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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

U lric led Jessamin through the winding corridors of the stronghold, his hand wrapped gently around hers.

The warmth of her palm against his was a small miracle after his appalling behavior.

Each stolen glance at her profile—the proud tilt of her chin, the lingering redness around her eyes—sent a fresh wave of shame and tenderness through him.

They descended a narrow spiral staircase, the air growing warmer and more humid with each step. Her curious gaze met his.

“What is this place?”

“A place sacred to my people. A place of truth.”

At the bottom of the stairs, he pushed open a heavy wooden door inlaid with ancient symbols. Steam billowed out, enveloping them in its warm embrace.

The chamber beyond was unlike anything else in the stark fortress.

Carved directly from the living rock of the mountain, it resembled a natural grotto.

A large, deep pool dominated the center, its dark waters reflecting the golden light from braziers placed at intervals around the perimeter.

The ceiling arched high above, disappearing into shadows broken only by the occasional glint of embedded crystals that caught and refracted the light.

“This place was discovered, not built,” he explained, watching her take in the space with wide eyes. “Our ancestors found hot springs deep in the mountain and channeled them here. For centuries, it has been a sanctuary.”

A small shrine was carved out of the rock on one side of the grotto, and she paused in front of it.

“The shrines in the temples in Almohad are nothing like this,” she whispered. “But this is a place of power. I can feel it.”

“The springs are dedicated to Freja,” he said softly, and she nodded.

“The mother goddess.” A breeze whispered through the grotto at her words, and she gave him a startled look. “Where did that come from?”

“This is a place of mysteries.” A place where it was easy to forget his doubts about the gods.

He guided her to the edge of the pool. The air was thick with steam and the scent of mineral-rich water, earthy and primal.

“In orc tradition, this is where couples come to reaffirm their bond,” he continued, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. “To speak truth before the gods and each other. No lies can exist here. No deception.” He paused, swallowing hard. “No fear.”

Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching. The trust he saw there humbled him.

“I failed you,” he said roughly. “I let my fear poison what we were building. Here, now, I want to wash it away. If you’ll allow it.”

She nodded, a small, decisive movement. “Show me,” she whispered.

With deliberate movements, he began to unfasten the clasps of his tunic.

There was nothing seductive in his actions, only honesty.

He removed each layer methodically, letting them fall to the stone floor—first the tunic, then the light shirt beneath, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders.

He did not rush or hide. This was a ritual, an offering of vulnerability.

The scars that mapped his skin told the story of his life—the jagged line across his ribs from his first battle, the three parallel marks on his shoulder from a mountain cat, the fresh wound from the rockslide still pink and tender.

He removed his boots and breeches last, standing before her entirely naked. His body was a weapon forged in battle—all hard planes and powerful muscle, marked by the years of war and leadership. He made no move to cover himself, allowing her to see him as he truly was—flawed, scarred, imperfect.

Her eyes traced his body, lingering on each mark and imperfection. But there was no pity in her gaze, only understanding. When she met his gaze again, there was a quiet strength in her expression that made his heart swell with pride and gratitude.

He walked down the steps into the pool, the warm water rising to his waist. Then he turned to her, extending his hand.

“Join me,” he said softly. It was an invitation, not a command. “If you wish.”

She hesitated only a moment before her hands moved to the laces of her gown.

Her fingers worked steadily, her eyes never leaving his.

The silk whispered as it slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a puddle of white.

She stood before him in her thin shift, then, with a deep breath, pulled it over her head.

The sight of her stole his breath. She was all lush curves and delicate skin, pale as moonlight against the dark stone.

Her body told its own story—not of battle, but of life.

The gentle swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the slight roundness of her belly—she was fertility and warmth embodied, everything his harsh world lacked.

She walked to the edge of the pool, her vulnerability matching his own. With graceful dignity, she placed her hand in his outstretched one and stepped down into the water.

Her skin turned pink as the warmth of the water surrounded her, and she moved closer to him, the water lapping gently around them.

For the first time, they were truly alone, truly naked—not just in body, but in soul.

The space between them crackled with unspoken desire, now free of the doubt and suspicion that had poisoned it before.

“Turn,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

She did, presenting her back to him. He reached for a small stone bowl on the pool’s edge, dipping his fingers into the fragrant oil it contained. His hands settled on her shoulders, slick with the oil, and began to move in slow, gentle circles.

“This is sacred too,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine. “To wash away the past. To begin anew.”

His touch was reverent, learning the contours of her body.

Her skin was impossibly soft beneath his calloused palms. He moved down her back, following the graceful line to the dip of her waist, then back up to her shoulders.

He felt her relax under his ministrations, leaning slightly into his touch.

When she turned to face him, her eyes were as dark as the water around them.

She reached for the oil, coating her own palms, then placed them on his chest. Her touch was gentle but unafraid as she explored the terrain of his body—the hard ridges of muscle, the raised lines of scars, the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

Her fingers traced a particularly vicious scar that ran from his collarbone to his sternum. “This one?” she asked.

“Lasseran’s forces,” he answered. “Three winters ago.”

She nodded, her touch lingering before moving to another mark. Each scar she touched, each story she heard, seemed to forge a new bond between them. She was not repulsed by his battle-worn body; she honored it.

Her hands moved lower, tracing the cut of muscle at his abdomen. His breath caught, the innocent exploration awakening a primal hunger. When her gaze lifted to his, he saw the same desire reflected in her eyes.

He couldn’t say who moved first. One moment they were apart, the next his mouth was on hers, hungry and desperate.

Her arms wound around his neck, her body pressing against his, slick with water and oil.

The kiss deepened, all the pent-up longing of months pouring into this single, electric connection.

His hands found her waist, lifting her effortlessly. Her legs wrapped around him, the intimate position bringing them flush against each other. He groaned into her mouth, the sensation of her soft body against his almost unbearable.

He carried her to the edge of the pool, setting her on the smooth stone lip. His mouth left hers to trail down her neck, tasting the water droplets on her skin. She arched into him, her fingers tangling in his wet hair, guiding him lower.

When his mouth found her breast, she gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet chamber.

He teased her nipples, first one, then the other, until she was trembling beneath him.

Only then did he continue downward, his tongue tracing the curve of her belly, the crest of her hip.

He knelt before her, a supplicant at the altar of her body, his mouth seeking the center of her pleasure as his tusks kept her thighs parted.

When he tasted her, she cried out, her hips bucking.

He held her firmly in place, his lips and tongue worshipping her.

The steam and scented oil were nothing compared to the intoxicating scent of her arousal.

He lost himself in her, coaxing her towards her release, his own need an almost unbearable ache.

When her body began to quiver, he probed gently at her entrance with his finger. She was so small, so tight, that he hesitated. He knew that she was untouched, and while he’d read about the act, he had no experience pleasing a woman. The thought of hurting her horrified him.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with need. “I want you.”

Emboldened, he pressed forward, his finger slowly sliding into her.

She tensed for a moment, then something inside her gave way and her body relaxed, welcoming him.

He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust, before adding a second finger.

Her inner walls clamped around him, her breath coming in quick pants.

He curled his fingers inside her, seeking the hidden spot that would bring her pleasure. At the same time, his tongue returned to her swollen clit, circling it and teasing it.

Her hands tightened in his hair, her hips rocking against his mouth.

Her moans echoed in the chamber, mingling with the gentle lap of water against stone.

Then, suddenly, she tensed, her body arching.

She shattered around him, crying out his name as she found her release.

He guided her through it, his mouth and fingers gentling but not ceasing until she collapsed against him, her limbs heavy and languid.

He gathered her in his arms and stepped back into the pool, the water closing over their heads. When they emerged, her hair was plastered to her face, her eyes bright and happy. She looked utterly beautiful, glowing with satisfaction.

She reached up, wiping water from his brow.

Her fingers lingered, tracing the strong lines of his jaw, the curves of his tusks.

Her touch was a balm, soothing old wounds and forging new bonds.

But then her hands dipped lower, slipping between them to touch him in turn.

She stroked his aching length, her touch tentative at first, then more confident as she learned his shape.

When her fingers circled his tip, he let out a strangled groan. He was on a knife’s edge, desperate for her. With great effort, he pulled her hand away.

“I won’t last,” he said, his voice strained. “Not like this. Not yet.”

“Then how?”

He lifted her again, settling her against him. The water buoyed her, making her feel almost weightless in his arms. Her legs wrapped around him once more, bringing him to her entrance.

“Are you sure?” he asked, holding himself back by sheer force of will. “There will be pain.”

She nodded, her eyes clear and trusting. “I want this. I want you.”

Slowly, carefully, he pressed forward, breaching her entrance. He’d never felt anything so soft, so warm, so perfect. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he froze.

“No,” she whispered. “Don’t stop. Please.”

He pushed further, feeling the resistance of her maidenhead. He paused there, letting her adjust, before surging forward in a swift, sure motion.

She cried out, her nails biting into his skin. He held perfectly still, even though his body was screaming for release. He kissed her again, tenderly, his lips brushing hers as he murmured soft words of reassurance. Gradually, he felt her relax, the pain easing.

When she began to move against him, he knew it was safe to continue.

He pulled back slowly, almost withdrawing completely, before sliding forward again.

Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a silent moan.

He set a slow, steady pace, letting the pleasure build gradually.

She was so tight, so hot, it was all he could do not to lose control.

When she started to meet his thrusts, he knew she was ready for more. He angled his hips, driving deeper, hitting a spot inside her that made her cry out. Her legs tightened around him, urging him on.

His pace increased, his thrusts becoming more urgent. The water churned around them, his powerful strokes driving waves against the stone walls. Her nails raked down his back, the slight sting only adding to the intensity of his need.

Her body began to tighten around him, her moans growing louder. He was close, so close, but he wanted to bring her with him. Reaching between them, he found her clit, rubbing it in quick, firm circles.

She shattered around him, her body convulsing, her inner walls gripping him in a velvet vise. He growled, his hips jerking forward before he forced himself to pull free. His seed erupted into the water as he cradled her against him, rocking her gently.

As the last tremors faded, he lifted her onto the ledge. She sprawled there, her body flushed and glistening, her eyes glazed with satisfaction. He settled beside her, his chest still heaving with exertion.

For a moment, they simply lay there, letting the steam and the afterglow envelop them. Then she turned, propping herself on her elbows.

“Was it—” She hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “Was it good for you? I know it was my first time, but I want to please you.”

He chuckled, his finger tracing her kiss-swollen lower lip. “It was beyond anything I’ve ever dreamed.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes searching his face. “Because you stopped. You didn’t—inside me.”

He shook his head and guided her hand to the thick band of skin around the base of his cock.

“That… that’s different,” she whispered.

“It’s my knot. It would expand inside you when I came, locking us together.”

Her pretty lips parted in shock.

“You mean you’d get bigger? Is that possible?”

“Very much so. But your body is very small and this is your first time. I did not want to cause you any further discomfort.”

“It didn’t hurt, exactly,” she said thoughtfully, still caressing the base of his cock and it began to swell in response to her touch. “It was just… overwhelming. I felt so full, as if you were part of me.”

She looked up at him shyly and then gave him a smile that was both sweet and sensual. “Perhaps we could try that next time?”

He leaned forward and nuzzled her ear. “Next time, we will do anything you wish.”

His Beast, so long a source of fear and rage, now purred with contentment. She was his, and he was hers. Not by treaty or arrangement, but by choice.

“My queen,” he murmured. “My heart.”

She smiled, radiant with happiness despite the trials they had endured. “My king,” she said softly. “My home.”