Page 54 of Her Orc Blacksmith

“V-Vorgath,” I gasped, my fingers leaving the edge of the bench to sink into his hair.

The intensity, the fire… it was building inside me, pulling taut like a bowstring ready to snap.

His response was a low growl of approval, the sound vibrating against me, pushing me closer to the edge. He grabbed my hips, firm and sure, holding me exactly where he wanted me—where Iwantedto be—and his movements quickened, no longer teasing. His tongue delved deeper, swirling, flicking, until my thighs trembled around him.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, the breath hitching in my throat as I dug my heels into his back, arching toward him.

Like a command he was too eager to obey, his hands gripped harder, and his mouth worked faster, drawing me closer and closer until the rising heat inside broke free in a wave of pleasure so intense that it left me crying his name into the rafters.

His breath was still hot against my thighs, his tongue just barely tracing over sensitive flesh, teasing out the last tremors of pleasure.

Then came the press of his finger—gentle but insistent—sliding inside me with deliberate slowness. I gasped, still riding high on the force of my climax. The feel of him stretching me, moving in sync with the ebb of pleasure still pulsing through me, stirred something new. Something deeper.

Darker.

“I’ve got you,durlan,” he murmured against my skin.

I heard the softness in his promise, but I felt the heat of it—the raw desire thrumming beneath the careful way he moved. That one finger, slick from my arousal, pressed in again, slow and steady, as he watched me intently, as if measuring every breath, every shift of my body responding to him.

“More?” he asked after a moment, his brow furrowed slightly.

“Yes,” I breathed, voice ragged from the intensity. “More.”

He pushed gently again, adding another finger alongside the first, and though it was slow and careful—achingly so—I couldn’t help but buck my hips toward him, seeking more contact. The stretch was so different from anything I’d felt before—his hands, so much bigger than mine or my late husband’s—and yet, there was no fear. Only the strange, beautiful awareness that this was Vorgath.

My large, scarred orc who knew exactly how much of his strength to give.

His fingers curled inside me, brushing over that perfect spot that made another wave of heat surge through me. I had to bite down on my lip to stifle the sound of the moan that threatened to escape, swallowing it back down, but he caught it all the same.

“No,” he growled, his free hand coming up to my jaw, tilting my face toward him. “No hiding. I want to hear.”

It was bold. Direct. But so was he. Always bold. Always unafraid to say what he wanted, what he needed.

“I'm not hiding,” I shot back, but the words came out breathy, all sharp edges dulled by the molten heat he was coaxing from deep within me. I shifted against his fingers, wanting more, wantingeverything, and damn it all, I didn’t care if he heard.

Vorgath’s grin, the slight curve of those tusked lips, was both a warning and a promise as he leaned in closer, his breath brushing my flushed skin. “Good.”

Then he lowered his mouth again, and all coherent thought was incinerated.

Every sensation was sharper, brighter than before—the slick heat of his tongue, the insistent pressure of his fingers curling just right, the strong, steady pulse of his hand holding me down like I might float away from the sheer intensity of it all.

I could only gasp, my hands clutching at anything to ground myself—his hair, the edges of the workbench—nothing steady, nothing solid enough except him.

And in that moment, he was everything.

He pulled another wordless moan from my lips as he doubled down, his rhythm quickening, perfectly attuned to the building pressure coiling low in my belly. Sweat trickled down my spine, and my chest heaved beneath Vorgath’s relentless touch.

His fingers—there were three now—worked deep inside me. The stretch was unfamiliar, full of pressure, but by the Alders, it felt right. Every time he moved, I felt his strength—controlled, measured, calculated to build me up, never to break me down.

“Vorgath,” I whispered, lifting my hips more, wanting the burn, wanting him. My voice shook with the strain of holding back, of riding the delicate edge he so expertly crafted beneath his hands, his mouth.

The vibrations of his growl—somewhere between frustration and satisfaction—grew stronger against my skin, and I couldn’thelp but shamelessly clench my legs tighter around his thick shoulders in response.

“You're incredible,” he rumbled against me without lifting his head, the heat of his breath skimming the sensitive flesh below my hips. “So beautiful. So strong.”

Those words hit me harder than any caress, further fraying my already tattered restraint. I couldn’t find airs or retorts or cheeky comebacks under his force.

Just desire. Raw, unguarded.

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