CHAPTER THIRTY

Desire and something else flashes through my bride's eyes when she looks at me.

I want to pay attention to only the first, but that's old Krivoth thinking. I need to be better for her, so I say, "Tell me what you want."

"I want to stop thinking." The words leave her in a rush. "I want to feel alive. I want me being alive to feel so good I don't have to feel bad that others aren't."

Realization crashes over me. This is the first time she's taken a life. Even if justified, that can't be easy for one as kind hearted as my moon bound. I pull her to me, a growl of hunger rolling through me. Celebrating victory in the furs is an old orc tradition for good reason. Even the short ride had been torture. I want nothing more than to sink into her, to prove to my body on a visceral level that she's still alive.

Still mine.

I thought I loved her before, but it's a pale thing compared to how I feel now, having almost lost her.

"How waterproof are your bandages?" she says.

"Very. The spells on them are strong."

"Well, in that case…" Instead of words, she completes her sentence by pulling her shirt over her head, mussing her brown hair so that it wreathes her face. My eyes are pulled lower by the wealth of tanned skin on display. It stretches across her stomach and forms a wide vee on her chest, broken only by the lacy purple triangles of fabric covering her breasts.

My bride bends over to unlace and remove her shoes. When she straightens, her hands go to the waist of her pants, but I reach out to stop her. At her puzzled glance, I say, "You would not deny me the pleasure of undressing you for the first time, would you, my good girl?" The praise rolls from me easily, as the phrase she loves springs to mind.

She sucks in a breath and shakes her head.

Her reaction makes my cock jump. I love it. I love that praise coming from me, has such an effect on her. I feel powerful, and it's a heady thing.

Instead of taking off her pants yet, I lower down to my knees, careful to keep most of my weight on my good leg. Yet it matters little how much my injury pains me—touching her is worth all the pain in the world.

My fingers skate up her stomach to the thin band of purple right between her breasts. She wants to feel alive, and I want to woo her. I'll combine both our desires by giving her the most exquisite pleasure of her life. I trace the edge of one of the triangles up over the gentle swell. "What do you call this?"

"It's a bra."

"What a plain-sounding word for something that gets to cup your sweet breasts all day." I ghost my fingers across her collarbones to the other strap and back down the inner edge of the other triangle to return to where I began.

Her nipples harden, the darkened circles peaking and stretching the lacy fabric, which partially obscures them from view, making me long to rip the bra from her with my tusks. But all Rovann's talk of wooing humans echoes in my head.

Our last encounter was a fevered thing, spurred on by Faerie Fruit. This will be different. I will stretch every second this evening until it becomes a minute, make every minute turn into an hour filled with nothing but delight. I will praise her and overwhelm her with pleasure until she never wants to leave my furs.

My lips brush over hers, retreat, then return, my tusks nipping lightly, demanding entry. Her mouth opens under mine, and I groan, the taste of her flooding my senses. Taylor's arms wrap around my neck, clinging to me as I devour her mouth, my tongue plunging in and out exactly as I long to bury myself in her sex.

My hands find the bare skin of her back, caressing its softness as I pull her closer to me. I leave her mouth to kiss down her neck in a slow scrape of tusks that makes her shiver. My tongue dips into the divot above her collarbone, lapping at her salty skin.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, and she gives a soft tug. "Wait! Can we get in the hot spring?" She's panting, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

I give one last lick. "I'll allow it."

She remains close, gathering up my braid and untying the strip of leather that secures the end. Setting it free, she combs her fingers through its length in a way that makes my scalp tingle and my cock leap inside my pants.

I've never had a woman play with my hair before, and it's so sensual I growl and take her mouth again, unable to resist.

When her small hands tug at my shirt, I rip it overhead so I can pull her back to me, reveling in the touch of skin on skin. "By the goddess, your skin's so soft. I want to lick you everywhere."

"Krivoth! You're hurt."

"The leg's fine." It's a lie. The injury burns like fire, but I ignore it. Nothing will stop me from having her.

"Not your leg. Look." Her fingers ghost over the narrow gashes the ogres cut into my shoulders and arms.

"They're nothing." This is no lie—such minor injuries mean little compared to the joy of touching her, and orcs heal quickly.

My moon bound's mouth pinches, her eyes clouding with concern. I love that she fusses over me, but I want her focused on far different parts of my anatomy.

"They look worse than they are." I shrug. "Come. We'll wash the blood away, and you'll see they're nothing."

I slide my hands down her back to the waist of her pants and tuck my fingertips inside. Then I pull them slowly around to her front, caressing her skin the whole way. The button pops open, and the metallic teeth below it part with such ease it's its own kind of magic.

"What do you call this?" I growl and drag the back of my knuckles over the vee of purple lace now exposed.

"Panties."

"I dream of your panties." I slip two fingers into the soft fabric and pull. "Of the way the lace felt against the back of my hand when my fingers thrust inside of you. Of the way it held me close to your hot wetness, when you were such a good girl and came for me."

"Oh, god." Taylor grips my shoulders as her whole body trembles.

My hands glide down her legs, peeling her pants from them until she steps free to stand in front of me in nothing but two scraps of purple.

She might be short, but my bride is perfectly proportioned. Her slim legs widen deliciously at her hips in a way that makes my hands ache to grip her there as I pull her onto my cock.

I reach for her bra, ready to have her naked, but she shies away.

"Why do you hesitate?" I ask.

Her bow-shaped mouth puckers into a frown. "Lots of guys have made fun of my chest for being small."

"Lots?" It emerges as a feral growl. "Many men have seen your naked breasts?"

"What? No. Not lots." Her eyes go wide. "But even when I'm dressed, it's clear I don't have big boobs, so—"

"These men are fools who should count themselves lucky I cannot go to your world and rip out their stupid tongues, for they have no business speaking thus." I kiss her little nipples, licking through the lace until they harden for me. "Your breasts are perfect."

She smiles, and I kiss her again, plundering her mouth with mine until she moans and squirms against me, and I need to feel all of our skin touching skin.

Biting back a hiss of pain, I stand and let her remove my boots. To have her on her knees before me makes my cock strain against the front of my pants, threatening to burst through the leather.

She catches me watching her, and my thoughts must be plain on my face, for a mischievous smile of delight curls her lips as she looks up at me. Then she leans forward and places a kiss on the head of my erection, the pressure teasing through the brown leather.

I groan and fist my hands in her hair, wanting those pink lips wrapped around my cock with nothing between us. But if she needs a bath, I need ten. I'm ready to wash the sweat of battle away, so there's nothing but the two of us and our mingled scents of sex and pleasure.