Bedrock

FAY

Every moment spent with Tyke feels like the first. He has the touch, heat, and tough spine only found in his lineage, the Guardians of Jor'kahal. Or that's how I like to imagine them to have been. And it breaks my heart to know that, in a different world, he could've been one. A mighty warrior, fierce and righteous, watching over the Temples of Gruumsh, somewhere in an unconquered Orcana...

"Fay..." Tyke's voice grows faint. What's it like? A whisper, a rough purr? Gods, no, an iron cloth wrapped around a breath, simply becoming the Eighth Sin—the deadliest.

Tusks like knives trace up my throat, hounding every breath out of me as my heart thunders. "Tell me how you want it?"

"Carve them into me." I am not going to lie. Knives are, to some, what tusks are to me...

Behind Tyke's satisfied groan, power exudes from his cutting clench. Despite them scraping the contours of my cheekbones, flesh never breaks. My nails dig into Tyke's neck, deliciously yearning to bleed under his touch, suffer, writhe, even as I know I never will because he won't allow it.

Still, my blood is violent, screaming through my veins, threatening to spill under his touch.

More...

Sipping in their motion, I let the small swords lodge under my chin. And I find myself exhaling, inhaling, heavier, faster. My stomach tightens, and a short, suppressed cry tears from my lungs, the scores on my skin maddening. I'm begging; my hips, lips, every lifted hair on my body is drawn to Tyke.

Head swaying over the pillow as I trance, eyes meet. And it's as if I am walking into a portrait of hardcore impulse and devotedness all at once.

He folds his fingers into mine, drags them down between us, and whispers, "I'll die if you don't stroke me." Now swelling in my hand, his desire, hard, pulsing... Gods, it's all I want.

My inner thighs become slick as a whirlpool of caught-up moans gathered in his mouth. There is no such thing as too much—of what I feel, endure, or have in my grip...

The whorl inside me bends. It keeps curving on itself, and I moan as it ravels, cracking, never breaking.

My gaze drops to the side, hooded from this ever-growing heat.

"I wanna feel your edges drip," he husks, wrapping his teeth around my nipple. "Smell your heat." Fuck... I draw in a breath when I feel the tip of his cock nudge my entrance. "Watch you peel my skin as I fill you."

I clamp at what I can—sheets—digging my nails into my palms, sometimes holding on to powerful shoulders. Tyke is big; everything about him is. Yet, I'm so wet for him that he enters me with ease. Even so, my muscle stretch, unable to recon how thick Tyke is.

A gentle stroke goes over my head. "Daer'ahmun." Whispers now... No grunt, no growl, no gruffness at all. I'm set. His sweet nothings crisp my nerve endings like burnt sugar on custard.

Pain competes with pleasure as my eyes fill with tears. For the first time in weeks, I cry from relief, freed. It could've been from lust, but it's not. It's purely Tyke, not inside me, but within me. And I keep whimpering because he's never treated me with this kind of respect before, never showed me what was under his layers. Now I get to see it, the softest thing, the bedrock of his raw affection.

My thighs clench around his waist, his hand sweeping over one, soothing while I accommodate his size. Nose tip against nose tip, a murmur erupts between us. "The gods have blessed me."

Head sways wildly over the mattress, muscles in a tight knot. My breaths come out in soft pants, impossibly full, while pain subsides into warm pressure. We might have had a brief fuck not even thirty minutes ago, but what's happening here is new, more than just sexual.

It's unreal.

Not wanting to lose contact, I grind against him. His name rolls in my mind in loops, "Tyke," purling out of me as I wrap my arms around his neck, holding myself from slipping upward at every push. I want to take his thrust in its entirety, rounded and full. I lift my hips, wanting more friction, more of his touch, more of him, more of everything.

"This feels so right..."

My lips tremble at the tone of his voice. Desire bursts through me, and my mind blanks. I let out a wrangled cry, the coil of desire strained. How fucking delicious it is to feel wanted, needed... Loved.

All I can do is surrender to him entirely as he immerses himself, fulfilling me.

Fast, slow... Hard, soft. "More..." I can't hold it any longer. Tyke is bringing me to the edge, and I'm inching closer to a fall with every thrust. As I turn into a puddle of utter, un-fucking-ending lust, we slap skin, rub, moan. He pulls out and rolls on his knees, gripping both my ankles and, spreading them wide, cocks his head. "The joy you give me when your cunt cries for me like this."

I breathe heavily through my nose, unsure whether to curl my lips up or down, a mix of frustration at his withdrawal and amusement at his linguistic deficit. It's as if Tyke's translating word for word what he's thinking in Orcish. "If only you knew the tears my cock is about to shed for you." His rusted words are like flames licking over my skin, making my brain come first. There is no way to answer, other than with a string of incoherent moans. My voice is gone. And with the memory of his cock still printed against my inner walls, being exposed, watched, and examined as Tyke delights on my sex has me releasing a craving sob.

As he sighs heavily on my exposed clit, it throbs. And I blush at the trickles seeping from my core.

Tyke's head draws closer, curving his back, my body too small for him. He wants to watch my tears of addiction as his cock wets through me.

He hums, undoing me bit by bit as his tongue softly sandpapers over my skin, taking in every micro-spin, softly hooking and prickling as he licks whatever dampness is bedded at my jawline and, upon feeling his head poke below, I try focusing on the sly of his eyes and the curl of his lip, stirring my senses, bubbles rising in my throat

"What's your name?" he asks with an arrogance only found in the bedroom.

"Fay."

"Hold on to it." His hips leave, lips, eyes a new distance from me, and I bite my lip upon this second that feels too long as he takes momentum. He slams into me, every crease of mine wrung strong.

My head rushes, my skin wanting to crawl up the mat, but he grips my hips, forcing me to stay right where he wants me, set on the full of his cock. I can see, smell, and taste his dark eyes, his fucking desire.

"So, tell me, what's your name?" he growls breathlessly. We could have so much more together...

I could have more.

A new life, a new name, take his.

Storms roar inside me, nerve-numbing jabs bolting every pushing second. I grip his hair. Tyke groans as he jerks forward, and I maul his lips, whimpers escaping through them as our hips clash.

"Yours."

To my answer, he becomes lethal.

And I relish.