Green

There was leisure in his touch now, but the half-orc was neither tired nor ready to end their night. She let her head drop back to his shoulder while his palms smoothed over her thighs, her belly and breasts.

"So fucking soft," he said.

Iatanna turned her face and pushed a low whine beneath his jaw, along with a series of open-mouthed kisses. But Zajar was not trying to pay compliments. At least not altogether. His right hand crept up her sternum until fingers circled her throat. Nails pressed into her skin. The ranger was making a point.

"I could break you in half." The dark words fell on her ear, less a threat and more a frustration. She shivered, and not from the fear the wall of unpredictable muscle at her back warranted. Iatanna squirmed, her backside grinding a cock that was twitching back to life.

"You can try."

He growled and pinned her tighter, unwilling to go ignored. "Why?" he insisted. "Why do you want this?"

She hummed against his grip and her eyes fluttered shut. Her combat ally did not understand the degree to which his tactics were undermining his purpose. The more violence he promised, the harder her heart pounded.

Iatanna laced her own fingers through the larger set around her neck, and pulled them down away from worry. Down along the center of her body until their combined touch dipped between her thighs.

"You're thinking too much," she said, guiding his hand to her heat. "Don't. Just feel."

There was a moment of held breath at the idea of claws meeting delicate, feminine flesh, but Zajar moved with care. He traced through pink ruffles nearly to the cleft between her cheeks, exploring.

"You're wet."

She tilted her hips. "My body knows what I want," she said. Male fingertips slid, quested. "I want you, Zajar."

A groan vibrated from under his ribs at this, and at the same moment, he found her entrance. Slipped inside, possibly not even on purpose, but right up to the second knuckle, all the same. She writhed on his hand. He had no idea what to do with it yet, but Iatanna didn't care. Kisses were on her throat, that rough tongue making tracks.

"I don't ..." He nipped at the soft part of her ear. "I don't think I'll fit."

She could have chuckled. "Yes, you will." But then was serious, twisting in his arms to face him. "Do you want to?"

Lightning crackled between brown and yellow eyes.

His hand slipped away, and Iatanna scrambled to her knees. The urgency in the air was message enough: the half-orc had both feet on the floor again, as he had while on the chair. And just like before, she swung a leg over his lap, a knee on the mattress on either side.

They'd been a lot less naked the first time.

Iatanna rolled her hips. His erection jutted straight out between her thighs, and she painted him in arousal, shameless. His grip went to her cheeks, the instinct to hold her and thrust older than time.

"Zajar." She stilled herself. "Do you want me?"

"Yes." He bit down on the word. "Now."

It was all she needed.

She came up on her knees, and took hold of him at the base, angling the blunt head to the place she ached for it. How had they arrived here? Unreal.

Zajar's eyes were intense on the diminishing space between them. Her weight began to do the work, that first flared measure boring up into her on liquid desire alone. The ranger was still incredulous.

"I told you, it won't w—oh fffuck!"

Iatanna slid halfway down his cock with a gasp. Some involuntary twitch from one of them—she wasn't sure who—had moved enough muscle to open the way. She put a hand on his shoulder to steady herself for the rest. He was wrong about whether she could take him but, come morning, Iatanna would most certainly be feeling it.

Her brow knotted and her mouth came open as she spread her thighs wider to close the gap. Thick, male need stretched her to a point where she had to remind herself to breathe, and she did, exhaling in a rush when the last of him disappeared.

She met his eyes again and couldn't help growing a fool's grin. The kind one exchanged after someone has narrowly avoided falling from a cliff, all shaky triumph and praise for luck.

"See?"

His grasp on her hips was like he thought she might fly off and go careening around the room, and the set of his jaw told Iatanna they'd both be glad she'd relieved some of his pressure already.

She began to move.

"Gods."

It was all he said, but it was plenty summary for them both. A mere curl of her hips lit more sensation aflame than the rogue could ever remember. Just to rock herself into his lap was enough to pull a string of curses from the back of her tongue.

Iatanna wanted him to see. She brought a hand to either side of his face, thumbs just in front of his ears, fingers cupping the base of his skull, demanding he look. Eyes locked with hers, and she let her face tell him everything.

Look.

The bridge of her nose creased as she drew her body up, dragging half his cock, now slick, back into the open air.

Look what you do to me.

Her mouth fell open, upper lip curled, as she hilted him by measures, again.

In turn, Iatanna watched his patience burn away. She churned on the length of his prick and his nostrils flared. Whimpered at the bruising grip he'd moved to her thighs, and a warning rumbled in his chest. Whatever limit Zajar veered away from, she knew the moment they crossed it.

"Iatanna."

His tone made her go still. She lowered her hands to his chest, and he thumped inside her.

"I ... I want ..."

"What?" she said, barely a breath. "Tell me."

"I need to m—" He chewed his lip, desperation spilling over. "I need to mount you." His eyes pled for understanding, forgiveness.

Heat surged between her legs. "Yeah, you do." She brushed the words past his ear as she rolled from his lap to the mattress behind them.

By the time he'd turned and climbed fully onto the bed, Iatanna was on her back, knees spread like a harlot, massaging her slit with the flat of a palm.

Zajar wasted no time, crawling between her thighs, glossy shaft in hand. She reached down to help him home, angling her hips, lifting them off the bed. Weight was on his side this time and, when their bodies aligned, the half-orc sank in to the root.

Some noise came out of her then that Iatanna wouldn't have made if she could've helped it. It was far too weak, too vulnerable a sound to make in front of another person, but it was out of her now, and she gave up trying to care.

For a moment, sheathed this way, Zajar only stared, his thumbs curling over her hip bones. As if from this vantage point, he could believe it even less. A hint of tongue slipped out to wet his lips.

"I'll ... try to be gentle," he said.

Iatanna squeezed around him.

"Don't."

He came forward, leaning his weight onto one arm, letting his cock glide out and then back in, tentative. Watching her.

"Go on." She gave him a tiny, rapid nod. "Do it."

He surged forward and Iatanna was ready.

"Ghhhf—fuck!"

Down on both arms now. He bottomed out. Withdrew. Did it again. Again. Dreadlocks hung around his face. Muscles in his arms shifted. Iatanna smoothed her palms over his chest, dug her heels into the backs of his thighs. Ground the coarse hair above his shaft against swollen folds each time their bodies met.

A hand came up to skim the crease at her hip, the rise of her mound, as though his own eyes weren't enough to take in how he split her. She groaned when he pushed his nails along her belly. Let out a high-pitched whine when he pinched a nipple.

"Every place I touch," he said, smearing a thumb over her lower lip, "you make a different sound."

Iatanna nodded, panting, in no disagreement at all, and Zajar pushed two fingers into her mouth. A stifled mewl became her next new sound, and she sucked what he gave her, dripping pussy begging from below for anything else he had.

Until some new thing went out of balance. Both of his hands were back on the bed.

"Please."

He plumbed in and out of her still, but there was something more dire than ever in that single word. The effort was plain on his face. Iatanna waited for the rest, but it didn't come.

"Zaj, what?" She slipped a hand to his neck to bring him back.

"Please." He stopped. Met her eyes. "Be on your knees for me, Iatanna. I need it."

Another nod from her, this one more urgent, and Zajar sat back on his heels. The relief on her channel was immediate, but it wasn't what she wanted. Iatanna cleared his body with one leg and pivoted onto the opposite hip, rolling to face the mattress. Both knees tucked up and spread, her ass in the air offering that most primal sign of heat.

He was on her again in a heartbeat, cock driving home before she could catch her breath.

There was no time to prepare.

Hands had her by the hips, hauling her back onto him with force, vigor. Iatanna yelped—there was too, too much of him—but Zajar kept going.

Marble hard cock plowed into her, relentless, and Iatanna bounced on his thighs. A stream of grunted, Orcish words tumbled down her back, subduing any impulse she had other than to receive. The noises she made would have been humiliating, but Iatanna had no shame left.

Zajar fucked her. It didn't matter that she was his first; nature alone seemed to be enough to tell his muscles what to do. Take. Mate. Breed. Somewhere in the chaos, she managed to slip a hand between her legs, and went to work adding the last little nudge she needed.

"Zaj."

Flesh slapping. Fingers dancing over a bead of flesh, skirting the edge. There was more coming. More. Wavering.

He snapped his hips against her ass, spearing into her. Faster. Just like—

"Zajar, I'm—nngh!"

Her eyes opened wide. Blood rushed in her ears.

Iatanna came.

Pussy clamped down, sucking the fat prick inside it. Back bowed, sex fluttering, uncontrolled. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out, and Zajar slowed, if only some, responding to the change.

Her knees gave out and Iatanna sank to the mattress, Zajar following her down, pinning her with his weight. There was nothing left but to take his cock, and he gave it, knees outside hers, bucking up against her prone body.

A hand came wedging up under her shoulder, on the side where she'd turned her head. Fingers clamped over bone for advantage, fitting her down, sealing her around his lust. Twin points of focused pain flared in the meat between her spine and shoulder as Zajar bit down, lost in his need.

Coordination was over. There was no space left between their bodies. It was all grinding and delirium, breath hissing into the crook of her neck. Musk scenting the air.

This was a rut.

He was rutting her.

She groaned and let him. Cock stuffed her full. Obscene sounds filled the tiny room behind the tavern. His rhythm slipped. Became erratic with his breathing. Iatanna woke up.

"Zajar."

He pushed and worked. Plunged deep and held it.

"Zaj!"

Again. Deep.

Fuck!

" 'f you don't want to put a child in me, you need to p—"

Out. He was out, and Iatanna was empty.

Hot manhood sluiced between her cheeks, once, twice. He snarled.

"Iatanna! Fuck!"

Hard flesh kicked. He hunched over her and scalding completion bloomed on her lower back, the pool building in spurts. She gulped down air as his weight lifted. Felt the tremor in his arms when his peak took the last of his strength.

He dropped alongside her, wind rasping in and out of his throat. Iatanna was limp. A spare thought skipped past that there was no expendable fabric in this room for cleaning.

Then the heel of a palm came down on her tailbone. And smeared a thick path from there to the top of her spine, painting her with seed, fingers lacing into her hair, into a fist. Zajar growled in her ear.

"Mine."

The word settled on her like a fog rolling in.

Somewhere in the haze, her heels managed to ruck the blankets down, and Zajar did the rest to get them out from under her. To drag the woolens up to their chests. Where she found sense enough to roll onto her side and drape a leg over his, Iatanna would never know.

She was asleep, and no one had doused the lamp.

It didn't matter.