Page 24 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

He obliges, his mouth replacing his hands, lavishing attention on my sensitive flesh until I'm a writhing mess of desire. His hands travel lower, exploring the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips, before delving between my legs.

The first touch of his fingers against my most intimate place is electric. I gasp, my body tensing at the intensity of the sensation. He starts gently, his fingers circling and teasing, coaxing wetness from my core.

He increases the pressure, sliding one thick finger inside me. My inner walls clench around him, the feeling of fullness both surprising and exquisite.

"You're so tight, so perfect," Thrag murmurs against my skin, his voice thick with lust.

He adds another finger, stretching me, preparing me for what's to come. His movements are sure and confident, each stroke of his fingers stoking the fire within me to new heights. I can feel the tension building, a coil wound too tight, ready to snap.

And then, it does. My orgasm crashes over me like a wave, my body convulsing with the force of it. I cry out, my nails digging into his broad shoulders as he continues to work me through the aftershocks.

Before I even catch my breath, he scoops me up into his arms, carrying me to the modest bed. He lays me down gently, his eyes raking over my naked form with an intensity that sets my skin alight.

He sheds his own clothes quickly, revealing the muscular body I've only glimpsed beneath his armor. His member is impressive, thick and pulsing with need. My heart races in anticipation, a thrill of apprehension mingling with my desire.

He joins me on the bed, his body covering mine. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the hard planes of his muscles pressing against me. He enters me slowly, giving me time toadjust to his size. There's a brief sting of pain, but it's quickly replaced by a sense of completion, of rightness.

We move together, our bodies finding a perfect rhythm. Each thrust brings us closer, not just physically, but emotionally, too. I can feel my soul reaching out to his. There's a connection between us, an unspoken understanding that this moment is ours alone.

"Thrag," I whisper, my voice filled with wonder and awe.

His response is a low growl of pleasure, his pace increasing, his movements becoming more frenzied. I meet him thrust for thrust, my body hurtling toward another peak.

And then, with a final, powerful surge, he finds his release, his orgasm triggering my own. I cling to him, our bodies shuddering in unison as we ride out the storm together.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, the fire casting soft shadows on the walls. The world outside, with its looming threats and uncertainties, seems like a universe away. I rest my head on his chest, taking comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"This is crazy,"I whisper, my body still humming from our lovemaking.

His arm tightens around me as if he never wants to let go. "Maybe," he rumbles softly.

The simplicity of his response brings a lightness to my heart. In this moment, nothing else matters. The differences between us seem insignificant. All that exists is the two of us caught in the cocoon of our shared warmth.

25

THRAG

The morning air is sharp against my skin as I stand at the edge of the settlement. Chaos reigns around me, a symphony of fear and desperation as the villagers prepare to abandon their homes. But my gaze always finds its way back to Claire.

She moves with purpose among the crowd. Her voice is a steady beacon amidst the turmoil. As I watch her, a fierce protectiveness wells up within me. I've seen the scars she tries to hide, the strength that belies her slender frame. She's a survivor, like me.

"Thrag!" Claire calls out, her breath misting in the air. "Can you scout ahead? Make sure the path is clear?"

I nod, hefting my axe onto my shoulder. "I'll ensure the way is safe," I say. She smiles at me, a fleeting moment of gratitude that warms me more than any fire could.

As I trudge through the snow, my senses alert for any sign of danger, my thoughts are consumed by her. The memory of our night together is a brand on my soul, a sweet ache that refuses to fade. I've taken many lives, seen countless horrors, but nothingcould have prepared me for the gentleness of Claire's touch, the softness of her lips against mine.

I return from my scouting to find the villagers forming into groups. Mothers clutch their children close. The elderly huddle together. Their eyes are wide with fear. I step forward, my presence commanding silence.

"Mothers and children first," I declare, my voice carrying over the crowd. "Elders next, then the men at the rear. Keep close, stay vigilant."

Vincent, their leader, nods in agreement. "We'll follow your lead, Thrag," he says compliantly.

Claire's eyesfind mine across the crowd, and I feel the significance of her trust like a tangible thing. It's a burden I carry willingly.

The journey to the cave is grueling. The snow is a relentless foe beneath our feet. I stay at the front, my boots breaking trail, my eyes scanning the horizon for any hint of movement.

Every so often, I glance back at Claire. Her determination is a bright flame against the white canvas of the wilderness. She never complains and never falters. She's the heart of this group, their beacon of hope.

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