7. Gragash

7

GRAGASH

U ntil that night, I had not realized how empty my nest felt. Now, with the human female curled up against me, it seemed a miracle that I'd survived alone for so long. I cradled her against me, listening to her slow breathing and looking down at her.

Asleep, she was even more beautiful. The tense wariness that cloaked her had faded, left me with an utterly relaxed female to hold and protect. And I will protect you, Abigail Harkness, though I do not yet know how.

Abigail stirred gently, as though to acknowledge my vow. Her fine, fair skin made a delicious contrast to the green of my own, especially where she wrapped her hands around my arm and held on tight. As though she was afraid I'd be gone when she awoke.

I stroked her hair, muttering soothing words to reassure her and marveling at the bright, soft glory of her mane. She had nothing to fear from me. I'd never abandon a sleeping female—and even if I were that kind of urd'ash who would, I could not. The cage my captors had locked us in was spacious, but not enough to let us avoid each other.

Darha's Blessing's lights followed the day/night cycle of a planet, and while I'd smashed every light I could, some near the door remained out of my reach. The room slowly brightened, though we remained deep in shadow. Abigail scrunched up her face and tried to burrow her face into my chest to avoid the fake dawn. The sight was adorable and amusing.

"… laughing at me," she complained when I chuckled.

"Only a little," I said, and lifted her chin gently. Her aggrieved pout vanished as I kissed her, and her eyes flickered open.

She looked confused but delighted, and her hands roamed my chest and teased me. My body responded at once, and it was her turn to chuckle, though her cheeks burned bright red.

"Well, good morning," she said, slipping one hand down to my cock as it stiffened. I gasped, my breath caught, as she slid her fingers around my cock head. The pulse of joy that sent through me made me arch under her. "Ready to go again, are we?"

Her voice barely trembled, though her blush gave away her embarrassment. As much as she wanted me, she wasn't used to this kind of talk. I felt the wicked smile spread over my face, enjoying her shyness as much as her touch. "You are such a delightful, beautiful, sexy girl, Abigail. How could I not be ready for more?"

She blushed brighter, mumbling something inaudible, and continued to stroke my hardening cock. As she did so, she ducked her head to kiss her way across my chest. I shuddered as she reached my nipples, her pink tongue darting out to flick them.

With a little shiver of her own, she kissed her way downward. Down across my stomach, my abs. Her eyes gleamed when she looked back up at me, and my cock twitched in her hands.

"Turn about," she said, "is fair play."

I would have answered, but she stole my voice by licking her way up my cock, slipping the head into the delightful warmth of her mouth. Swirling her tongue around me, she groaned, the vibrations sending pulses of pleasure through me. It was like nothing I'd ever felt, nothing I'd ever known. And I wanted more.

I slid my hand into her magnificent mane of red hair, guiding my human lover down onto me. At first, her response was tentative, then eager as she felt my pleasure building.

"Good girl," I whispered. Abigail shuddered and moaned. "Such a good girl."

The words were like magic, and she took more of me into her hungry mouth each time. Her breath came faster, and I lay back, pressing my fingers between her legs as she curled against me. She spread them wide, her whimpers and sending delicious sensations through me as I sought to return the favor.

Together, we climbed towards a world-shattering climax, our bodies wrapped around each other, our rhythms synchronized.

I threw my head back, roaring loud, and Abigail bucked against me as I came again, my hot seed flooding her mouth. When I looked back down, she met my gaze with a bright blush and a grin that I could live off for days. She held me tight as she panted, and we both recovered from a second mind-blowing orgasm.

"That was…" she trailed off, and I nodded gravely.

"It was more than words can carry. My words, at least." I was never a poet, and never regretted it more than at that moment. "Anything I say will sound tawdry compared to the experience."

"Yeah." Abigail lay back in the nest of blankets and cushions and scraps of torn mattress, blowing an errant lock of hair out of her face. Relaxed and at peace, she radiated happiness and I basked in her glow while it lasted.

It wasn't long before reality crept back in. Her eyes flicked to the cage bars and back, her neck muscles tightened, and a guarded look settled on her face, as though she'd taken off a mask for a time and now put it back on. My heart sank at the sight, but it was no surprise. In her arms, I'd felt free for the first time in years, but we could only hold reality at bay for so long. The bars at the front of the room were too obvious a reminder of our status aboard the Blessing.

I wasn't ready to go back to being a prisoner, though, so I looked for something to distract her. Something other than the obvious—we couldn't keep away our troubles by fucking, no matter how tempting the idea was.

"What did you want to ask me?" I tried to keep my tone light.

Abigail looked at me and frowned, raising an eyebrow. I tried again. "You wanted to interview me when you arrived. It would be churlish of me to deny you that now."

Her expression cleared, a blush creeping across her cheeks as a smile spread on her lips. "That's not how this works. Sleeping with a source isn't an ethical way to get a story, Gragash."

"Hah. No, I suppose not, but still. Ask your questions." I returned the smile and watched her blush deepen. "I make no promises to give good answers."

"That's more honest than most interviewees," she said, focusing more intently on me. "Um. You should probably put something on, or I'm going to be too distracted to work."

"Fine." I pulled my kilt back on, enjoying her eyes as she tracked my every movement. She controlled her expression well, but the flash of disappointment when I covered myself was still visible.

Now that she had her interview, she didn't seem to know what to do with it. We sat across from each other in silence, her eyes roaming the room then snapping back to me, until she blurted out a question.

"What happened to the room?" she asked. "Why do you have the best room on the ship, and why is it such a wreck?"

I growled. "Vaher gave me this room as a bribe. I am not in a position where I could refuse, so instead, I trashed it. I will not have him place me under an obligation, nor even think he has."

Abigail blinked at that. "You ruined your own bedroom out of spite?"

"Not how I see it," I said, shrugging. "Vaher wants to pretend we have a deal, that he's my manager not the slaving urd'ash he is. If I accept his gifts, I accept some of that claim. Besides, I am an orc! I prefer this nest to the ‘civilized' finery he offered me."

"It has its advantages," she admitted. "That sounds like a fine line to tread, though. If you can't refuse his gifts, why does he let you break them?"

"A game. It's all a game to him." I snarled, anger choking my words. Abigail didn't flinch, instead she leaned forward. Someone who didn't fear my rage was a strange novelty, even other orcs would be on guard. Not Abigail, though. I liked that. "He needs me to fight for him, so there are limits to what he can do. So he tries to bribe me, win my compliance. Rejecting them outright would challenge his authority, but breaking them? That's just my ‘barbarian ways.'"

"Hang on. Was I another bribe?" Abigail sounded uncertain.

"Yes." I answered honestly. "A clever one, too. He knows how I feel about the journalists who follow the underground fighting circuit like carrion-eaters feasting on the blood of the dead."

"No, don't hold back, tell me how you really feel," Abigail muttered under her breath, too quiet for most to hear. I chuckled, and her cheeks reddened. Her embarrassment only made it funnier, and getting my laughter under control was difficult.

"It's not like this is the work I wanted to do, but I have to pay the bills somehow," she said, a little defensively. "I'm supposed to be an investigative journalist, uncovering corruption and such. Not writing breathless commentary on illegal fights for Alien Arenas and the like."

"I suppose that would be better, though I don't think it would change anything," I told her. "I only see those second kind of journalists at the fights, and all they want is meat for their readers. Parasites living off the fighters' suffering and death. Worse, they make it sound exciting and fun."

I spat the last word, realizing I'd bared my teeth and the muscles in my neck were taut enough to vibrate. I unclenched my fists, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, calming my mind and body.

Abigail watched, eyes wide but unafraid, which helped me get control of my emotions. She rested a hand on my arm while calmly waiting for me to recover.

"I apologize," I said when I trusted myself to speak again.

"Shush. You've every right to be angry at the people who sell your pain as sport. And you had no idea I wasn't the same as the rest of them." Her gaze dropped from mine. "Hell, I was. I came to the fight to report on it like they did. If anyone should apologize, it's me."

I stared at her. Drew a breath to object. Abigail raised a hand to my mouth, silencing me. "We can go on saying sorry to each other for ever, or we can accept each other's apologies and move on. I vote for option two, please. And, um, do you have a shower or something in this mess?"