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CHAPTER SEVEN

Verna

“I want to touch ye. Now.”

My mind stuttered at the command and I could only gape up at Jorak.

“Wh-what?”

His gaze was hard, unreadable, but at least he wasn’t scowling any longer.

“When ye arrived, ye offered me yer body…” He leaned closer, close enough I could smell his musk. “Yer mouth, yer sweet little cunny.”

I swallowed. I had . I had offered those things to get him to let me stay, but…I thought I was making myself useful otherwise. Glancing toward the shutters, I reminded myself that the snow had stopped and I could always choose to travel to the village now. I didn’t have to give in to his demands.

But…

Something whispered in the back of my mind, reminding me of the way that kiss had felt yesterday. I hadn’t intended to kiss Jorak, but his lips—and his hand on my hip—had made me feel things I hadn’t expected. He made me feel things I hadn’t expected. I should be terrified of him.

But I wasn’t.

“Aye,” I agreed softly, telling myself I was giving in to the inevitable as I reached for my skirts to draw them up. ‘Twould be better to give him what he wanted now, than wait for him to take it later. “How do you want me?”

Jorak still watched me, only now I saw a flare of green in the center of his dark eyes. It had happened a few times in the last days, but never this intense.

“On the desk,” he rasped, stepping up and pushing the scrolls aside. “I want to see what I’m doing.”

Me. You will be doing me.

Sighing, I clamored up onto the desk and sat, facing him with my legs spread. Vaguely, I recalled this position was called The Burning Bush, when a man stands between a woman’s legs. Jorak was bigger than any human male who’d paid for my company in the last years, but I vowed I wouldn’t cry out.

And I told myself ‘twas na?ve to be disappointed that it turned out this was all he’d wanted. Apparently, finding out my past, finding out I was a whore, was all he’d needed to use me.

Once I was settled, my skirts drawn up around my knees, I inhaled, lifted my chin, and met his eyes.

“I am ready.”

“Och, dkaar …” His lips curled upward into what I could only describe as a wicked grin, an expression so unexpected on Jorak that I could merely stare. “Ye arenae.”

I…wasn’t ready?

And then I was sucking in a breath again, because he’d moved between my legs and lowered his face to my shoulder. Nay—his mouth to my neck. The sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. He nuzzled there for the briefest of moments, then used his tusk—his tusk !—to push my gown out of the way so his lips could brush against my skin.

Fisting my hands around the wool of my skirt, I shivered.

“J-Jorak?”

“Has anyone ever kissed ye here?” he murmured against my skin, sending tingles down my spine. “Or here?” he moved his mouth up my neck to the spot beneath my ear.

When I felt his tongue brush against that spot, I nearly squeaked, “Nay!” but instead I tipped my head to one side to allow him better access. My heart thundered in my chest, and I felt as if every inch of my being was focused on him.

The huge male who stood between my legs, touching me so…gently.

His hand rose to rest on my shoulder then slid down my arm, warm and soft. He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and lifted. With wide eyes, I watched him straighten just enough to pull my wrist to his mouth.

He held my gaze as he pressed his lips to the soft underside. When I saw his tongue dart out—‘twas gray and wide and covered in ridges!—I realized I’d ceased breathing.

“Delicious,” he murmured, without allowing me to look away. “I want to touch more of ye, Verna.”

Mutely, I nodded, mayhap too enthusiastically.

This was no longer about me giving in to a stronger male or offering him what I could in exchange for his protection. This was about me and how he was making me feel. The way my blood was thrumming, the way I felt attuned to him. The way my core throbbed, making me yearn to squeeze my thighs together or, at the very least, press forward against his hardness.

Instead, I stayed very, very still as his fingers—the claws retracted—skittered up my side. His palm brushed over my breast and I sucked in a breath so quickly I went light-headed. Then he was touching my chest, dragging his fingers across my skin feather-lightly.

“Can ye unlace yer bodice for me?” His question was silky smooth, a mere murmur, his gaze locked on my face, as if watching for clues.

My fingers were clumsy as I reached for my ties, fumbling in my haste. For the first time in a long while… I wanted this .

When my bodice hung loose, Jorak leaned close again, inhaling…and the little rumble of pleasure that came from his chest—a growl? A groan?—nearly undid me. And then his mouth found the soft skin at the top of my breast, and I know I whimpered.

I think I tried to say his name, but no sound emerged. My hands flapped uselessly, and I was uncertain what he expected of me.

As if he could read my questions, Jorak’s hand gripped my wrist once more, gently moving it beside and behind me. He flattened my palm against the desk and nudged me back until I was resting my weight on my hands, and his little sound of approval told me I’d done what he wanted.

Then he was reaching for my bodice. I held my breath when he delved into my chemise and lifted out one of my breasts. After so many years, I would have thought them dull to manhandling, but…

But he lifted it gently and placed a kiss on the skin right above the nipple. A kiss . With a gentle huff of approval, he rubbed his nose across the same spot, inhaling. His tusk scratched my skin, and it should have hurt…but instead I shuddered with anticipation.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been this aroused.

Certainly never by a man!

But this was no man …this was Jorak. My Keeper.

His tongue rasped along the pink of my nipple, but avoided the bud, which was pebbled and aching.

“Jorak,” I whimpered.

“I imagine ye’ve had yer share of selfish males, aye?” He didn’t give me time to answer. “Males who’ve squeezed and rubbed these beauties, using them for their own pleasure.”

He gently set down my right breast, then reached into my bodice to scoop out the other, which he kissed reverently. “They’ve no’ had the time or attention they deserve. Are they sensitive?”

Were they? I felt as if I were floating on a pink cloud of bliss.

“I…I would have said nay. But now…”

Was it my imagination, or did he chuckle at that? Nay, surely not; Jorak didn’t chuckle .

He tipped his head to the side so that his tusk scraped along my nipple and I couldn’t help my body’s response; I shuddered and tried to close my legs, but he was standing between them so I merely clamped them around him.

“There are so many neglected places on yer body, Verna. I want to find them all.”

I wanted that too. And as soon as I could draw breath, I would tell him.

Except he chose that moment to step back to lower himself…and before I could understand his plan, Jorak was on one knee between my legs, his hand sliding over my knee, pushing back my skirt.

Instinctively, I hunched forward, uncertain of his intentions…but I needn’t have worried. His mouth found the inside of one of my thighs and I jerked in surprise.

Trust him. Trust Jorak .

He was gruff and irritable and didn’t want me here…but he’d been kind in his own grumpy way. And now…? And now he was showing me a kindness I’d never expected.

His tusk was cool and smooth against my skin as he nuzzled at the place where my thigh met my cunny. I’d long ago ceased to be embarrassed by my body, but I was suddenly feeling self-conscious. I knew I was wet with arousal; could he tell? It happened so rarely that I wasn’t certain how to act…

Jorak inhaled and made that pleased-sounding rumble from his chest again, and I felt myself relaxing. He seemed to… like my cunny.

“So wet,” he rasped, and I wondered how he could tell if he hadn’t touched me yet. “Ye like my touch.”

It wasn’t a question, so I pressed my lips together to keep from whimpering, and instead, flexed my hips forward.

“Such a good lass, such a sweet-smelling cunny. I’ll wager ye taste even better.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant…until I felt his tongue swipe along my cleft, and I blurted a mewl of surprise as I jerked forward. I swear I felt his lips curl, then he slid his ridged tongue along me again.

I couldn’t breathe; I didn’t want to breathe. I just sucked in quick gulps of air and hoped I wasn’t passing out. There were sensations spiraling through me I couldn’t recognize or name…and it was thanks to this male.

Jorak pressed forward, his shoulders causing me to spread my thighs wider. To my surprise, he slid the remainder of his right arm along my left thigh, the scar tissue scraping along my sensitive skin in a delicious way as he lifted his hand to my core.

He continued to lick me, and I felt him catching my lip between his, sucking, then teasing. How did he know such things? I remembered the illustrated scroll I’d seen years ago, A Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts , and I wondered if he had a copy as well.

Then his finger slid into me, and I stiffened. ‘Twas not as large as a cock, and the invasion wasn’t unexpected, but the memories…

“Easy, lass,” he murmured against me, and I swear I felt the reverberations throughout my body. “Ye’re doing so well.”

And then the second finger joined the first, and I was stretched. Jorak’s fingers filled me comfortably and I waited for him to begin to pound into me.

But instead, he curled his fingers forward, his tongue still taking little sips of me, until his fingertips brushed against a place behind my most sensitive spot which made me gasp and reach for him.

As my fingers dug into his hair, I felt him huff another laugh.

“Ye like that.”

And he did it again, brushing against that rough patch inside me, making me jerk against him.

“Jorak,” I whimpered, uncertain what I was experiencing.

“Hush, lass,” he murmured, then nuzzled against me again, tusks scraping and the stubble along his chin making my thighs quiver. The ridges of his tongue teased my cunny…

And found the bud of my pleasure. I gasped and rocked forward again, the pleasure spiking between his fingers and his tongue.

“Right there,” I managed. “Oh, God…”

He licked me again. And again. His fingers curled softly inside me as his lips and tongue teased, and darkness spread across my vision as I focused on these sensations.

Then his lips closed around my pearl. He sucked, and I gasped his name, curling forward over his head as my climax burst over me. I rocked against him, trying to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible, and Jorak accommodated me; stroking his fingers and flicking his tongue against the sensitive nub until I could stand no more and had to suck in great, heaving gulps of air.

Never, in all of my life, had I experienced something like that.

So mayhap ‘twas a bit of shock that had me staring down at the top of his head. When he finally emerged from between my thighs and tipped his head back to look at me, one corner of his lips twitched upward. His mouth and chin were covered in my spend, and as I watched, he flicked his tongue—oh God, that tongue!—across his tusk to gather more into his mouth.

I couldn’t help the way I shuddered at the sight.

My mouth opened, but the only sound that emerged was a sort of dazed croak.

Jorak’s smirk grew and he stood in one smooth motion. When he was standing between my legs once more, I had to tip my head back to stare up at him, but I couldn’t look away. His hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers—fingers which had just been inside me!—massaging the tightness there, holding me in place.

Then his other arm rose and he scraped his scars across my chin. So often, he hid this part of himself, but I knew he’d adapted to use what remained of his right arm in day-to-day life. Today was the first time he’d touched me with it, though.

Without thinking, I lifted my left hand to clasp his stump, holding it against my jaw, while I held his gaze. He sucked in a breath at the audacious move, and the green light in his eyes flared brighter until it seemed to fill the dark depths.

“Yesterday.” Jorak’s voice was a mere rasp, and now he cleared his throat and tried again. “Why did ye kiss me?”

It seemed the time for truth. For boldness.

“Because I wanted to,” I whispered. “Because you made me happy.” I swallowed. “Why did you…?” Apparently my boldness deserted me, because I felt heat rush up my neck, flaring across my cheeks as I dropped my gaze.

He was quiet for a long moment before he answered.

“Because ye deserved it.”

It had been out of pity, then? When he’d learned I’d found no pleasure in men’s touches, he’d decided to prove me wrong?

Before I could decide on his meaning, he pulled his stump away and shifted to the side so he could slide it beneath my knees. I sucked in a gasp at the sudden movement as he lifted me into the air.

Part of me hoped he would deposit me on the bed so we could continue, but I was feeling so sated, so lethargic…so confused.

Jorak did lower me onto the bed, but when I expected him to join me, he merely pulled one of the furs over my bare breasts and turned away. But not before I saw the way his kilt tented in the front.

He was aroused, and I felt… guilty. ‘Twas my responsibility to take care of him—of that , was it not?

“Jorak,” I blurted, and when he turned with a raised brow, I dropped my gaze to his erect cock. “Do you want me to…?”

“I need none of yer pity, lass,” he growled, and stomped toward the table.

Pity ? Is that not what he’d shown me, in what I’d just experienced?

He tossed open the chest of supplies and pulled out the ground wheat. His face was set into his habitual scowl—one even more noticeable now that I’d seen his smile—as he began to mix ingredients in a bowl.

When I realized he was making biscuits— my biscuits!—I struggled to sit up.

“I can?—”

He cut me off with a snarl and a sudden motion of his stump, as if he was trying to make a chopping motion.

“Just lie still! Rest.”

“Rest?” I repeated in a confused whisper.

“Aye, lass,” he growled angrily, still not looking at me. “Let someone else take care of ye for a change.”

My mind must have been muddled, because I couldn’t make sense of the command. Let someone else take care of me? But…’twas my responsibility to be useful. To be needed.

To be used , a small part of me whispered.

But Jorak…today he hadn’t…

I shook my head, not seeming to grasp what had happened.

“Take care of me?” I whispered, even as I laid my head back against the pillow.

He turned, his scowl still in place, his hand still mixing the biscuit dough.

“Ye dinnae have to use yer body to gain a place, here or anywhere, Verna. Ever again. Do ye understand?”

My eyes widened during his impassioned words.

Use your body . That is what I’d always done, that is what Jerome and Alred expected of me. But…Jerome was dead, and Alred was a world away, and…I could be safe here.

“Safe,” I whispered, pulling the fur around me.

His fierce glower eased slightly. “Aye, safe. Rest, Verna. I’ll take care of ye.”

And for the first time, I felt hope.

I’ll take care of ye.

He had . In his own gruff way, he had taken care of me, protected me from my own folly. He’d expected naught in return; in fact, he’d taken my offers as pity! But today…

My gaze followed him as he quickly and competently shaped the biscuits.

Today, he’d shown me pleasure. Not because he expected something, but because I deserved it. Pity, mayhap, but remarkable nonetheless. Remarkable that he saw me as someone deserving of pleasure, then sought to give it to me.

My body was sated, my blood still thrumming with the aftershocks of that orgasm. But the memory of his tongue on me, in me, had me pressing my thighs together to capture that sensation once more.

Mayhap he could tell, because Jorak grunted.

“Rest, lass,” he commanded gruffly, his gaze averted. “Ye need it.”

I should object, should tell him I was strong and I wouldn’t make him regret protecting me. But I was so very comfortable, so very warm and satisfied.

Mayhap if I just closed my eyes for a few minutes…