Page 22 of Pumpkin Spiced Orc

GARRUK

T he rain sighs into a drizzle as Ivy helps me rise, her touch both forest-quick and steady.

Beneath the canopies, the air shifts - damp earth and impending blossoms, like the orchard itself holds its breath.

Her palms smooth away the mud from my chest, leaving streaks of cleanness in their wake. "Still think you're alone?"

"Not anymore." My voice scrapes rough as bark.

Her fingers trace the arc of my jaw. "Prove it."

Clothes dissolve like rotten leaves in a stream--the snare of her bra clasp giving way under my thumb, her jeans surrendered with slick efficiency against the rain-slick grass.

Mine follow, heavy with water. The daylight catches the curve of her hip, the angle of a shoulder, the damp midnight spirals clinging to her neck.

She’s moonlight poured over river stones.

When I press her back into the moss, it yields, cradling her like the earth claimed her too.

"Ivy." My mouth speaks her before my mind commands.

"Garruk." Her thighs part around mine. "Just--move."

My cock slides against her wet heat. Not thrusting yet.

Testing. Seeking. She arches, fills my palm, and the groan tearing from her hits me lower than expected, sudden and bright.

The first press inside inhabits every nerve.

Slow, slow as sap bleeding from a wounded birch.Tightness yields and blooms. Her gasp sounds like rebirth.

Her legs lock around my waist, heels pressed hard against the small of my back. Condensed urgency.

"Deeper." Her breath feathers my throat.

I sheath myself to the root. Held. Climax already coils low in my gut. She clenches reflexively, a gasp hissing between her teeth. "Yours," I rasp. The word scars deeper than glyphs.

Her hips lift, grinding. "Home."

Long strokes now, relentless. Her building shivers translate into my bones. Raindrops glitter on her collarbone. When my thumb finds the tightness buried in her curls, circling, her cry splinters the languid air.

Breathy. Short.

Then her pussy grabs me—quick, fluttering squeezes. Her nails bite my shoulder, her body bowing beneath me. Climax rushes through her, legs shaking visibly against mine.

My hips roll against hers, slow and deep, each stroke dragging a gasp from her lips. Rainwater trickles down the small of her back as she arches, hips grinding up to meet mine, her wet heat pulsing around my cock. Her fingers dig into the moss beneath us.

“Harder—don’t hold back.”

I spear into her until our hips lock, velvet walls fluttering against me.

Each thrust drives her breath into fractured moans.

Her thighs tighten around my waist, strength coiled in her lean muscles, anchoring me deeper.

Rain slicks our skin, mingling with sweat, the scent of soaked earth and sex thickening the air.

I take her nipple into my mouth, tongue circling the peak until it tightens against my teeth. She fists my braid, tugging hard.

“Garruk—” Her voice breaks as I shift angles, driving up into that spot that makes her scream.

Her inner muscles ripple, convulsive, and she shatters around me again.

Her pussy squeezes like fist, milking me as she trembles.

I grind deep, grinding to draw out the shivers still rippling through her.

Her forehead presses against mine, breath hot and quick.

“Still feel it?” I murmur, licking rainwater from her collarbone.

Her laugh hitches. “Mm. Your turn.”

She wraps her legs higher around my ribs. “Don’t stop.”

I slam into her, losing rhythm, sweat beading on my temples. She meets every thrust, the slap of skin on skin echoing under the canopy. Her smile is wild when I quicken, strokes turning urgent. “Yes—like that. I feel you?—”

Her words cut off when I grip her hips, lifting her into my next thrust.

The world narrows to her pussy gripping my cock, hot and slick and desperate.

My hips piston faster, losing their measured rhythm, driven by the way she arches to take every inch.

Rain drips from my hair onto her collarbone, tracking paths through the sheen on her skin.

She pants broken cries into my neck, each thrust punching the air from her lungs.

Her fingers twist in my braid, not guiding, just holding on.

"Don’t stop." Her voice scrapes raw, half-begging, half-demanding.

I grunt, the sound rough in my throat. My palm slides down to cup her ass, lifting her higher. The angle shifts, burying me deeper. She gasps, a bright, startled sound that echoes through our bones.

"Like that–" Her teeth nip my shoulder. "Garruk–"

It’s the way she says my name—like a claim—that undoes me.

My thrusts fracture into something jagged and deep.

The pressure coils tighter, demanding, until my spine locks.

Ivy’s pussy flutters around me as I surge into her one final time, my release spilling hot between us.

My forehead presses against hers, breath sawing against her lips as the tremors shudder through me.

Her thighs tremble where they wrap around my waist.

We stay like that, wet earth under her back, rain misting our skin, hips still fused. Her palm rises, slow and heavy, to cradle my jaw. Her thumb strokes the line where my tusks meet my mouth. Soft. Reverent.

I keep my voice a graveled whisper. "Stay."

Curls stick to her temples. Raindrops cling to her eyelashes. "Wasn’t leaving."

Rain drums the canopy above, soft now like distant hooves on loam. Cold droplets bleed through the highest leaves, hitting my shoulder blade. One taut point of chill on heat-flushed skin.

I shift, just enough, and Ivy tilts her face into my neck.

Her hair smells like rain and moss and something sharp-sweet like the bruised leaves of lemon balm.

Sunlight pierces the clouds in fitful rays, catching the rain-drops trapped in her eyelashes, the curve of her cheek pressed against my bare collarbone.

Her arm drapes heavy across my ribs. Silent. The rhythm of her breathing matches the slow drip from the leaves. Mine feels deeper, still shaking loose inside with every other breath. Her knee nudges higher over my hip.

"You crushing my leg?" Her voice comes muffled against my throat, warm breath ghosting over rainwater already cooling on my skin.

"Solid bone." I rumble it low. Her faint snort vibrates against me. "Yours."

She tilts her head, lips catching the rainwater trickling down my neck. Just a graze. "Yours," she echoes, but it sounds different. Like possession, not weight. Her big toe draws a slow line down my calf, calloused against damp skin. "Best argument I’ve ever had for getting drenched."

Her ragged necklace glints, a tiny obsidian arrowhead dangling over my chest. It swings faintly as she moves. I cup the back of her head, heavy braid tangled around my wrist.

"Seems the sky hasn't exhausted itself." She props herself up on an elbow beside me.

Rainwater runs into the hollow of her throat when she lifts her chin.

Her tangled hair spills over my forearm, dark vines against gray-green skin.

A single leaf clings to her shoulder blade.

That crooked smile plays on her lips, a world away from the defiant wildfire she usually wears.

"Better find somewhere less… drippy." Her finger hooks under the leaf on her skin, flicks it away. "Unless you fancy a slow drowning?"

"Patience." My hand reaches up, catches a heavy bead of water just before it lands on her collarbone. It rolls along the crease of my palm. "Storm tires itself."

A fresh drip plinks onto my brow ridge. She leans over me, blotting it with her thumb. Her gaze travels over my face – the tight braid fanned out on the moss, rain-slick brawn sculpted stark in the flickering light, the filed-down tusks barely shadowing her curved lip.

Not pity. Not fear. Looked at like this, bare and scarred and marked, sometimes feels like being seen for the first time.