Page 27 of Her Rugged Orcs

"Your turn," I say, my voice still shaky but defiant.

He chuckles, pushing off the pillar and lowering himself to the ground. "As you wish."

Murok is different from Dren—more vocal, more teasing. His cock is just as thick, and as I sink onto him, he lets out a groan. "Damn, Eira," he mutters, his hands immediately finding my hips.

I set the pace again, moving faster this time, my body still sensitive from my first release. Murok’s hands guide me, his fingers digging into my skin, but he doesn’t try to take over. Hewatches me with that same smirk, his eyes never leaving mine. "You’re in control," he says, his voice thick with desire.

My orgasm builds quickly, and when it hits, I cry out again, my nails scraping his chest. He follows me over the edge, his hips bucking upward, his groan echoing through the ruins.

By the time I turn to Grash, I’m wet and trembling, my body humming with pleasure. He’s already on the ground, his eyes burning into me. "Come here," he growls, his voice rough.

I hesitate for a moment, feeling a flicker of fear at the raw desire in his gaze. But I steel myself and move toward him, straddling his hips. Grash’s cock is the thickest of the three, and I take my time sinking onto him, my body stretched to its limit. His hands grip my waist, but he doesn’t force me, letting me set the pace.

I move slowly at first, my body adjusting to his size, but Grash’s patience only lasts so long. "Faster," he growls, his hands guiding my hips.

I oblige, my pleasure building with each thrust. Grash’s hands move to my breasts, pinching my nipples, and I let out a moan, my head falling back. My orgasm soon crashes over me, and I scream, my body clenching around him. Grash follows seconds later, his hands tightening on my hips as he spills inside of me.

I collapse against his chest, my body spent and trembling. Grash wraps his arms around me, his breath hot against my ear. "Mine," he growls, the word possessive and final.

His massive chest rises and falls beneath me, his eyes heavy-lidded but still watching me with that possessive intensity. I feel raw, exposed, but also... powerful. For the very first time, I wasn’t the one being used. I was the one in control. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

"Stay with me," I say. I glance at Murok, who’s leaning against the pillar, and then at Dren, who’s standing in the shadows. "All of you. Just... lay with me."

Grash’s hands tighten on my hips, but he doesn’t argue. Murok moves first, lowering himself to the ground beside us. Dren hesitates for a moment, his gaze flickering to mine, before he silently joins us, his body warm and solid against my back.

I shift off Grash, settling between them, my body surrounded by theirs. Grash’s arm drapes over my waist, pulling me closer to his chest, while Dren’s hand rests lightly on my hip. Murok stretches near my feet, his fingers gently brushing my leg.

For a moment, I just breathe, the weight of their bodies pressing into me from all sides. It’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way. I feel... safe. And yet, there’s a part of me that’s still calculating, still wary. I used them, took what I wanted, and they let me. But why?

20

MUROK

Inotice dried leaves and disturbed earth beneath the dense canopy. My fingers trace the subtle indentations - dark elf boots, at least a dozen sets, no more than half a day old. My jaw tightens as I piece together their movement patterns. They're methodically sweeping the forest, closing in on us.

"Clever bastards," I mutter, noting how they've split into smaller groups to cover more ground.

The tracks show they're being careful, professional. Not the usual bounty hunters or mercenaries. I scan the surrounding forest. The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows that could hide an entire patrol.

The rabbit I caught earlier hangs forgotten at my belt as I study the ground again. Something doesn't add up. We've taken every precaution - traveling at night, using streams to mask our scent, laying false trails. Yet somehow, they keep finding us.

We've left ourselves exposed somehow, given them an opening to track us. But how?

A bitter taste fills my mouth. We'll need to change course, take the longer route through the mountain passes. It'll addweeks to our journey back to the settlement, but better that than walking into an ambush.

My thoughts suddenly drift back to the ruins, to Eira. The way she trembled beneath my touch, how she claimed each of us in turn. Something in my chest aches at the memory. She's mine now, whether she realizes it or not. The thought of those dark elf bastards laying hands on her again makes my blood boil.

"They won't have her," I growl softly, standing to my full height.

I gather some herbs to mask our scent as I plot our new route in my head. The others won't like it, but they'll understand. Strategy before speed - that's how you survive. That's how you protect what's yours.

I need to get back to camp, need to move our group before the dark elves decide to close the distance. They want us alive - want her alive - but I won't give them the chance.

I soon stride back into camp, the weight of what I’ve discovered pressing on my shoulders. The others look up as I approach, their expressions shifting from casual to alert. Grash is sharpening his axe, the rhythmic scrape of metal on stone stopping mid-motion. Dren sits silently by the fire, his eyes flicking to me, already reading my tension. Eira is crouched near the edge of the camp, her back to me as she fidgets with something on the ground. She doesn’t turn, but I see her shoulders stiffen.

"We've got trouble," I announce, my voice low and controlled despite the rage simmering beneath. "Fresh tracks. A dozen dark elves, maybe more. They're getting closer."

Grash moves closer, his golden eyes narrowing. "How close?"

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