Page 5

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S he would stay.

Daisy’s breath was heaving, now, her eyes foolishly searching in the blackness, as if she could somehow find the orc’s face. As if she was seeking his gratitude, or even his… his approval .

It was so stupid, so ludicrous, and Daisy should not — not — have shivered at the feel of his hand, finally halting its sun-drawing against her waist, so it could give her a light, approving pat instead.

“ Gott ,” he said, with distinct satisfaction. “ Gott , blómie mitt. ”

Gott almost sounded like good, maybe, and Daisy’s shoulders sagged as she twitched a brief, furtive nod in return. To which the orc huffed a bright, triumphant sound, almost like a laugh, as his warm arm again circled around her.

“ Gott ,” he said again, tilting her body toward him, drawing her close. “ Tú ert mín .”

It was truly ridiculous, that he already felt so entitled to touch her like this, spreading his long fingers so easily against her back, fitting her even closer against his tall, lean body. As if he had every right to guide her and hold and caress her, to lightly tickle his sharp claws against her spine.

And even more ridiculous was how Daisy was — allowing it. Sinking into the strength of his touch, his warmth, his embrace. His … certainty, maybe, his absolute lack of fear or unease over being trapped in here, in facing down the very real possibility of his own impending death.

“You should be scared,” Daisy muttered, halfheartedly, into his solid bare chest. “ This is an appalling situation. We could die in here.”

But the orc huffed another laugh, his head shaking against Daisy’s hair, and his claw on her back drew the sun again. “ Sól ,” he said again, lightly this time. “ Sólin kemur upp í fyrramálie, og tá forum vie .”

Whatever it was, he again sounded very, very certain, and Daisy couldn’t seem to find the will to argue, or even to pull away. And she should be pulling away, she should, he was a stranger, he was terrifying, he was an orc …

But he still just felt so certain, so sure of himself, so… safe, somehow. And he clearly wanted to keep touching Daisy , wanted to keep holding her like this, now drawing that slow circle of his sun into her back. The sharpness of his claw still such a bizarre contrast to the lightness of his touch, and the word it kept silently speaking to her. His sun, his flower, his light…

And then… something new. His hand shifting sideways from his sun, and drawing a rounded, scalloped shape against Daisy’s shoulder. “ Sól ,” he murmured, as he first tapped at the sun, and then slid to the shape. “ Og sky .”

Daisy blinked, and twitched at the feeling of him drawing another scalloped shape, on her other shoulder — and then one slightly covering the sun, too. As if — oh. He was drawing a sky. With clouds .

Despite herself, Daisy huffed a short little laugh, and then twitched a nod. “ Sól ,” she repeated, as she slipped her own hand up behind the orc’s back, and drew her own sun against his smooth bare skin. “ Og sky .”

She made her clouds light and gauzy, drawing with four fingers across his shoulder blade, and she didn’t miss the brief quiver of his lean body against her, his own breath of laughter rustling her hair.

“ Ach ,” he murmured. “ Og stjornur .”

Stjornur were multiple little dots, tapped by his claws across the sky of her back, as if — of course. Stars . So Daisy did the same to him, sprinkling her own light taps of stars across his shoulders, her fingers skating over firm muscle and hard protruding bone. “ Stjornur ,” she repeated. “ Stars .”

There was an instant’s silence, an audible swallow from the orc — and then he exhaled, and again flickered his own clawed fingertips across her back. “ Stars ,” he repeated, in common-tongue, the word sounding flat and strange on his voice. “ Stars .”

Daisy flashed a brief, surprised smile up toward the sound of his voice, and her hand might have tightened a little against his back. Touching him, she was willingly touching an orc — and oh, he was still touching her, too. His hands spreading wider against her, his clawed fingers gently prodding against the fabric of her dress, and she should not have shivered like that, vibrating her body closer against him. Against his touch, his warmth, his sweet hovering scent, his solid stubborn strength…

But he certainly didn’t seem to mind, and she could even feel his head bending down toward hers, his breath inhaling against her hair. “ Stjarnan mín ,” he murmured. “ Sólin mín. ”

What? It almost sounded like he was saying she was those things — but no, no, of course not, that was ridiculous. And Daisy really should be pulling away now, away from whatever this was, from the orc’s hands now slowly caressing against her back, his lean chest shuddering with his slow, deep inhale…

But instead, she kept standing there. Breathing , waiting, feeling his hands stroking her. His touch already feeling almost familiar, even as one of those hands ventured a little further down her back, spreading slow and careful. Almost as if seeking, testing, asking…

But Daisy only shivered again, squeezed her eyes shut, and somehow her own fingers had spread wider against his back, too. Because yes, she’d still been touching him, after going and drawing on him like that, but it seemed strangely difficult to stop. To pull away from the feel of his warm smooth skin, the hard ridges of his ribs beneath it…

And now, before she’d even caught it, it was her own hand sliding. Seeking . Feeling the long hard curves of his ribs, so sharp and distinct beneath his skin. Far more prominent than she’d felt on any man before, and that wasn’t typical orc anatomy, was it? Weren’t orcs supposed to be big, muscular, powerful? Not gaunt and bony and starved?

But there was no way to ask, and maybe Daisy didn’t want to, either. Didn’t want to break this hushed, hitching moment, touching this orc, while he touched her. His hands both steadily stroking, circling, as that one on her back kept sliding lower. And then lower, oh gods, until it was spreading wide and possessive against her arse, hitching her tighter against him, and suddenly Daisy could feel —

Oh. Oh , hell. That . That other highly notorious bit of orc anatomy, swelling out against the front of his trousers, thick and hard and hungry.

It was just as shocking, just as impossible as all the books and rumours had said — and Daisy should be pulling away now. She should be screaming, escaping, running for her life. Damn the sun and the morning and his damned claw-drawing, what was she thinking, he was an orc, an orc —

But curse her, she still wasn’t moving. Wasn’t escaping. And instead, she might have even gasped too, gripping tighter at the orc’s hard straining back. And suddenly he felt so hard all over, somehow, rigid and taut and strained and quivering. As if…

As if he was holding himself in place. Locking himself here. Desperately fighting himself, as if he might… he might…

“What?” Daisy whispered, breathless, as her own audacious, impossible hand slipped further down his back, to the hard curve of his own arse. Feeling it, spreading against it, maybe — maybe even guiding his hips closer, grinding that shocking length tighter, oh —

And then the orc — snapped. His powerful body flashing into movement against her, his breath moaning harsh and low, his strong hands gripping tight. Dragging Daisy sideways, skittering the rough rubble beneath her feet, and then spinning her around and away from him. Shoving her hands firmly against something — a hard flat stone, about waist-height — so he could yank her hips out and back toward him, and kick her ankles apart…

Oh, gods. Oh gods . Because it left Daisy bent double, facing away from him, her hands on a rock, her legs spread wide. And what the hell, what the fuck, and why wasn’t she fighting him, did she even want to fight him, were they really doing this —

“Ach?” came his voice, his harsh breathless demand, and Daisy arched and quivered in the darkness — and still didn’t try to run. Didn’t even speak, or protest. Not even when she felt the orc’s sharp-tipped hand slipping down again, palming brazenly at her jutting arse through the fabric of her dress, squeezing it tight, like he had every right…

And then that hand gave her a brief, demanding slap . Quaking her all over, firing desperate heat up her spine, and… and then…

He stopped. Waiting . Wanting .

“ Ach ?” he rasped. “ Ach , eea nei ?”

Ach , or nei . Yes , or no. Asking her. Asking her. For … this.

It was chaos, it was madness, and Daisy didn’t want this… did she? No , not with him, not here, not like this. Not with an orc who could see in the dark, who had a voice like music, who drew suns on her skin. An orc who kept her from falling, and licked her wounds, and held her tight amidst her fear…

And an orc who now wanted this. From her.

Unbelievable, Daisy , Lew would have said, curling his lip with distaste. Irrational . This is ridiculous and immature behaviour, appallingly unscientific, foolish, dangerous, what if you spawn offspring from this…

But Lew had been the one to research all those pregnancy prevention herbs, hadn’t he? He’d been the one to make damned sure Daisy was taking the strongest available protections in the realm, with powerful doses that lasted for well over a month. Because he’d always been very adamant about not wanting children, and — more bitter awareness flickered through Daisy’s thoughts — of course he hadn’t wanted to risk losing her to a pregnancy, either. Let alone to some other man’s child.

But even the thought of it flared more strange sudden recklessness through Daisy’s shouting brain, because what would Lew say, if he knew she’d done this with an orc? Orcs weren’t against the rules they’d agreed upon, because of course Lew had never once imagined a moment like this, with his mousy unwanted illustrator bent double in a dark cave, while an orc’s deadly clawed hand again slapped hungry and firm against her arse.

“Ach?” the orc’s voice demanded again, sounding shaky and strained this time, as his other hand gripped Daisy’s hip, caressed it, tilted her upper body down lower. “ Langar tig ?”

Daisy still couldn’t understand his question, but his meaning was vividly clear, rippling another hard shiver up her back. Did she want this? With an orc? With him? Like this? Here ? Now ?

“Gods, I don’t even know you,” Daisy choked, but it came out sounding needy, almost plaintive. “ And you don’t know me.”

But the orc’s hands had begun stroking now, sliding up and down her flanks over her dress, and — oh — drawing the dress up as he went. “ Mig langar ,” he breathed, husky now. “ ég vil sól. Mín . Sólin mín. ”

Sól. Mín . Sólin mín . Almost as if it meant… sun . Mine . Sun mine . My sun .

It shouldn’t have felt like an answer, but somehow… it did. He wanted her. He wanted this. Here . Now .

And again, the certainty of that, the utter lack of fear in that, said something. Changed something. Something strange and new, shimmering all through Daisy’s body. Flaring up a wild, furious yearning, even as the orc lifted her dress all the way, bared her most secret places toward him…

For a breath, there was only stillness, shuddering hard between them — and then, oh gods, a touch. Not brazen or demanding this time, but instead light, gentle, a barest skim of a claw against Daisy’s bare hip. And it was drawing again, drawing the sun again, firing out sharp tingles of light with every gentle stroke. Asking again, speaking again, did she want this, she did, she did…

“Ach?” he asked again. “ Sannlega , sólin mín .”

His sun. Daisy quaked all over, swallowed hard, dragged in a desperate breath. And then —

Nodded .

Yes. Yes , she did want this. Here , with him, now.

Yes .

And oh, now she could feel a distinct, slick hardness, bobbing hot and heavy between her bare parted thighs. Nudging , stroking, showing her what this meant, what he was going to do…

“ Ertu viss ?” he gasped, as his claw slipped downwards, and began drawing another slow, careful circle. Drawing around there , oh gods, around the sight he’d exposed, the place he wanted to use, to fill. That taunting sharpness blatantly trailing over wet skin, over quivering thighs, over puckering clenching heat…

And then, again, he drew the lines out. Like a sun, like light, like life and fire and blooming unfurling petals. And Daisy wasn’t thinking about what that might mean, she wasn’t, because suddenly she just needed it, needed it so much it was pain, please yes, please…

“Ach,” she croaked. “ Ach , orc. Yes !”

And — a laugh. A growl. One more scrape of claws, harder this time, drawing the sun, the flower, the life…

And then his hot, seeking cock found its flower, its daisy, its home, and plunged in hard and deep.