Page 30 of Bite Sized Bride
She looks up at me then, her dark eyes searching my face in the firelight. She sees the lie. She sees the pain behind it.
And she doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she leans in.
My entire being goes still. The world narrows to the space between us, to the scent of her, to the warmth of her breath on my skin.
Her lips, soft and hesitant, press against the scarred flesh of my cheek. It is not a kiss of passion. It’s a kiss of comfort.Of compassion. It is a gesture so full of a gentle, heartbreaking bravery that it shatters the last of my defenses.
The ghost of Kael, the warrior, the orc, rises up and takes control.
My hand, the one that is not wounded, comes up to cup the back of her head, my massive fingers tangling in the silken river of her dark hair. I do not pull her closer. I simply hold her there, anchoring her to me. I am giving her a choice. A chance to retreat.
She does not. She leans into my touch, a silent surrender that is anything but weak. It is a choice.
The firelight dances across her skin as I lower myself beside her, my massive frame careful not to overwhelm her delicate form. Every breath I take is measured, controlled—the beast within me leashed by something far more powerful than chains or magic. Love. The word echoes in the hollow chambers of my cursed soul, foreign yet achingly familiar.
"Mikana," I rumble again, savoring the shape of her name on my tongue. My hand, scarred and monstrous, trembles as I trace the elegant line of her jaw. She turns into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed, trust written in every line of her body.
I begin my worship at her throat, pressing reverent kisses to the pulse that flutters beneath her skin. She tastes of life itself—salt and sweetness, herbs and hope. My lips travel lower, mapping the delicate architecture of her collarbones, the soft valley between her breasts. Each kiss is a promise, each caress an oath sworn in the ancient language of touch.
Her hands tangle in my hair, not pulling, just holding, anchoring herself to this moment. When I glance up, her eyes are open, watching me with an intensity that steals what little breath I have. In those dark depths, I see no fear, no revulsion at the monster loving her. I see only acceptance. Only desire.
"Please," she whispers, and the single word breaks something inside me. The last wall. The final defense.
I continue my journey down her body, taking my time, memorizing every curve, every sensitive spot that makes her gasp. The orc in me remembers this ritual—the claiming of a mate is not just about possession, but about knowledge. To know every inch of her, to understand what brings her pleasure, what makes her sing.
When I settle between her thighs, she tenses slightly, uncertainty flickering across her features. I pause, meeting her gaze, asking silent permission. She nods, a flush spreading across her skin that has nothing to do with the fire's heat.
I part her gently, reverently, and lower my head to taste her essence. The first touch of my tongue on her pussy draws a sharp gasp from her lips, her back arching off the furs. I work slowly, learning her rhythms, her needs, the particular pressure and pace that makes her fingers tighten in my hair and her breath come in short, desperate pants.
“Kael… Kael… Yes…”
The sounds she makes—soft whimpers, breathless moans, my name falling from her lips like a prayer—they heal something broken inside me. Each one is a thread, weaving us together, binding us in ways that go beyond the physical.
Her pleasure builds like a storm, her body tensing, trembling on the edge of release. When she finally shatters, crying out my name, I feel it echo through my own soul. I hold her through the aftershocks, pressing gentle kisses to her inner thighs, her hip bones, the soft plane of her stomach.
When I move back up her body, she pulls me down for a kiss that tastes of desperation and need. Her hands roam my scarred chest, no longer tentative but demanding. The warrior in me recognizes another warrior—she is not some fragile thing to beprotected, but a survivor, a fighter, my equal in all the ways that matter.
"I need you," she breathes against my lips, and those three words undo me completely.
I position my hard cock at her entrance, fighting for control. The beast wants to claim, to take, to mark. But Kael—the ghost of who I was, who I'm becoming again—knows better. This joining is sacred. It must be honored.
I enter her slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes lock with mine, and in them I see my own wonder reflected. How is it possible that in this broken world, in these monstrous forms, we have found this? This connection that transcends flesh, that reaches into the very essence of what we are?
We move together in an ancient rhythm, bodies learning each other's cadences. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me deeper, and I have to close my eyes against the overwhelming sensation. Not just the physical pleasure—though that threatens to consume me—but the emotional weight of it. Of being accepted. Of being chosen. Of being seen not as the Urog, not as a weapon, but as Kael.
“Kael… yes, take me!” she moans, her body convulsing in pleasure. She holds me so tight as if she’s afraid the waves will take her away.
I let out a growl begging her to look at me, echoing my earlier command, but this time it's a plea. I need to see her, need to know this is real.
Her eyes open, locking with mine, and what I see there nearly breaks me. Not just desire, not just pleasure, but something deeper. Something that mirrors the vast ocean inside my own chest.
"Mine," I grunt, the possessive word torn from the deepest part of me.
"Yours," she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders as her pleasure builds again. "And you're mine."
The truth of it hits me like a physical blow. I am hers. This broken, cursed creature that I am—I belong to her as surely as she belongs to me.
