Page 35 of Pumpkin Spiced Orc
Clothes dissolve like rotten leaves in a stream--the snare of her bra clasp giving way under my thumb, her jeans surrendered with slick efficiency against the rain-slick grass. Mine follow, heavy with water. The daylight catches the curve of her hip, the angle of a shoulder, the damp midnight spirals clinging to her neck. She’s moonlight poured over river stones. When I press her back into the moss, it yields, cradling her like the earth claimed her too.
"Ivy." My mouth speaks her before my mind commands.
"Garruk." Her thighs part around mine. "Just--move."
My cock slides against her wet heat. Not thrusting yet. Testing. Seeking. She arches, fills my palm, and the groan tearing from her hits me lower than expected, sudden andbright. The first press inside inhabits every nerve. Slow, slow as sap bleeding from a wounded birch.Tightness yields and blooms. Her gasp sounds like rebirth. Her legs lock around my waist, heels pressed hard against the small of my back. Condensed urgency.
"Deeper." Her breath feathers my throat.
I sheath myself to the root. Held. Climax already coils low in my gut. She clenches reflexively, a gasp hissing between her teeth. "Yours," I rasp. The word scars deeper than glyphs.
Her hips lift, grinding. "Home."
Long strokes now, relentless. Her building shivers translate into my bones. Raindrops glitter on her collarbone. When my thumb finds the tightness buried in her curls, circling, her cry splinters the languid air.
Breathy. Short.
Then her pussy grabs me—quick, fluttering squeezes. Her nails bite my shoulder, her body bowing beneath me. Climax rushes through her, legs shaking visibly against mine.
My hips roll against hers, slow and deep, each stroke dragging a gasp from her lips. Rainwater trickles down the small of her back as she arches, hips grinding up to meet mine, her wet heat pulsing around my cock. Her fingers dig into the moss beneath us.
“Harder—don’t hold back.”
I spear into her until our hips lock, velvet walls fluttering against me. Each thrust drives her breath into fractured moans. Her thighs tighten around my waist, strength coiled in her lean muscles, anchoring me deeper. Rain slicks our skin, mingling with sweat, the scent of soaked earth and sex thickening the air. I take her nipple into my mouth, tongue circling the peak until it tightens against my teeth. She fists my braid, tugging hard.
“Garruk—” Her voice breaks as I shift angles, driving up into that spot that makes her scream. Her inner musclesripple, convulsive, and she shatters around me again. Her pussy squeezes like fist, milking me as she trembles. I grind deep, grinding to draw out the shivers still rippling through her. Her forehead presses against mine, breath hot and quick.
“Still feel it?” I murmur, licking rainwater from her collarbone.
Her laugh hitches. “Mm. Your turn.”
She wraps her legs higher around my ribs. “Don’t stop.”
I slam into her, losing rhythm, sweat beading on my temples. She meets every thrust, the slap of skin on skin echoing under the canopy. Her smile is wild when I quicken, strokes turning urgent. “Yes—like that. I feel you?—”
Her words cut off when I grip her hips, lifting her into my next thrust.
The world narrows to her pussy gripping my cock, hot and slick and desperate. My hips piston faster, losing their measured rhythm, driven by the way she arches to take every inch. Rain drips from my hair onto her collarbone, tracking paths through the sheen on her skin. She pants broken cries into my neck, each thrust punching the air from her lungs. Her fingers twist in my braid, not guiding, just holding on.
"Don’t stop." Her voice scrapes raw, half-begging, half-demanding.
I grunt, the sound rough in my throat. My palm slides down to cup her ass, lifting her higher. The angle shifts, burying me deeper. She gasps, a bright, startled sound that echoes through our bones.
"Like that–" Her teeth nip my shoulder. "Garruk–"
It’s the way she says my name—like a claim—that undoes me. My thrusts fracture into something jagged and deep. The pressure coils tighter, demanding, until my spine locks. Ivy’s pussy flutters around me as I surge into her one final time, my release spilling hot between us. My forehead presses againsthers, breath sawing against her lips as the tremors shudder through me. Her thighs tremble where they wrap around my waist.
We stay like that, wet earth under her back, rain misting our skin, hips still fused. Her palm rises, slow and heavy, to cradle my jaw. Her thumb strokes the line where my tusks meet my mouth. Soft. Reverent.
I keep my voice a graveled whisper. "Stay."
Curls stick to her temples. Raindrops cling to her eyelashes. "Wasn’t leaving."
Rain drums the canopy above, soft now like distant hooves on loam. Cold droplets bleed through the highest leaves, hitting my shoulder blade. One taut point of chill on heat-flushed skin.
I shift, just enough, and Ivy tilts her face into my neck. Her hair smells like rain and moss and something sharp-sweet like the bruised leaves of lemon balm. Sunlight pierces the clouds in fitful rays, catching the rain-drops trapped in her eyelashes, the curve of her cheek pressed against my bare collarbone.
Her arm drapes heavy across my ribs. Silent. The rhythm of her breathing matches the slow drip from the leaves. Mine feels deeper, still shaking loose inside with every other breath. Her knee nudges higher over my hip.
