Page 36 of The Orc's Sweetheart
Mental note—from now on, only wear dresses when alone with Bodin.
We come to a stop in the doorway and Bodin’s concerned frown morphs into delight, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he takes in all the food on the counters. “Wow, that is a very impressive spread. Are you expecting the whole town?”
I bite my lip and my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I wasn’t sure how hungry you’d be. I’ve not had many dates with orcs before and even though I understand the general amount of food your species consumes, I didn’t know how much you personally enjoyed. I also don’t know yet if you prefer sweet over savory, or if you like pies or sandwiches, or maybe you eat fruit for breakfast? And if I got you fruit, I might as well get some vegetables, so I prepared the—”
Bodin cuts off my rambling with a fierce kiss. I part my lips, inviting him in, letting his tongue stroke against mine. I reach a hand up to cup his soft, bearded cheek and he pulls me tighter into him. After a minute or so, we both slow the kiss down until we’re quietly staring into each other’s eyes, my dopey look reflected in his expression.
“You’re really special, Matilda. I like you. A lot,” Bodin confesses quietly, eyes shining with something akin to wonder.
My mouth curves into a half smile, and I whisper, “I’m really glad to hear that, because I like you too. A lot.”
We stay like that for a moment or two longer, just breathing each other in, letting the weight of our confessions settle around us, before he gently lets me down.
“Come outside with me. I brought your new garden furniture set.”
A squeal of excitement bursts from me and I duck around Bodin’s large frame and rush toward the door.
Already set down in the perfect spot in the garden I pointed out last time, is a table and two chairs—one yellow and one blue. I turn around and throw my arms around Bodin’s neck.
Standing on my tiptoes, I press a big thank-you kiss to his lips and release him before he can respond, practically running—as much as a bum ankle and sore little toe will allow—toward the set.
I run an admiring hand over the wood, appreciating the color choices and all the effort Bodin put into the set. “This is perfect,” I tell him. “Thank you so much. I foresee many breakfast dates right here, and dinners, and also tea times. I’ll basically be spending any moment I can right here, and you’re welcome whenever you want.”
Bodin comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist like he’s done this a thousand times before. “I’m glad you like them,” he says into my ear and hugs me closer.
I lean back into him and rest my arms on his as I eye the set. “They all look really sturdy. And weather resistant too.”
Bodin walks us forward and turns to sit down on the blue chair, pulling me into his lap. “They’re all very strong. Very sturdy. I promise.”
“Oh,” I say. “Point very much proven.” It’s like Bodin can read the hint of insecurity that I was very valiantly trying to hide. I’m coming to realize he sees everything about me.
Bodin nudges my face so I’m looking directly into his dark eyes. His deep voice rumbles as he implores me to understand. “I’m a big male, Matilda, and you’re tiny compared to me. All my furniture is sturdy, all reinforced to handle my weight and then some. This chair can comfortably accommodate both of us without any problem. See?”
Bodin thrusts up and I bounce in his lap with a gasp. The chair doesn’t even creak.
“I see.” My voice comes out husky, giving away just how much I liked that thrusting.
Under my lap, Bodin’s cock hardens and presses against my thigh. He stares at me intently, his pulse throbbing in his neck, his gaze bouncing from my eyes to my lips, and his grip on my thigh grows firmer.
My breathing turns shallow and I subtly squeeze my legs together. My nipples pebble, stabbing against the fabric of my bra, begging to be released from their constraints and sucked into his mouth.
I bite my lip, not wanting to say anything to spoil this moment because Bodin is clearly on the cusp of giving in.
Our chests move up and down in tandem, breathing in sync as our bodies strain for each other, and Bodin’s hand finally—finally—moves toward the inside of my thighs. I weave a hand into his soft black hair, keeping our eyes locked, silently encouraging him to keep going until we’re both completely undone by the other.
“Tell me to stop, Matilda,” Bodin says in a voice like gravel, desperately hanging on to his last fragments of resistance as his hand glides upward, toward where I want him most.
I widen my legs, unwilling to delay this for a second longer. “Don’t stop,” I whisper.
I don’t care how needy I sound. I need Bodin’s touch more than I need my dignity.
Bodin’s smile drips with satisfaction as he skims his fingers against the damp lace of my panties. “Do you need me here, sweetheart? Do you want my thick fingers in your tight little cunt?”
My lips part and I suck in an audible breath as his fingers rub against my core, the thin excuse for underwear I donned this morning the only barrier between us. “Yes.” My whole body is alive with his touch, my nerves alert, their attention riveted on the tips of Bodin’s fingers.
He moves a single finger up, testing my responses as he traces delicate, teasing circles against my clit. I tighten my grip on his hair, clinging to him in case this is a dream that I’ll cruelly wake from at any second.
“Fuck me with your fingers, Bodin,” I demand in a tone that brooks no argument, and tilt my hips forward in a clear indication that I need more.
