Page 42 of The Outcast Orc

I shucked off my clumsy linen shirt. “Naked is good. Naked is very good. And as for any stabbing —well, that remains to be seen.” I would definitely get off on him impaling me—over and over—till I forgot my own name. I just wasn’t sure it was physically possible. Because the “weapon” in question was straining against Marok’s leather breeches now, trapped against one leg. And it was just as massive as everything else on him.

He stripped bare to the waist and pressed me down onto the mound of thick, luxurious furs. They slid into place all around us, softer than the choicest featherbed. Marok did touch me then—only to ghost his fingers over the slash I’d taken across the ribs. “I should give you more time to heal—”

I grabbed his hand and brought it to my mouth, grazing my lips over his hard, callused palm. His pupils dilated. “If we don’t do this here and now, Marok, I might just explode. Are you sure you want that on your conscience?”

“You and your questions,” he said…and yanked down my breeches.

My hard cock sprang free and lay heavy against my treasure trail. At the sight of it, Marok made a bestial grunt, deep in his throat—then immediately dove down and rubbed his face all over it. I froze, suddenly hyperaware of his tusks sliding along my pelvis. The cool ivory was a stark contrast both to the heat of his breath, and to the tickle of the fine, downy, green hairs that furred his upper lip.

He must have liked what he smelled, because he pressed in deep to the crease of my thigh, snuffling against my balls in a way that made me squirm and gasp. It would have been ticklish, if not for the weight of his rock-hard body flattening me into the furs. Soft and hard. Hot and cold. Everything lighting up my senses, all at once.

And when the wetness of his tongue glided over my taint, I nearly bent myself double arching up off the furs.

Marok’s head jerked up and he made a curious grunt, and I hastened to add, “That’s good. Really good.”

His tusks framed a shadow of a smile as he pressed his face back down between my legs and proceeded to utterly undo me. His tongue was smooth and hot and deliciously wet. Notably muscular, too, as it prodded into me with relentless insistence.

I grabbed my aching dick and Marok shoved my hand away. I might not want to be owned—but the feeling of him working me over with his tongue and his breath and his big, hard hands had me inching toward the point of not caring about anything but the beckoning peak.

And then all sensation stopped as he eased back on his knees to take a look at me. Maybe the ogres were onto something about doing it from behind. With my breeches around my ankles and my knees splayed open, I felt incredibly naked and exposed. My hair was tangled in the furs and my cheeks burned hot. It was a far cry from a quick tug in the alley behind a Fortifications saloon.

“Your ass likes my tongue.” No one had ever claimed something so bold—and a thrill coursed through me as Marok unlaced his breeches one-handed, slowly stroking my dick, drawing out the pleasure, not seeking its end. I liked this new, confident Marok. “Humans and orcs aren’t so different after all.”

His breeches opened and his cock fell free. I’d expected it to match his pale, greenish skin, but it wasn’t entirely green. The dark orcish blood engorging the veins mottled it with a webwork of brown, like some exotic plant.

Some verylargeexotic plant.

“I wish I could take that,” I said. “But you’re just too damn big.”

But before I could offer him a hand-job, he grabbed a stoppered bottle from a nearby shelf and said, “There’s a way.”

That orcish dick was as thick around as my wrist. “As hot as it might be—no way is it going to fit.”

“Not on its own,” he said, as if that fact couldn’t be more obvious. He pried out the cork with his teeth and spat it out. It bounced off the wall and rolled away. “That’s what this is for. Easewater. Night laurel to relax you. Rocknut oil to slick the way. And dreamweed to dull the pain.”

I swallowed hard. I’m no herbalist and had no clue about the first two things, though I’d seen the dreamweed at work on the blade of the goblin’s knife. Potent stuff, no doubt. But the sheer size of him—

“I might not have coupled with a human, but I know orcs who have. With this.” He brandished the herbal mixture.

“And the human lived to tell about it? Remember…I’m gonna need to get on a horse in the near future—”

“Quinn,” he said calmly. “I would never hurt you.” He seemed so sure. “Do you trust me?”

Despite the sheer enormity of his dick…I did. I glanced at the thick, veined shaft, steeled myself, and nodded.

He decanted a slick of glistening potion on his finger…then nudged it into the crack of my buttocks.

Even his blunt, hard finger might’ve been more well-endowed than a few of my more disappointing tavern encounters, and the feel of it breaching my ass, slippery with fragrant oil, sent a fresh surge of want rushing down toward my groin.

Marok scented the air, looking well-pleased with himself—and I guessed he wasn’t sniffing the easewater. That look was almost enough to make me regret that the numbing dreamweed wouldn’t let me feel much of anything. So long as he didn’t get it on my dick, though, no doubt that elusive peak would beckon to me again soon.

Marok took his time greasing me up, dipping into the bottle again and again. Not just readying me, but probing deep with his thick finger, teasing me, learning just where his touch would make me gasp. Watching my face. Learning my body. I was used to quick gropes and stolen moments. Not this unyielding scrutiny. He was just as methodical with my ass as he was with everything else, and soon my dick was impossibly hard, leaking its own slickness against my belly.

Though when he climbed up over me and set his weight on his elbows, blotting out my awareness of everything but him, the solid prod at my body’s entrance was still daunting. “I thought you said I’d be numb from the dreamweed.”

“No, I said it would take away the pain.” Marok angled himself thoughtfully and flexed his hips. “Why bother coupling if you don’t feel it?” A push. Resistance. Too much—too big. He grabbed a handful of my hair to anchor himself and pressed again. But it would never—

A guttural moan escaped me as his tapered cockhead forced past the resistance and breached my slickened hole. Marok echoed the sound with a deep rumble.

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