. Leans over me, dark curls falling around her face.

"You," breath ragged, "aren't the only one who needs this.

" Her fingers unbuckle my belt, pull denim down past my hips.

My cock springs free, thick and flushed.

Her palm runs its blunt length once, twice. I nearly snap.

"Ivy—"

"Show me," she demands, straddling my thighs. Her pants tear away. Bare beneath. Dark curls nestle over her pussy, slick and glistening. Wetness coats my thigh. Her scent was apple blossoms this morning. Now it’s musk and salt. Divine.

I sit up, swallow her gasp against my tusks. Slide a finger into her heat, feeling her pussy stretch around me. "This isn't water magic." Delving deeper. "You're a damn fountain."

Her inner walls clamp around me. "Shut up, Garruk—fuck me properly ."

I am her anchor. Her whole body trembles as I lower her onto my cock. Slow. Cruel. Her scream fractures the twilight. Buried to the hilt. Wet. Clenching. Mine. Her thighs clamp my hips. "Move," she hisses, nails biting my shoulders. "Fuck, please, move!"

I pull out until only my head breaches her before thrusting hard back in.

It punches a ragged moan from her throat, eyes wide.

Her pussy grips like roots holding earth, pulsing.

I set a rhythm—deep, unrelenting. The wet suck of our joining echoes under the willows.

Each inward stroke shreds her words. "Garruk—" "Harder—" "There, gods?—"

Her legs lock around my back. "I'm close."

"Then fall." One hand yanks her nipple taut. Teeth against her shoulder. Her backbows. Inner walls flutter violently . Ivy’s scream is caught in my mouth—salt and lightning and relief.

I sink deeper with each stroke, our bodies a slick collision of heat and need. Ivy arches against me, inner walls still fluttering from her climax, her grip tightening on my shoulders.

"Again," she gasps, voice raw. "I need it again."

My cock throbs inside her, the rhythm unyielding. Slow drags out. Forceful plunges back into her dripping pussy. Every snap of my hips punches a sharp cry from her lips. She shifts, locking her ankles above my ass, heels digging into my lower back.

"Yes, like that ?—"

Her pulse flutters against my tongue as I bite at her throat, not hard, but claiming. She tastes like summer thunderstorms. Her back bows when my thumb circles her clit. Not idle worship—demanding, insistent pressure. Her whimper fractures.

"Garruk, it's—ah! Too soon?—"

I grind the heel of my palm harder. "Give me another one."

The demand unravels her. Pleasure wracks her trembling as her second climax crests, muscles clenching like a fist around my cock. Warm wetness spills between us. Sweat slicks our skin where her breasts press against my chest. "My turn," I rasp. My thrusts lose control, turning rough, jagged.

She fists my braid, dragging my face to hers. Her kiss is messy, desperate. Teeth and tongue and shared breath. When we break, she pants against my mouth. "Come inside me. I want to feel it."

Her words sear through reason. My groan tears from deep in my chest. The shattering crest hits—my cock surges, flooding her as heat explodes up my spine. Ivy’s name rips from me like a prayer as she takes everything.

We collapse onto the moss. Twilight paints the canopy above us violet-gold. Her fingertips trace my jaw just below my tusk.

"Still think it’s complicated?"

She laughs, husky and exhausted, hooking a bare leg over my hip to hold me in place. "Never cared about complications."