Page 49 of Vargan

His large hands grip my thighs, holding me open for his assault. One thick finger slides inside me, curling to find that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. He adds a second, stretching me deliciously while his tongue continues its relentless rhythm against my most sensitive spot.

"Vargan," I gasp, my hands finding his hair and. "I'm going to—"

He growls against me, the vibration sending me over the edge. I shatter, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through me as he works me through it, gentling his touch only when I become too sensitive.

When I can focus again, he's looking down at me, satisfaction evident in his expression. "Still as beautiful as I remembered," he says with a smirk that has me already on edge again.

I sit up, suddenly desperate to touch him, to prove to myself he's really here. My hands go to his belt, fumbling in my eagerness. He helps me, standing to remove his jeans and underwear in one efficient motion.

The sight of him—fully naked, aroused, and mine—steals my breath. He's all corded muscle and green skin, his cock heavy and ready against his stomach.

"My turn," I say, sliding off the bed to kneel before him.

His sharp intake of breath is reward enough as I take him in my hand, marveling at the contrast between my pale fingers and his green skin. I lean forward, taking him into my mouth as far as I can, drawing a strangled groan from deep in his chest.

His hand comes to rest on my head, not guiding, just connecting as I work him with my mouth and hand. I can feel him trembling with the effort to stay still, to let me set the pace.

"Savvy," he warns after a few minutes, his voice strained. "If you keep that up—"

I release him, looking up to meet his gaze. "I want you," I say simply. "All of you."

That's all it takes. He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, tossing me onto the bed and following me down. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that tastes of both of us, intense and claiming. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard length of him press against my core.

"I love you," he says suddenly, the words startling both of us. His eyes widen slightly, as if surprised by his own admission. "I should have told you that before. Before they took me away. I love you, Savvy."

My heart threatens to burst. "I love you too," I whisper, cradling his face in my hands. "I think I have since the moment you walked into my diner."

Something in his expression breaks open—vulnerability that he rarely shows, even to me. He kisses me again, gentler this time, as he positions himself at my entrance.

"Mine," he murmurs against my lips as he pushes inside, filling me inch by torturous inch.

"Yours," I agree, gasping as he seats himself fully within me. "Always yours."

He begins to move, setting a rhythm that's both familiar and new. We've done this before, but never with the knowledge that we have time—all the time in the world now. No deadlines, no impending separations, no looming threats.

Just us, finding our way back to each other.

I lose myself in the sensation of him moving within me, the weight of him above me, the sound of his breath growing ragged as his control frays. My second climax builds more slowly than the first, a gathering storm that breaks when he shifts, hitting a spot inside me that makes me cry out his name.

He follows me over the edge moments later, his release triggering aftershocks of pleasure that leave me tremblingbeneath him. For a long moment, we lie tangled together, breathless and glowing, his forehead pressed to mine.

"Welcome home," I whisper when I can speak again.

He rolls to his side, taking me with him. His hand traces lazy patterns on my back as our breathing slows, our heartbeats gradually returning to normal.

"Home," he repeats, as if testing the word. "I've never had one before you."

I curl closer, head resting on his chest where I can hear the steady beat of his heart. He holds me tightly against him, almost painfully so, but I understand—he's making sure I'm real, that this isn't some dream he'll wake from in a cold cell.

I burrow deeper into his embrace, content in a way I haven't felt since my father died. For years, I've carried everyone and everything—Willie, the diner, the farm, the weight of my parents' legacy. I've been so afraid to show weakness, to need anyone, that I closed myself off from the possibility of being supported.

But here, in Vargan's strong arms, I find I'm ready to let someone take care of me. Not because I'm weak, but because I'm strong enough to be vulnerable. To trust. To love.

I shift slightly, turning away from him to nestle my back against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him envelop me. "The town's looking for a new sheriff."

"Is that so," he says, his fingers gently brushing aside a strand of hair from my neck. The simple touch sends a shiver through me.

"Some of the citizens are saying it should be an orc," I continue, trying to keep my voice casual.

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