Page 43 of The Outcast Orc

With excruciating care, he backed out a few inches…then pressed in again, even harder.

This. This. This.

I’d been starving for something deeper and I hadn’t even realized it. Not until an orc was filling me with his impossibly big dick.

I wrapped my legs around him and my hip joints throbbed. My wild ride on Destroyer’s back was nothing compared to what Marok was doing to me now. Everywhere we brushed together, some novel sensation reminded me the man between my legs was no human. The pebbly hardness of his hide skimming my inner thighs. His tusk gliding along my temple. The downy fur of his upper lip teasing my forehead. The forest-floor scent of him blossoming between us as we both began to sweat and strain.

It was the slowest, most deliberate fuck I’d ever had—that I ever could have even imagined. Inch by painstaking inch, Marok worked his way in. Spreading me. Filling me.

Undoing me.

There was no pain, but the pressure was nothing short of exquisite. I climbed as I was filled and filled and filled, my heartbeat throbbing in my engorged cock leaking slickness all over my belly. I felt like I could hang there on the cusp of my orgasm forever…until Marok slipped a hand between us and wrapped his callused palm around my weeping dick.

I didn’t just come. I came apart.

Even in my throes of pleasure, I knew Marok was struggling to control himself. He couldn’t push all the way in—not without disemboweling me. I’d taken maybe a third of him, at best. But that must’ve been enough.

His orgasm followed right on the heels of mine. He grunted and went rigid all over, and soon the slipperiness of the sex oil morphed into something else entirely as he pumped me full of his wet, hot seed.

Even spent, he stayed there between my legs, gazing down at me with a look I wasn’t sure I could interpret. Possibly…tender? Though between the green skin and the tusks, it was kind of hard to tell. “You and I are much alike,” he said.

The opposite of what I was thinking…but I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to explain. Marok could be a real cipher, and I was curious to know what was going on behind that staid exterior.

He gave his words a moment’s consideration, then said, “I am a warrior. I could never be a slave. And you are just as proud.”

Well…he wasn’t wrong.

As if to bring home his point, Marok rolled us into the furs so he was no longer over me, but side by side—as an equal. “Anyone in the Red Hand Clan is either an orc or a slave. There’s no room here for anything in between—this isn’t the bazaar with its mix of races. But claiming you for this household means that any orc who wrongs you would answer to me.”

“It’s for my own protection. I get it.” Though my tone may have said otherwise.

“I have claimed you in front of the chieftain and the clan—and you are mine. But….” Marok reached tentatively for my hair, seemed to think better of it…then changed his mind again and ran his fingers through the strands as if he’d never touched anything quite like it. “If you wish to leave, I will escort you from our territory myself.”

I noted he didn’t say he’d come with me. Maybe that was a promise he simply couldn’t make.

The men I’d spent time with back in the Fortifications would promise me the stars and the moon—but once they got off, I’d be lucky if they bought me a drink. I realized I liked it a lot better when promises actually meant something.

“So…I need to get my face branded?”

Marok gave an orcish huff. “Not with my scent all over you.”

Well. We’d need to make sure we rubbed ourselves together on a regular basis. No great hardship there.

Marok’s fondling of my hair emboldened me to skim my fingertips over the craggy ridge of his brow, then trail them along the smooth hardness of his tusks. “We have an expression where I come from, to seal it with a kiss. I’m guessing that’s not really a thing here.”

“It’s not.” He trailed a finger down my cheekbone. “But if you wish to show me how it goes, I will learn.”

Speaking of the Fortifications, I couldn’t help but think back to my last fateful encounter with the blacksmith’s apprentice—the one that had inspired me to seek greener pastures, and eventually landed me here. I’d gone in for something more intimate than our usual hand-jobs…and it hadn’t ended well. As little as this felt like my final tryst with that big oaf, as I eased myself up and pressed my face to Marok’s, my body viscerally recalled the moment I’d been shoved away. But Marok didn’t balk. He was very still. And when I carefully fit my face between his tusks and skimmed my tongue across his lower lip, he gave a low murmur of satisfaction.

His downy upper lip tickled my stubble as he opened to my kiss. And I decided I could live with the other orcs calling me a slave—just as long as here, where it counted, this proud orc general and I were truly equals.

24

ARCHIE

I really should’ve been dead.

The brazier’s fire had dwindled and the humid cave air was wet in my lungs…but somehow, I found myself taking a deeper breath than I had in ages. It surprised me. Once the illness settled in, I must’ve well and truly thought I’d never get better.

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