Page 6

“An orc’s cock causes immediate orgasm,” she stated, almost primly, dropping her hands to her lap once more. “’Tis part of what makes sex easier?—”

“It makes it feel good ,” I purred, my gaze snagged on her tits. So small, so perfect, and the nipples were dark from her aroused abuse.

“All those ridges, just to make ye feel good. Immediate climax. And yer Mate wouldnae allow ye only one climax, Myra. He’d insist on four or five afore things really got started.”

“Mate?”

It wasn’t until she repeated the word in a whisper that I realized I’d said it out loud.

“ Four or five ?” Myra shook her head. “I do not need a Mate.”

Right.

Right.

I tightened my hand around my cock, reminding my Kteer that Myra had only come to me for pleasure. Not a forever .

Fine.

I could give her that.

Deciding to focus on the thing which had shocked her the most, I allowed my lips to curl in what I knew was an enticing grin.

“Four or five, dkaar . We’ll start with just one tonight.”

Her lips parted, forming the word “One?” but no sound emerged.

Did she think I wouldn’t notice the way her hand moved in her lap until the heel of her palm pressed against the top of her mound? My wicked grin grew as she ground against the pressure.

My Myra liked pressure?

Humming in approval, I stretched my booted feet out in front of me, so she could more easily see the bulge under my kilt.

I squeezed myself, then began to gently stroke my cock through the wool.

We sat facing each other on either side of the fire, the light throwing everything behind her into shadows, our attention fully on one another.

Her gaze had dropped to my crotch again.

Fair’s fair. I was staring at hers.

“Spread yer legs, lass.” When she followed my command, I hummed in approval. “Good girl. I want ye to cup yerself. Press yer hand against yer cunny. ‘Tis wet, aye?”

Instead of answering, Myra stared at my cock and whimpered.

“I ken it is. I can smell the sweet scent of yer cunny from here, dkaar .” Best I stop calling her that. “I ken how hot ye are for me. For me , Myra. Aye?”

Her gaze flicked back up to meet mine when I barked the last word, and her nod seemed instinctual.

“Aye,” she rasped, and I saw her fingers curl against herself as if trying to slide inside.

She needed that as much as I did .

“Show me,” I demanded. “Lift yer skirts, my wee plaything, and show me.”

Myra hesitated, her eyes widening in surprise. She was strong and determined, but she’d come to me for this .

So I repeated my words from earlier. “I am the one who determines when ye need pleasure. I am in control. Lift yer skirts, lass.”

I saw the moment she gave into temptation. Mayhap the ale had been helpful?

Slowly, Myra edged to the front of the chair and began to tug her skirts up. The red wool and the pale linen of her chemise lifted, revealing warm stockings. I’d never considered stockings—much less woolen ones—to be erotic, but Palton’s Spear , the sight of her legs, slowly being revealed?

I clenched my hand around my cock and leaned forward eagerly, my breathing stuttered.

Myra paused with the bundle of material around her thighs, the cool air brushing her skin. I shook my head and managed to make my voice work.

“Higher,” I croaked, near desperate. “Let me see how wet yer sweet cunny is, Myra. I want ye to feel it.”

“I—”

“Ye agreed. When I say ‘tis time, ye’ll obey.” I managed to make my tone stern. “’Tis time, pretty little plaything. Touch yer cunny. Spread yer legs and show me.”

Myra’s eyes fluttered closed, and as she tipped her head back in surrender, I could scent her conflicting emotions. Excitement. Shame. Confusion. And above all, arousal .

She didn’t disobey me.

As her skirts inched upward, my lips curled in victory.

“Spread yer legs,” I commanded again, and she obeyed. Her cunny was wet and glistening, and I groaned in appreciation, desperately wishing I was close enough to plant my face there.

“Good girl. I want to touch ye. I want to use my fingers to stroke that sweet cunny. Ye ken how thick my fingers are?” She made a sound like a hungry little mewl as she shifted in her seat. “I want them on ye. In ye . Stroke yerself like ye want me to touch ye.”

She moved one finger toward her wetness and slid the tip along her cleft.

“Again,” I growled, yanking up my kilt to grasp my naked cock. “More.”

She was so hesitant. I knew this wasn’t the Myra my Kteer recognized.

“Two fingers, lass. Spread yer arousal around— good . If I were between yer legs right now, Myra, I’d slather it over my cock and jerk myself while licking ye.”

Her breathing was becoming faster.

“I’d spread it upward, around yer bud. Ye ken that special place on a female’s body, aye?”

Instead of answering, Myra did as I described, circling her clitoris with two fingers of one hand while her other held her skirts out of the way. I watched her face, watched her reaction .

“That feels good, aye?” I crooned, stroking my own cock, imagining how wet it would be if I rubbed it against her cunny right now. “But no’ quite right?”

It was the way her brows drew down, that little divot between her eyes, as she chewed on her lower lip that told me I’d guessed properly.

“My little plaything doesnae mind being teased. Tease yer clitoris again, Myra.” I watched her swallow as she continued to play with herself. “But ‘tis no’ what ye’re craving. Ye want pressure .”

The little nod she gave was likely involuntary, and I wondered if she knew how expressive she was when she wasn’t thinking about controlling her countenance. When her eyes were closed in bliss and her muscles lax in surrender.

“Curl yer fingers.” My mouth was watering and my own strokes increased their pace. “Slide yer middle two fingers inside yerself.”

From the way her breathing hitched, she knew what to expect, and when she did, I hummed in approval.

“Aye, that’s the way. Use yer other fingers to spread yer lips. If I were kneeling between yer legs right now, Myra, my fingers would be filling ye. Thick and tight. Ye can imagine that?”

Her frantic nod was accompanied by a little moan.

“Then slide in another finger. Good lass, that’s so thick, and ye’re taking three fingers so well.”

My own breathing was faltering as my release—the second of the evening, this one so much better because the scent of Myra’s arousal wrapped around me—approached.

“Stroke yerself inside . My fingers are scarred and callused, love, no’ like yers. They would fill ye up, touch parts of ye that ye cannae touch.”

She whimpered, hunching forward to curl around her hand as her pace increased.

“Now use yer palm. Push it against yer bud—aye, like that, good lass. Rub it the way ye like. None of those soft touches, no’ for ye. Ye want pressure, ye want strength , do ye no’?”

Her tongue darted out across her lips as she used her fingers to fook herself.

And me? I was ready to spill again.

“Answer me,” I ground out. “Ye like strength.”

Her dark eyes flew open and, glazed with desire, met mine across the room.

“Aye,” she breathed.

“Ye like my strength, Myra.”

“ Aye ,” she moaned.

“I want ye to come for me.” I nodded to her cunny. “Touch yerself the way ye want me to touch ye, pretty little human, and come for me.”

She shook her head, too frantically, too adamantly.

But I held her gaze and nodded.

“I’m in control, remember? I want ye to come for me. ”

Her lips parted, and I could see her cheeks darken as her climax approached.

“And I want to watch ye come. Dinnae hide that sweet cunny from me.”

Myra wouldn’t be Myra if she didn’t push back against my control.

“You—” she panted. One of her brows rose, even as her palm ground against her clitoris. “You first.”

Is that what it would take?

Well, I was nothing if not an expert when it came to fooking my own hand.

“Watch me, my sweet little plaything,” I murmured, tipping my head toward my cock. “Watch me stroke my cock, thinking of ye. Should I tell ye how often I’ve done this? I did it earlier today, after ye came to ask for me help. I imagined yer mouth on my skin, I imagined my mouth on yer skin.”

My breath hesitated as my release approached, and her eyes grew wide as she ground herself against her palm, her arousal dripping over her hand and down her thighs.

“I thought of the sounds ye’d make, Myra, when I made ye come the first time,” I confessed in a ragged whisper. “I thought of ye, and I fooked myself. Like this.”

“Like this,” she rasped.

“And when I came—” I gasped as my orgasm overtook me.

I arched with a groan as I spilled, spurt after spurt of pale green cum painting my thigh and knee.

Panting, I continued to stroke myself, spreading my spend across my still-erect cock, my eyes locked on her.

“And when I came, I pictured yer skin painted in my seed.”

Myra had stiffened, her wide-eyed gaze on my dripping cock.

“ Vartok ,” she whispered as the scent of her climax spilled through the room.

When I’d imagined the sounds she made when I made her come for the first time? I never expected her to whisper my name so reverently.

It was everything I could do to stop from throwing myself to my knees in front of her, worshipping her the way the gods intended.

She’s only here to learn about pleasure. Naught more .

Aye.

I forced my breathing to return to normal as her shudders subsided. I saw her muscles relax, her legs and shoulders slump. I saw the exact moment she realized she was sitting in a near-stranger’s home, her fingers deep in her cunny and her tits hanging out.

And I hated that sharp, sour smell of her shame.

So, with a silent sigh, I flipped my kilt down to cover the mess I made of myself—I’d have to wash myself and find a clean plaid. But first, I’d walk her home.

I pushed myself to my feet and crossed to her, irritated by the wary look in her eyes as she pulled her fingers from her core.

But when I offered her my hand, she placed her free one in it and I gently lifted her to her feet, her skirts falling around her hips and legs as if naught had passed between us.

We stood there in silence for a long moment, her hand small and delicate in mine, and I watch the emotions war across her face—uncertainty, embarrassment, a hint of humor, and fear.

I couldn’t allow that fear.

“Myra,” I whispered, reaching for her other hand. She tried to hide it in her skirts, but my fingers wrapped around her wrist and gently tugged it upward. “Thank ye.”

“Th—?” she began, confusion pulling her brows down. “What?—”

Before she could say more, I lifted her fingers—the ones which had been inside her—to my mouth, and she bit down on her question.

Holding her gaze, I slide my long tongue between her two fingers, lapping up the sweet honey of her release. Her eyes went wide, and the scent of her embarrassment sharpened, but she didn’t pull away.

She didn’t pull away when I drew her fingers into my mouth to clean them with my tongue, and she didn’t pull away when I groaned in enjoyment.

In fact, her lips parted on a gasp, and if I hadn’t been currently sucking on her arousal-covered skin, I might have thought I’d smelled more of that as well.

Finally, deeming her clean enough, I pulled her fingers from my lips, dropping a kiss to their delicate tips before releasing them. She was staring up at me in what I hoped to all the gods was wonder, and I grinned down at her .

To my surprise, she didn’t appreciate that grin; her expression shuttered, and she turned away slightly.

Stifling another sigh, I bent to scoop up her cloak. I tried not to linger as I clasped it around her neck, and I kept my movements brisk and detached as I tucked her breasts back into her chemise and pulled her gown up once more.

I couldn’t resist lingering as I drew the hood of the cloak up over the riot of dark curls that framed her face, my fingertip brushing over the skin at her temples. Wanting so much more.

But she wasn’t looking at me.

“Myra.”

The muscles around her eyes twitched, but she didn’t look at me.

“Pretty little human,” I prompted, and that got a reaction, as I knew it would.

She turned angry eyes my way, and I couldn’t help my grin in response. I saw the moment she realized I’d done it on purpose, and her anger turned to an irritated scowl.

So I leaned down slightly until I could snag her gaze.

“ Thank ye .”

Her nose wrinkled and she dropped her gaze to my chin. I expected her to be flustered, but to my surprise, she muttered, “I should be thanking you.”

My Kteer crowed, knowing she’d enjoyed herself, knowing she was grateful. I couldn’t stop my finger from going to her chin, lifting her gaze back to mine.

“I have much more to teach ye, Myra, if ye’d allow it. ”

Her nostrils flared, her brows dipped, and for a moment, I thought she’d deny me. But then I smelled her—the arousal that was coating her thighs and my tongue—and she swallowed.

“Aye,” she croaked, pulling herself from my hold. “I want to learn it all.”

“From me.” I didn’t give her time to object. “That was part of our bargain. While we are engaged in this contract, I’m the one to teach ye pleasure, and on my terms.”

I was in control, and she needed that. Needed someone else to make the decisions. Someone she could trust.

Myra hesitated a moment, then nodded once as she pulled her cloak around herself.

I exhaled in relief and stepped back, allowing her space as she edged toward the door, still watching me.

“Tomorrow night,” I said, trying not to make it a question. I had to maintain the control.

Another nod. I swallowed down my whoop of joy.

Then her hand found the latch of my door, and she was leaving.

Leaving my home, leaving my life.

But tomorrow? Tomorrow I had more to teach her. So much more.