3. Orlagh

THREE

An awkward littlehop gets me over the cord and into my room without a hitch this time around. I take a couple of steadying breaths as I tear off my robe, mind racing.

I spent way, way longer talking to 17C than I had meant to. I mean, I didn't even check the time after he opened that door, and now the clock on my nightstand is telling me I've got two minutes to spare.

"Okay, Orlagh. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic…"

Don't panic?! A well-intentioned sentiment, but one that's laughable at this point. The only time I ever talk to myself out loud like this is when I am absolutely, undoubtedly, one-hundred percent in full-blown panic mode. But it's the why behind my panicking that's really getting to me, because it's not about my stream.

Well, I mean… maybe a little. Two minutes to go, after all, and even though Zoya is more or less sorted, I've never done anything like this with someone else before. But honestly? I know I'll learn how to work with a partner as I go, that I can always poll for other pairings, make some new connections, and churn out more content in the next few weeks to appease my fanbase. Now that I don't have to be worried about being labeled a scammer, I don't really care if tonight turns out awkward or awful.

But… that's just the thing.

I don't think tonight is going to be awful or awkward; far from it, actually. I'm not worried about failing my first go at expanding my content anymore—I'm worried about falling for the orc next door while I do it, right after falling into bed with him.

For starters, Rok'nhar—no, Rok—is an absolute beefcake. Beyond broad shoulders, with a veritable billboard of a chest and a soft, sexy belly that looks like a dream to snuggle up against. Traps so big that they're practically indiscernible from his neck and shoulders, and his arms? I'm pretty sure he almost pulled his door clear off the frame just leaning on it. And then, good goddess, the sweatpants. Those irresponsibly thin sweatpants sliding down his hips and providing a crystal-clear outline of his thick, muscular thighs with every movement, not to mention the scientific diagram of his almost frighteningly sizable cockhead straining against them.

I've heard stories about the unique features of orc cocks from friends and have seen a few online in porn, but never up close and personal; now all I can think about is how long it's going to take me to remedy that situation.

Yep, what's got me in this panic spiral is that I've just hired him to work with me and already I'm wondering if I should call off work so I can find out what kind of pancakes he'll order at breakfast tomorrow after I ride him like a stallion until the sun comes up. I've… I've got it bad for him, or I'm at least slipping steadily down that slope into smitten territory, and we've only spoken to each other for five minutes literally five minutes ago. Half of that time I was rambling just to distract myself from the electric tension crackling between us, coiling around my sternum and pulsing between my thighs until every inch of me was buzzing and alive.

Even now I'm practically dripping at the thought of snaking my arms around him and pressing my face to his soft belly, of using those iron traps to anchor myself as I climb my way up his massive evergreen torso, of wrapping my thighs around his head and finding out what it's like to slide my slick folds all over a big mouth full of tusks and teeth and tongue.

Sweet Solstra, I've got to get it together. I haven't felt this dizzy and distracted by a guy since I first met Wolf—a classic case of lust-at-first-sight, and look how well that turned out. I jumped right into bed with him and came hard and fell even harder, hard enough to ignore all the red flags waving in my face for two years. All my past relationships were like that, actually; based on sexual attraction and beyond toxic in the end.

But, I mean, come on. Is it my fault that Rok opened the door shirtless, dripping wet, and then just stood there drooling at me, tusks practically on the floor? Or that every time those gorgeous blue eyes raked me over, full of naked desire, I fell prey to some of that desire myself? And how long has it been since I've felt flames of desire like that for anyone?

Have I ever?

Because that exchange with Rok ignited a sweet, familiar fire within me that also feels… different.

Intense.

Demanding.

And way more than just lust.

The lust is there, though, no doubt about that. I can still feel it licking its way up my thighs, tingling at the base of my spine, making me want to strip off what little I have on and slink around him like a cat, purring and nuzzling until he starts petting me. Heavily.

Plus, he was wet. Did I mention he was wet?

I pop in front of my mirror to stick a few more pins in my wig, giving it a little tug to make sure it's solidly attached, and then brace my arms on the vanity to stretch and take a few more of those deep, steadying breaths.

If I'm being honest, Rok's always kind of piqued my interest. If I hadn't been so worried about Wolf overreacting and doing something insane, I would have broken the ice forever ago. Maybe struck up a conversation about one of his oversized punny t-shirts in the elevator, stopped to commiserate over the rising rent prices and dwindling facility amenities at the mailbox, asked if that sweet, grey cat of his is actually named Gandalf like I've been calling him since he totally seems to answer to it, or, you know, just said hello like a normal person does with a neighbor?

The attraction has been more than physical from the start, at least on my side. There was something palpable between us from the beginning that had me racing away from him after every awkward elevator ride, had me silent and standoffish and passive-aggressively reporting those giant, not-so-stinking shoes that reminded me of the quiet, handsome, obviously hard-working orc next door. And now that I've spoken to him? Those feelings have only grown, almost alarmingly so.

Even in those scant few minutes just now, I caught a glimpse of the shy, sweet orc I'd always suspected was right there, just out of my reach while I was too scared to break things off with Wolf; the grass is always greener on the other side, they say—and sometimes the orcs are, too.

More than once I'd caught myself imagining us walking hand in hand at the waterfront, carting back sandwiches from the deli at the corner, snuggling on my couch and watching a movie, setting up a schedule to see who's apartment we stay at on what night, only to be snapped back to reality by some fresh frustration with Wolf.Thoughts like that were dangerous back then, and here, now? Super unprofessional, maybe even more unprofessional than these excruciatingly hot ones where I'm bouncing on his massive cock all night long, ones that I need to push aside so I can make sure everything for my stream is good to go.

A quick check around the room confirms that the lights are all on, the green screen looks secure, and everything is up and running and ready to start and stop the broadcast automatically on my laptop, save a recording for myself.

The tablet I use as a viewing monitor shows that the background is working; generic cave walls complete with flickering torches are a-go. It looks super cheesy, but that's exactly what my fans want tonight: spanking served up with a heaping portion of B-Movie sword and sorcery.

Last, I make sure the latch on the treasure chest in the middle of the set isn't actually locked and prop Rok's warhammer up on its head in the far corner, taking my place just off camera with…

Forty-five seconds to spare.

Sweet sunbeams, am I actually going to pull this off?

When the red light flashes, I'm honestly relieved to finally have an outlet for all this nervous energy—time for Zoya to come out and play.

"Well, well. What have we here?" My hips sway as I move into frame, smirking mischievously. I bite my lip and look between the camera and the treasure chest a few times; the cat who's got the cream. "Thank the gods for absent adventurers. I'll be living like a queen in no time..."

I kick open the lid and get down on my hands and knees in front of the chest, ass to the camera. Gems and coins get thrown gleefully into the air around me as I rifle through the contents, squealing in delight. Once the chest is empty, I pick up some of the loot off the floor and rub it all over my body, giggling and gasping and moaning all the while. I'm having so much fun hanging fake rubies around my neck and being a ridiculous sexy cheeseball that I don't even notice Rok come in.

"You shouldn't be here."

The baritone of his voice is unmistakable, that thick, low drawl sending a shiver down my spine that shudders sweetly, all the way down to my core. I spin around, an exaggerated look of surprise ready on my face, one that melts into genuine astonishment as I take in the sight of him. He was striking and sexy in just a pair of flimsy sweats, and now… now the powerful landscape of muscle that dazzled me just minutes ago is prominently on display—and proving to be just as distracting, if not more so.

My entire room, no, my entire apartment, feels smaller with him in it, and not just because it's the standard for medium-sized individuals and he is most definitely not a medium-sized individual. Sure, the thick neck and broad shoulders have something to do with it, as do the leather breeches he's wearing, tied at the front and slung low on his hips. Intricately carved leather armor hugs one of his burly arms like a second skin, going from his shoulder all the way down to his wrist with accents of white fur here and there. A thick leather strap with a buckle, similarly embossed, strains against his big barrel chest to hold it in place. He's wearing an eyepatch over one eye and bronze caps over both of his tusks, and he must have smeared something over his dark green skin because he looks deliciously dirty, as if he'd been saving hapless maidens all day long and then seducing them all throughout the night. He hadn't been exaggerating—he was oddly equipped for this part of my request. How on earth did he just happen to have all of this stuff on hand?

"What, nothing to say for yourself?" Rok moves farther into the frame, circling me in slow, stalking steps. "I ought to take your hands for this."

I snap back into Zoya, baring my teeth.

"Hah! I'd like to see you try,"I snarl, making an overly dramatic grab for the prop dagger at my right thigh. Scratch that—the empty sheath that once housed the prop dagger at my right thigh. I look down at it, stupefied for a moment, before remembering I'd left it on the kitchen counter, worried he'd think it was real and I was a psycho or something. No, no, no…

"Lose something?"

Astonishment floods me once more, plain on my face; the prop weapon spins in one of his massive hands.

I open my mouth to respond and then close it several times, unable to form words. He must have seen it on the counter and grabbed it, realizing I'd left it, or maybe thinking I'd done it on purpose. And now… now he's working it seamlessly into this little improv.

"Pathetic," he snorts, lip curling above one of his bronze-capped tusks. "Who sent you, the thieves' guild?"

My eyes widen again, and I have to fight back a smile, because now he's world-building?!

"You don't understand," I say, rising slowly to my feet, arms outstretched in a defensive plea, palms up. "If I go back empty-handed…"

I wait for him to be nearly in front of me and then leap over the chest with my best battle-cry, grabbing the warhammer propped up in the back and pretending that it's too heavy for me to lift as I squeal in feigned frustration, tugging and pulling while shuttling both hands up and down the shaft.

"Oh no, oh gods, I can't even lift it up. It's, it's just so… big! My hands hardly fit around it and?—"

Rok laughs as he tosses the dagger out of frame and closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, kicking the chest shut and snatching away the hammer. One of his massive green hands encircles nearly half of my bare waist as he pulls me roughly against him, propping the hammer up on one shoulder with the other; the top of my head barely grazes the strap across his chest.

My breath catches at the feel of his warm, calloused fingers pressing into my skin, thighs squeezing together as I gaze up at him. The bronze caps on his tusks catch the light as he smiles down at me, and I can feel my nipples grow taut beneath my scale bikini top.

This all feels so easy, so… right. Like we've done this a million times before, like Rok is into the silly pageantry side of this just as much as I am, is into all of this just as much as I am, and that just makes me ache for him all the more.

"Tell you what, thief."

He makes a show of dragging his gaze over me as he sets his hammer down behind him.

I squirm in place, making a purposefully poor attempt to cover my chest and ass with my hands, trying to ignore the wetness gathering between my thighs and the length of him pressed against my stomach.

We're both breathing shakily, and I tell myself it's just nerves even though I can feel his cock wriggling against me in his breeches, getting harder by the second, can feel my clit throbbing in time with my pulse.

"I'll give you two choices: walk out now empty-handed, or take what punishment I see fit to give and leave with this entire chest." He fingers the ruby necklace still dangling from my neck. "If it, uh, gets to be too much, just say rubies, and you can leave with these. They suit you better than a noose would, anyhow."

Did he just ask for consent and work a safeword into this? That is so incredibly hot. Also… how did I not work a safeword into this? I know I was pressed for time but clearly I'm not as ready to work with partners as I think.

I say a silent prayer to Solstra, thanking her for any involvement she may have had in throwing me into Rok's path, in this whole bonkers situation.

"So," he says, dropping the necklace and pulling me closer until I'm flush against him, fingers gently roaming my backside, "what'll it be?"

My hands tremble as I slide them over his belly and up his powerful chest, gripping the leather strap. For a feral moment, I wish the camera was off, wish I could nuzzle my face against his warm chest, lose myself in the scent of leather and oil and him; woodsmoke and citrus and something I can't quite describe. I want to tear off my scant clothes and rub myself all over him, all over that scent…

Rok clears his throat, heavy brow furrowed in concern. "Zoya…?"

My heart's pounding wildly in my chest, and I swear I can feel my pupils dilating, all my senses heightening along with them. Zoya reminds me, though, pulls me back to the present, to the scene at hand, the whole reason we're doing this.

A soft, eager smile tugs at the corner of my lips, just for him.

"Punish me."

It takes less than a breath for him to encircle both my wrists with one of his enormous hands, leading me around to the front of my staging area. He stands there for a moment, staring at me, and for a moment I think he's about to bow out.

I feel my heart in my throat, stomach going cold and hot all at once. This was too much to ask, too weird, too intimate.I'm never going to be able to use the elevator again, going to have to move because otherwise I'm going to cringe myself to an early grave...

But then Rok picks me up at the waist, and the next thing I know, I'm staring at the floor, draped across the prop chest with my ass toward the camera.

"Palms on the chest, thief."

The command in his voice… it's such a juxtaposition to the way he'd stumbled and stammered while I'd stood on his doorstep, and that contrast sends a rush of excitement and arousal through me. There's something inside me that wants to obey, needs to obey. Very, very badly. But I'm not me right now, I'm Zoya. And she doesn't play as nicely as I do.

"My name is Zoya, orc. And I said you can punish me, not boss me?—"

Smack.

My words morph into a strangled shriek as a sweet, sharp burn flares across my backside. Heat blossoms between my thighs alongside that burn, slowly, threatening to curl my toes. When he grabs my ass and then spanks it again, lighter this time, the sensation becomes something new; intense pleasure mingled with sharp pain, stoking a desirous fire within my blood as hot and wicked as the one blazing across my skin.

I'm still whimpering when he moves behind the chest to squat down in front of me. The ridges in his brow deepen in concentration as he worries at one of the tusks jutting from his full lower lip, showing a bit of nerves but still looking more determined than I imagined he would when he'd agreed to work with me.

"Three words, thief. Yes, no, and rubies. Understand?"

That word, rubies. It rolled out of his mouth slowly, with purpose.

A sweet ache blooms in my chest as I realize what he's doing, that he wants me to know I can stop this, but the absolute last thing that I want in the world is for any of this to stop.

I think briefly about mouthing off some more, about testing his command, but even Zoya isn't brave enough to try the quiet, confident power flowing from this orc right now. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so I can get what I want.

Good goddess, what have I gotten myself into? And… how can I make sure I'll get into it again and again and again?

I swallow thickly, arching back to look at the camera as I bite my lip in pensive contemplation, and then turn to look back up at Rok.

"Yes."

The word comes out in a petulant hiss, tight and forced, but the delight in my eyes is plain, as is the delight in his.

"Good, thief. Now palms on the chest."

My hands obey immediately, my whole body tight with anticipation and desire and disbelief. He braces his hands on muscular, leather-clad thighs, rising slowly, the tremendous bulge in his breeches along with him, before circling back to the front and out of my sight. To think I had almost called Wolf, had almost missed out on?—

Three quick slaps in a circle on the right cheek, then three more, and three more. Light stings that pale in comparison to that first meaty smack, that lull me into a false sense of comfort before he changes it up, landing two light ones on the back of each thigh and then one, hard and punishing, square over the still-burning flesh of my left cheek, making me cry out, making my eyes water even as he grabs my ass with both hands and my clit throbs in response.

Rok repeats the process, again and again, until I've lost all sense of time, until tears are streaming down my face and my hips are bucking of their own accord, until I'm dreading the sting of impact even as I'm relishing the comfort of his strong hands smoothing over my tender flesh after the worst of it.

"On your feet. Hands behind your head."

I obey, looking back at him as he walks a slow circle around me once more, letting the anticipation build, giving my subscribers a chance to take a good, long look at my ass now that he's lit my cheeks on fire. My legs are shaking, every inch of my body thrumming with adrenaline and need.

This was… not what I was expecting. I thought he'd put me over his knee and I'd have to put on a silly, campy show. This was so, so different from what I'd originally envisioned. What was different about this? And then it hits me, all at once.

It wasn't just that it was someone else spanking me. I've had guys smack my ass during sex before, but this… this was different different. The rubies make it that way. Rok makes it that way. Somehow, I'm both in complete control and at his mercy, all at once. I barely know him but somehow, something inside me knows I'm… safe, flying on a trapeze with a big, strong net ready to catch me if I fall.

The rubies around my neck don't actually weigh a thing, but they hang heavy with a liberating, comforting purpose all the same.

And that's when I realize that I don't just want this for today, for my stream, for Zoya—I want this, him, all of it… for me.

I'm falling again, hard and fast, so fast, too fast…

Rok steps between me and the chest, grabbing my hips as he sits down on top of it. He pulls me down until I'm pressed against his belly, straddling his thigh. The satin gusset beneath the scale of my costume is soaked through, pressing against my clit, and the sudden pressure and friction of it against the firm muscles beneath his leather breeches strangles a moan from my lips. His grip on my hips tightens, nostrils flaring, and that's when I notice that his breathing is nearly as ragged as mine, his gaze dark and smoldering.

Trembling hands snake tentatively up his chest until they're gripping the dark, messy curls at the nape of his neck. And I don't know if it's the lights, the gods, my imagination, the dinner I skipped or what, but my vision is starting to swim and shimmer, and I… I think I'm… glowing?

His thick, calloused fingers spread across my hips and chase away any attempts at coherent thought, making their way around me until they're grabbing handfuls of my ass, grinding me slowly back and forth against his thigh. My lips part, eyes fluttering closed, and I lose myself in the motion, in the feel of his soft belly against the flat expanse of mine as I ride his leg, the feel of his strong, sturdy shoulders that I can barely reach with my fingertips, of the hard length of him pressed to the front of my right thigh, his full lips and hot tongue suddenly devouring my throat, tusks scraping against my skin as I throw my head back and moan.

"Fuck, Orlagh, you're shining like a sunbeam…"

I open my eyes and nearly unravel right then and there, feeling electric and empowered under his dark, reverent gaze, by the soft, golden light reflecting off of him.

Strong hands are at my waist and then I'm setting my own pace, waves of pleasure cresting higher and higher as I pull his mouth to mine and roll my hips, moaning against his tusks until those waves finally break and I shatter, unraveling in his arms and gushing all over his thigh.

His hot breath mingles with mine, our hearts beating in a synchronized frenzy while his hands caress me gently, holding me against him until the lusty haze surrounding us begins to clear.

"The uh, camera turned off a minute ago, before I said your name. I'm sorry, I should have stopped, shouldn't have kept going. I… I don't know what came over me. You were just, well, what I mean to say is that I thought that was… thought you and I might…"

I crush my lips against his again before he can say another word, before the spell is totally broken and I have to hand him a wad of cash and go back to reality. He tenses at first and then melts into me, tusks sliding against my lips as he deepens our kiss, pulling me close.

Rok stands, lifting me with him, and I wrap my legs around his middle, my arms firmly around his neck. He breaks the kiss as he moves us back towards my bed, and then suddenly he goes still, staring off behind me with the strangest look on his face. I turn, wondering if I left some old granny panties out on my bed or something, and see that what's grabbed his attention is something much more embarrassing—the poorly patched wall behind my vanity.

Something unreadable is in his eyes when I turn back around, something cold and hard. He's looking at me like he's never seen me before, and I feel my walls build themselves back up, feeling foolish. No one knew what Wolf was like in his rages except for his pack and my closest friends, and now I'm burning with… shame.

Shame for having stayed with a jerk like that for so long, shame for this orc who's probably heard every fight we had, heard my headboard banging against the wall after each one. My neighbor, my hired help, who I'd just crossed a line with, chasing some misguided lust-fueled fantasy.

"Your ex did that?" His voice is quiet and I nod, unable to speak, sick with embarrassment.

He swallows thickly, hands loosening around me as he sets me down. "He hit you?"

"No, never. He shoved me a couple times but…"

My eyes are welling up with tears; hot and damning.

Why am I even telling him this? What's wrong with me? Kissing him, letting him in, letting my imagination run circles around reality?

Rok is my neighbor.

This was a… a scene, a job, and I should have treated it that way from start to finish.

I grab my robe off the bed without a word and tie the sash tightly around myself as I walk into the living room, dashing away a stray tear. He follows after a beat, emerging from the hall just as I reach the front door and open it. I take a shuddering breath, blinking back tears, and then paste on a friendly smile as I turn to face him.

"Well, thank you again for your help, Rok. That went really well. You made m… my fans really happy."

The money is in my hand as I strain to keep smiling, to stay professional, and he looks suddenly unsure of himself.

After a moment, Rok clears his throat and trudges forward, warhammer slung over his shoulder—each of his heavy footfalls bringing him closer to the door and bringing me closer to a fresh downpour.

He stands in front of me for a moment, looking down at the money, and then reaches out slowly to push my hand away, curling my fingers back over the cash in my hand. I can hardly make out his face through the blur of my barely contained tears, but there's no missing that lopsided, tusky grin, or the embers of desire it sparks within me. The smile is so gentle, so… genuine, that I can feel my own expression soften, feel the breath catching in my throat.

Okay, if he doesn't leave in the next thirty seconds, I'm going to full-on sob on his bare chest, fuck the sense out of him, and then ask him to marry me.

"Glad to help, truly. I, uh, got sugar over there too, if you ever find yourself needin' a cup."

He walks through the threshold, and I only last about fifteen seconds after closing the door before I break down and cry.