Page 41 of Brotan

"Give it to me, Maya. I want to feel you come for me."

The command in his voice, combined with his relentless rhythm, pushes me to the brink. When he slides a hand between us, his thumb finding my most sensitive spot, I can’t hold on any longer.

"Come for me now," he orders, voice strained with his own approaching climax. "Let go, baby. I've got you. Always got you."

Something in those simple words—the promise of safety, of being held—breaks the last of my resistance. With one more deep thrust, I come apart completely, crying out his true name.

"Brotan! Oh God!"

My release triggers his own. His rhythm falters as he drives deeper, his grip tightening on my hip. With a sound that's half growl, half my name, he pulses inside me, his entire body tensing with the force of his climax.

For several moments, we remain locked together, catching our breath, our bodies slick with sweat. Despite his size, he balances carefully above me, mindful of his weight.

"My Maya," he whispers against my ear, his voice reverent. The words hold a note of wonder, of disbelief, as if he can't quite believe I'm real, that I'm here with him.

Eventually, he withdraws and rolls to his side, pulling me against his chest. One arm wraps securely around my waist, his heartbeat slowing beneath my cheek. His body radiates warmth, seeping into my bones.

My fingers trace the circular pattern over his heart—an intricate design of runes surrounded by mountain peaks, the black ink stark against his skin. "Your clan mark?" I ask.

He nods, breath catching as I press my lips against the ink. "How did you know that?"

"I've been researching orc culture," I admit. "Hammer wanted me ready to treat patients regardless of species."

"Given on my first birthday," he explains, voice softening with something like fondness. "After I survived a year."

My fingers find another set of interconnected lines that wind down his side like roots seeking earth. "And this?"

"My name. Brotan." The word sounds different in his mouth—rougher, more guttural. "My true name."

His muscles jump beneath my touch as I explore his body, learning the map of his history through ink and scars. Each mark tells a story of survival, each scar a battle won against forces that would have destroyed anyone weaker.

After several minutes, I realize he's drifted off, exhaustion finally claiming him. Three days of constant surveillance, of barely sleeping to keep watch—it's caught up to him all at once, dragging him under.

Carefully, I try to lift his arm to make my escape, to let him rest properly.

His grip instantly tightens, pulling me back against his chest with surprising strength for someone half-asleep. "Where do you think you're going?" he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

"I thought I'd let you rest," I whisper, settling back into the warmth of him.

"Not without you." His arm wraps more securely around my waist, hand splayed possessively across my hip. "I'm your shadow, remember? Can't protect you if you're not here."

"I'll be fine," I protest halfheartedly. "Diesel can watch me if you're worried."

That rouses him fully. His body tenses against mine, muscles going rigid with sudden alertness. "Not a chance," he growls, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Orcs can smell sex. You're not getting near any of my brothers anytime soon, not while you smell like mine."

The possessive edge in his voice would normally irritate me, make me bristle with feminist indignation. Instead, it sends a pleasant warmth spreading through my chest, a sense of belonging I've been missing since Jamie's death. Since long before that, if I'm honest.

I tuck my head beneath his chin. His body curls protectively around mine, solid and steady. I find myself surrendering to the comfort of being held—something I haven't experienced in longer than I care to admit. There's safety in his arms that my independence rebels against even as my heart craves it.

"Rest," he murmurs, already drifting back to sleep, his breathing growing deeper. "I've got you."

I yield to exhaustion, tucking my body more securely against his, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing lull me toward sleep.

The thought settles in quietly: there's nowhere else I'd rather be than wrapped in the arms of this complicated orc, even as he guards me in his sleep.

ChapterNine

Crow

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