Page 16 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

Tomorrow will bring new missions, fresh challenges, complications that arise when professional partnerships become personal commitments. Tonight, we have firelight and each other and the simple truth that sometimes the most dangerous risk is worth taking.

The cord pulses warm against my throat, promise kept and future claimed, while frost-touched wind carries the scent of pine and possibility through darkness that no longer feels quite so cold.

The fire spits and hisses as a log shifts, sending up a shower of sparks that dance between us like falling stars.

Kaelgor's breath comes ragged against my lips, his body tense with restraint I don't want and suddenly can't bear.

Every part of me hums with the rightness of this, of him, of us pressed together in the flickering dark where nothing exists but heat and need and the pulse of something raw and real.

I tighten my grip in his hair, feeling the coarse strands slide through my fingers, grounding me in this moment.

His hands find my waist, fingers digging into the leather of my armor, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us.

The kiss deepens, no longer tentative but demanding, a clash of wills and wants that leaves no room for hesitation.

He tastes of iron and frost, of battles fought, and promises kept.

My lips part under his, inviting more, demanding everything.

His tongue sweeps in, hot and sure, tangling with mine in a dance as old as fire itself.

I meet him stroke for stroke, giving as good as I get, until we're both breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.

The world narrows to this: the rough texture of his skin under my palms, the way his muscles shift beneath my touch, the low growl vibrating in his chest when I nip at his lower lip.

His hands slide up my back, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel every ridge of his body through the thin layers of our clothing, the evidence of his desire pressing against me.

I break the kiss just long enough to whisper against his lips, "No more waiting."

His answer is a growl, a sound that vibrates through both of us as he rolls, taking me with him until I'm beneath him in the nest of furs by the fire. The heat of the embers pales compared to the fire in his eyes as he looks down at me, his expression fierce and tender all at once.

"Ressa," he murmurs, my name a benediction on his lips.

I reach up, pulling him back down to me. Our mouths meet again, hungry and desperate, all the long nights of watching and wanting pouring into this moment. His weight settles over me, solid, and I arch up into him, needing more contact, more connection.

His hands are everywhere, in my hair, tracing the line of my jaw, sliding down my throat to the cord that still rests there, a silent promise between us.

He pauses at the cord, the braided strands before moving lower, mapping the territory of my body with a warrior's precision and a lover's reverence.

I work at the fastenings of his armor, my fingers fumbling in their haste. He helps, shrugging out of the ruined cloak and the leather beneath, baring his chest to my touch. The firelight plays over the ridges of his muscles, the scars that tell stories I've only learned.

My hands explore the landscape of him, learning the dips and planes, the places that make him gasp, the spots that draw a hiss of pleasure from between his teeth. His skin is hot under my palms, the heat of him searing through me, branding me in ways that go deeper than flesh.

He returns the favor, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they trace the curves of my body, mapping me with a thoroughness that leaves me breathless. When his hand finds the hem of my shirt, I lift my hips, helping him pull it free, baring my skin to the night air and his hungry gaze.

The cool air is a shock against my heated skin, but his touch quickly chases it away. His hands span my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, drawing a gasp from me. He watches my reaction, his eyes dark with desire, before lowering his head to follow the path his hands have traced.

His mouth is hot on my skin, his tongue tracing patterns that leave me trembling beneath him.

I tangle my hands in his hair, holding him to me, lost in the sensations he's drawing from my body.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word in that rough voice of his winds me tighter, until I'm coiled so tight I think I might shatter from the tension.

I need more. Need him, all of him, now.

"Kaelgor," I gasp, pulling at his shoulders.

He understands, lifting his head to meet my gaze. What he sees there must answer his unspoken question, because he moves, shifting between my legs, his body settling into the cradle of my hips. I can feel him there, hot and hard, and it's not enough, not nearly enough.

I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him, feeling him pulse against my palm. His breath hisses out as I guide him to where I need him most. For a moment, we're both still, poised on the edge, our eyes locked, our breaths coming fast and shallow.

Then he's pushing into me, slow and steady, filling me inch by exquisite inch until there's no more space between us, no more barriers, nothing separating where I end and he begins. I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, needing all of him, every part, every piece.

He moves, and the world narrows to this: the slide of his body against mine, the way he fills me so completely, the friction that builds with every thrust. I meet him stroke for stroke, our bodies moving together in a rhythm older than time, older than the stars that watch us through the gaps in the branches above.

His mouth finds mine again, swallowing my gasps, my moans, my cries as pleasure builds between us, coiling tighter and tighter with every movement. His hands are everywhere, touching, claiming, branding me as surely as any forge-marked steel.

He's everywhere, surrounding me, filling me, his scent in my lungs, his taste on my tongue, his body moving with mine. The cord near my throat seems to pulse with the same rhythm as my heart, as if it's marking time with the beat of our joined bodies.

The pressure builds, tighter and tighter, until I'm teetering on the edge, my nails digging into his shoulders, my body straining toward release. His movements become more insistent, more demanding, driving me toward the peak I'm so desperate to reach.

And then I'm there, tumbling over the edge, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through me. He follows me over, his body going rigid as he finds his own release, his groan lost against my skin.

We collapse together in the furs, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths coming fast and ragged. The fire has burned low, but the heat between us is enough to keep the chill at bay. He rolls to the side, gathering me against him, my back to his front, his arm a solid weight around my waist.

For a long moment, there's only the sound of our breathing, the crackle of the dying fire, the distant call of a night bird. His fingers trace idle patterns on my skin, grounding me, keeping me present in this moment, in this reality that feels fragile and precious.

I twist in his arms, needing to see his face, needing the reassurance of his eyes on mine. What I find there is a warmth, a tenderness I never expected to see directed at me. His hand comes up, his thumb brushing my cheekbone, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Ressa," he murmurs, my name a benediction on his lips.

I lean into his touch, turning my face to press a kiss into his palm. His fingers curl slightly, as if he can hold me there, keep me safe in the circle of his hand. The gesture, so simple and so profound, undoes me in ways I can't articulate.

We stay like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, in the quiet understanding that something has shifted irrevocably between us. The throat cord seems to hum with the truth of it, a physical reminder of the promises we've made, the bonds we've forged.

Eventually, he shifts, pulling a fur over us, tucking me against his side. I go willingly, settling my head on his shoulder, my hand over his heart. His arm comes around me, holding me close, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart under my palm, a counterpoint to the racing of my own.

Sleep tugs at me, but I resist, not wanting to lose a moment of this, of him, of us. His fingers card through my hair. The motion was soothing, lulling. I turn my face into his chest, breathing him in, memorizing the scent, the feel of his skin under my cheek.

"You're thinking too loudly," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

I huff a quiet laugh, the sound muffled against his skin. "Just memorizing this."

His fingers still in my hair. "This?"

"Us. This moment. The way you feel against me, the sound of your heart, the scent of your skin." I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "All of it."

His hand resumes its slow path through my hair, the motion comforting, grounding. "You'll have more moments. More memories."

The promise in his voice wraps around me, warm and sure. I tilt my head back to look at him, finding his gaze on me, steady and true. In his eyes, I see the reflection of the fire, of the stars, of a future I never let myself imagine.

I shift, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and sure. "I'm holding you to that."

His answering smile is slow and sweet, and when he kisses me back, it's with a tenderness that makes my heart ache. We settle back into the furs, our bodies fitting together as if made for this, our breaths slowing, our hearts finding a rhythm that's uniquely ours.

The fire burns low, but the heat between us is enough to chase away the chill. His arms are a haven, his body a shelter, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I let myself believe in the possibility of safety, of home, of a future that might hold more than just survival.

Dawn will come soon enough, bringing with it the return to duty, to responsibility, to the world beyond this fire-lit circle. But for now, there's just this: his breath evening out as sleep claims him, his body relaxed and warm around mine, the steady beat of his heart under my hand.

I let my eyes drift closed, let myself sink into the warmth, the rightness of this. The cord pulses once, a silent promise, a vow kept and renewed. For the first time in years, I sleep without dreams, without nightmares, wrapped in the certainty that no matter what comes, we'll face it together.

Morning light finds us still entwined, our bodies fitting together as if made for this precise configuration. The fire has burned to embers, but the heat of the night lingers in my skin, in the way my body hums with remembered pleasure.

Kaelgor stirs first, his body tensing slightly before he seems to remember where he is, who he's with. He relaxes into me, his arm tightening around my waist, pulling me closer. I let him, shifting to press a kiss to his shoulder, tasting salt and skin and something uniquely him.

"Morning," I murmur against his skin.

His hand comes up to tilt my chin, lifting my face to his. His kiss is slow and sweet, a greeting and a promise all at once. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine. Whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, because he smiles, a small, private thing that melts me.

"Morning," he replies, his voice rough with sleep.

We stay like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, in the quiet understanding that last night changed something between us. The cord at my throat seems to hum with the truth of it, a physical reminder of the promises we've made, the bonds we've forged.

Eventually, reluctantly, we untangle ourselves, dressing in comfortable silence. His fingers brush mine as we both reach for the same shirt, and the contact sends a spark through me, a reminder of last night, of the way our bodies moved together.

We break camp with an efficiency born of long practice, our movements falling into sync as if we've done this a hundred times before. There's a rightness to it, a sense of partnership, and a professional respect or tactical alliance.