9. Orlagh

NINE

This is crazy but...I think I'm falling in love with the orc next door.

I might already be in love with him, as utterly deranged as that is to admit to myself, but I can't deny it. There's something between Rok and me that's different, something pulling me towards him that's beyond the attraction, beyond the flirting, beyond the crazy circumstances pushing us together. It's like we have this weird, unspoken, tangibly cosmic understanding of each other that I'd never imagined I'd be able to find in a partner, at least not so easily, so quickly. And though I have a proven track record of fucking and falling head over heels for the wrong kind of guy… I'm pretty sure this may be the one instance where there's actually someone amazing waiting to catch me when I do fall.

Rok's rough hand slides up my sternum, beneath the hem of my shirt, and my breath catches. The heat of him is intoxicating, magnetic, taking me back to beach bonfires as my back arches toward him, to star dusted nights too hot for clothes and sticky lips covered in blood oranges and sugar. I sigh as he rolls his fingers slowly over my nipples, splaying my fingers out on the cool tiles as he splays his enormous hand across my breasts. The faint sound of a car alarm goes off in the distance, but it soon fades into nothing. All I can focus on is the deep, resonating hum of appreciation reverberating through this orc's big barrel-chest as he holds me in place, on the memory of the positively feral look that was in his eyes before he captured my wrists and spun me around and seized control.

Shallow, rapid breaths are all I can manage as he yanks my leggings down with his free hand, stopping mid-thigh and pressing the oversized bulge in his briefs into the cleft of my backside, lifting my hips until I'm dangling off the edge, forced to lean forward and brace my forearms on the counter.

"Gods, but I love this ass," he growls, palming both of my ample cheeks with his hands while one of his thumbs whispers back and forth over my damp curls, using just enough pressure to begin to part my swollen, aching lips.

I start to writhe, hips seeking him out, desperate for the rough pad of his thumb to slide into my dripping sex, to graze against the slick, swollen bundle of nerves pulsing within; desperate for him.

"Now, now, that won't do," he drawls, leaning down over me to whisper against my ear. "You still gonna be a good girl for me?"

"Yes," I moan, stilling my hips with tremendous effort, giving myself over to him, the weight of him pressed against my back a promise, a threat, a comfort. My muscles are taut, almost painfully so, and I'm actually shaking as I fight against every instinct in my needy body.

One of his hands slides between me and the counter, gliding between my breasts and up my neck, his forearm now bearing my weight as he loosely brackets my throat, restraining me without causing me any pain. It's crazy, this is all so crazy, but… I've never felt so vulnerable and so safe as I do here, in his arms.

"That's right, sweet thing. I know you will."

His thumb presses into my wetness at long last then, hovering over my swollen clit, unmoving, unyielding, as he sucks air sharply through his tusks.

"Godsdamn, sunshine. You want me to fuck this perfect little cunt real bad, don't you?"

A garbled noise escapes my throat as that deep baritone rumbles against my neck, his other fingers sliding over my ass to curl into my cunt, inching further and further into my tight channel, torturously slow.

"Yes, Rok, plea?—"

Smack.

My teeth clatter together, the rapid-fire removal of his fingers and unexpected impact of his hand jolting me forward against his arm, the pressure around my neck increasing for a moment. I bite back a shriek as the blood rushes to my backside, and then a moan at the thought of the gigantic handprint that must be blazing across it now, at finally getting an opportunity to indulge my desires as myself and not Zoya.

"Three words, sunshine. What are they?"

I'm breathing hard, my nipples are hard, and staying still with his thick cock inches from my desperate cunt is quite possibly harder than anything I've ever done, ever.

"Yes."

Smack.

The other cheek now.

"No."

Smack.

Right across the top of my thighs, grazing my slick folds and sending my cunt into a fit of desperate, seeking flutters.

"Rubies."

Smack.

And then in that first spot, exactly the same spot. The fire is almost too much, almost enough to make me say it for real as I swallow a sob. But then his fingers are there, trailing lightly over the hot, red flesh of my ass, the smooth coolness of his tusk against my jawbone, his full lips brushing along the shell of my ear.

"Good girl."

My face and breasts press against the tile countertop as he lays me back down—gently, so gently. Both of his hands massage my burning cheeks with sensual, slow movements as he kneels behind me. My wet lips part and then join back together, over and over again, the barest amount of friction, and I'm clinging to it like a drowning elf on a raft. He tugs my leggings down to my ankles, tearing them off in frustration before gripping me around the waist with both hands and lifting, higher and higher, until my cunt is level with his face and my hands are braced against the cool tiles on either side of my head. My legs dangle above the ground, thighs braced against his forearms, his grip a vice. I can feel his hot, heavy breath pounding against my cunt as he gets closer, closer, and when Rok's thick tongue finally glides against my swollen clit, an utterly alien sound escapes my throat.

Languorous, luxuriating licks slowly transform into wet, sloppy circles that leave me panting and sobbing in relief, so close, hovering on the brink of release, desperate for more. I try to increase the friction, to twist my hips and arch back into him so I can push myself over the edge into that blissful abyss, but he's in complete control, holding my hips steady as he eats his fill, completely in tune with my body and seemingly insatiable. And honestly, I fucking love it. I love the feel of his tusks caging in my cunt, love the feel of his hot, calloused hands on my body, love... all of it. Love…

My fingers scramble for purchase on the smooth tile, gripping the edge as his fat tongue slides inside me, his lower lip gliding over my clit while he moans and pumps and swirls, an almost embarrassingly obscene squelching and slurping echoing around us in the empty apartment alongside my choppy, high-pitched keening until I'm suddenly there, vibrating in his iron grip, gushing into his mouth, coming harder than I ever have before.

I'm boneless when he strips off my shirt and lays me back down on the counter—no thoughts, head empty—before releasing me, slipping out of his briefs. The heat and weight of him envelop me as he leans over, pressing kisses into my back, slipping his hands underneath me to gently squeeze and palm my breasts before running them up and down the sides of my thighs, over my hips, and then across my drenched, swollen lips. He sucks in a sharp breath, dipping his fingers inside me.

"My oh my... you're ready to be fucked, aren't you, Orlagh?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to watch?"

"Yes."

He lifts and flips me in one swift, steady movement, my bare ass resting on the edge of the tile countertop.

I'm mesmerized by the sight of those thick veins snaking up his massive green cock as he slides between my thighs, pulling back his foreskin and pressing into my dripping slit until his rosy cockhead disappears within. The pressure of that girth, those veins wriggling inside me, that foreskin dragging against my walls is… delicious, torturous. I know my face is contorted in pleasure, shock, anticipation, know my body is ready, willing able, and I need, want…

"Say it," he rumbles, pupils so big that those blue eyes are nearly solid black. I fight to keep my own eyes from fluttering closed as he slides one hand up the nape of my neck, into my hair, and braces the other on the counter beside us, still gliding in slowly, so slowly, as a choked growl catches in his throat. "Fuck the game, the words. Tell me what you need, what you want, sunshine, because I'll always fucking give it to you."

"More," I whimper, gripping his bicep, nails digging into the evergreen velvet of his skin. "Rok, please, more."

His growl fills the room as he plunges forward, stretching me, filling me with one solid thrust until he's nearly hilted and bumping into that spot beside my cervix that liquefies my insides. I say a silent prayer for my IUD, because I can feel the cum literally coating my inner walls, easing his passage, increasing my pleasure, feel it continue to pulse and pearl anew with every thrust until there's no resistance, nothing but the wet, slapping sounds of our flesh joining and parting and joining and parting, my body accommodating him as if it were its sole purpose to do so.

Rok hooks his arms beneath my knees and grips my shoulders, lifting me off the counter as if I weighed nothing, holding me at an impossible angle as he ruts into me, over and over, hips snapping with an alarming alacrity, his belly rubbing against my clit again and again.

I scream his name as I come undone once more, feeling like I'm flying as my back arches and his hands move to pull me to his chest, his muscles clenching as he roars in his release, knees buckling. He lands hard on his ass, still buried inside me, and I cry out when his spurting cock slams into my cervix, another orgasm shuddering through me despite the pain, shallower but still just as sweet, the primal noises in my throat now garbled and guttural. My cunt flutters around him as he groans and bellows, filling me with his release, rope after rope of pulsing liquid pumping into me until it's getting to be too much, too uncomfortable.

"Rok, I think I need?—"

"Oh gods, I'm so sorry. Here?—"

He lifts me off of his cock and an absolutely indecent amount of cum floods out of me, spilling all over his sated cock and hips and on the carpet beneath us. The sight of it makes my nipples hard, my pussy throb, and I'm not sure why; I've never been for or against cum, honestly, but somehow Rok's pouring out of me is one of the hottest things I've ever seen. Rok is just as entranced as I am, his face contorting in pleasure as the last of his seed spurts from his cock, splashing up against my messy cunt.

Our eyes meet, and I shouldn't be surprised by the swirling emotions within them, but I am. He pulls my face to his, claiming me with a kiss. "Now, I warned you, remember?"

My heart is hammering in my chest, the scent of him stronger than it's ever been, and when I speak, my voice is barely louder than a breath. "I remember."

"Good. Cause I ain't got long before those three little words are just gonna spill right out, sunshine."

My arms snake around his neck as he leans in, his tusks brushing my lips and melting into a languid, lovely kiss that leaves me dizzy. He lies back and I settle myself on his chest, laying my whole body over his, slick with sweat and sex.

"You know," I bring a hand up to Rok's chest, playing with the coarse smattering of hair there as I rest my cheek against him. "There's this very logical little voice in my head telling me all sorts of valid things."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. Things like… it's too soon for you to even be thinking about love, like I don't even know when your nameday is, like oxytocin gets released after orgasm with every species, and doubly so with elves thanks to our accommodating anatomy, but… there's another voice, too. And I don't know if it's logical, but it's loud."

"Louder than that damn car alarm?"

"Oh yeah. Loud and certain and… familiar, even though I've never heard it before." I rest my chin on his chest, looking into those cerulean eyes that somehow feel more like home than anywhere else now. "This—us—is different, isn't it?"

"It is for me, sunshine."

"Mmm…" My lips trek a tender trail across his chest as I scoot myself lower, relishing the feel of his cock hardening once more as my thigh grazes it. "I love when you call me that."

"Good, cause I don't think I could stop calling you that if I wanted to. Especially now that I've seen you come, this skin…" A hand trails up my thigh, grabbing a handful of my ass. "You're always shining, but the way you glow and shimmer as you shiver and gush all over me is… something else."

I pause mid-kiss, looking up at him in question. "You saw that too? I honestly thought I was imagining things."

His brows knit together in confusion as he raises up onto his elbows to look me in the eye. "That ain't normal for you?"

I shake my head slowly. "I thought maybe it was a trick of the light, some kind of lust-induced hallucination or something because you drive me… well, crazy."

"Well, hells," he worries a tusk in contemplation. "Some sun elf thing, then?"

"Maybe. I mean, I guess it has to be, right?"

"You don't have anyone back home you could ask?"

"No, my mom is…" I think about how nice it would be to be able to call and tell her about Rok, to ask her about this. "She's one of those people I wouldn't want to run into. We haven't spoken since I left Fair Isle. She was… well, she made it clear that once I left she wanted nothing to do with me, that as long as I didn't cause any waves or make the family look bad that she'd see I got my inheritance regardless of abandoning my duties. And my sister… well, she's pretty much the same, but with an extra sprinkle of resentment."

"Hmm."

"I'm sure I can find something online about it."

"Well, you can use my rig to look it up-"

"A great idea, definitely." I shimmy down his body, straddling his hips, resting my hands on his soft stomach. "But let's just check again to make sure it wasn't a seven or eight time thing. Nine? I've lost count."

It wasn't quite as frenzied of a fuck as our countertop interlude had been, but it was wild and hard and I definitely, definitely glowed before collapsing on his chest in a cum-soaked stupor. Again.

I dozed off shortly after that, lulled into a deep, sated sleep by the steady beat of Rok's heart, the warmth of his skin all around me, and the gentle rising and falling of his expansive chest beneath me, only stirring to momentary wakefulness as he rises to his feet, cradling me in his arms. My eyes flutter closed as he drapes his giant t-shirt over me and walks us out the door, over to his apartment. Part of me is awake and aware enough to realize that he must be naked still, but I'm too sticky and sore and seriously exhausted to do anything other than smile against his solid chest, nestle into his warmth. He holds me in the shower, the warm water and the gentleness of his calloused hands soothing and surreal. Sleep takes me fully once more after he lays me down atop the fluffy pillows in his enormous bed and snuggles in beside me.

The unmistakable glowof late morning sunlight flits through the shutters when my eyes finally flutter open, lashes tickling my cheeks. For a moment I'm completely discombobulated, frozen in some sort of mystical liminality, because I'm almost always up with the dawn, either watching the sun rise on my way to work or sitting on my balcony with a cup of coffee, trying and typically succeeding to entice Rok's cat to hop over to my balcony and sit on my lap; I still need to ask what his name is. How have we not talked about his cat?

Reality shifts slowly into place as I hug my arms around myself, and it's even more magical than that dreamy limbo I woke up in—I'm alone in Rok's bed, surrounded by soft pillows and nestled into sheets so soft they might as well be silken, more comfortable than I ever thought possible. Not just because his bed is ridiculously huge and soft and cozy. And not just because it smells like him, either, though that helps; sandalwood and woodsmoke, citrus and sunlight and something so incontestably sweet that it takes my breath away.

This bed feels like… home. Like, it's mine, like I belong here. I know it's utterly insane, but that sensation of home is so certain, so inevitable, living in my mind in the same space of the tides, the dark, the dawn; it just is.

I unfurl and stretch like a cat, reveling in every single one of the delicious aches awakening in me, a reminder of the positively perfect end to a really shitty turn of events and the best third date I've ever been on in all of my almost seventy years. But I hate that I'm even having to think of everything from yesterday, of Wolf and all of the havoc he's continuing to wreak on my life, or at least ordering his little lap dogs to wreak in his stead. I'd had my purse stolen once, and that feeling of violation absolutely paled in comparison to what opening my apartment door and seeing my life in shambles had felt like.

Nothing to do about it now, though; later. Later, later, later. Later I can call the insurance company, later I can file the paperwork, later I can jump through the hoops. Later. Now… now is for me, for Rok, for… us.

I make my way into his bathroom to clean up and smile at the mirror, my lipsticked message still exactly where I'd left it. The jets in his enormous, incredible shower do wonders for all the delicious aches clamoring for attention from me, none so delicious as the one between my thighs. Toweling my hair dry and throwing on my robe, I make my way to the kitchen, drawn in by the siren song of a positively delectable amalgamation of scents.

"Sun above…"

My eyes widen in surprise when I step in to see a full breakfast laid out for me on some high-end alchemical warming plates, like a full breakfast, complete with what tastes like freshly squeezed blood orange juice, so bright and lovely that my wide eyes flutter closed in near ecstasy. And there, sitting on the kitchen counter beside this royal spread, is Rok's laptop, already unlocked and opened to a blank webpage. A post-it is stuck to the trackpad, inviting me to research the sun elf thing—the one that I definitely need to figure out—while he runs out for coffee, which totally tracks since he needed three literal cups of sugar in that latte I made him yesterday, the one that he still kind of treated like sugar-coated kryptonite during our entire first date.

I pull the note gingerly off of his laptop, pinching it reverently between my fingers, and sink back into the giant chair at his kitchen table to admire it. This bright orange square of paper with the strong, confident scrawl of the orc I'm head over heels for—sunbeams, but that's strange to be so matter-of-fact about, even in my own thoughts—has suddenly become one of the most precious things I own. Literally, since most of my shit got smashed to pieces yesterday. Tears threaten to flood my eyes again as the memories replay themselves, but I shake them away.

"Nope, later thoughts, later thoughts," I mutter, re-affixing the note to the edge of the screen, heart swelling even as a sharp pang flares in my chest. Because as happy as Rok's gesture makes me, the truth is that this is one of those moments where I should be able to just call my mom or my sister, one of those moments where I find myself desperately wishing that I hadn't been made to choose between living my own life and having a relationship with my family. But what could I have done? Gotten a lobotomy so I could stomach settling down with that wet blanket Victornal Waverleigh? Set aside all my interests and desires so I could be a glorified PA for my mom until my sister eventually followed in her footsteps and I could switch to sorting her mail and setting her salon appointments, planning charity functions that are anything but actually charitable?

Ugh.

Nothing to be done about it now, though. I settle back into the big chair, crossing my legs and tucking into my breakfast with the kind of fervor that can only be unleashed in complete solitude, periodically stopping to search and scroll through various webpages about sun elves as I eat.

The material I can find is thorough but boring, so boring it makes my eyes swim; lots of little generic details about our history and culture, at least the parts of it that aren't hoarded in our private academies and are well-known enough amongst other species. Things like recipe dupes for the sun-ripened salt figs famously exported by the aforementioned Waverleighs, cocktail recipes featuring our highly coveted blood orange liqueur, weaving patterns made to mimic the sacred sunshades we craft to honor Solstra during Spring equinox, and a few different translations of a well-known folktale, Yervall and the Stones, a thinly-veiled attempt to discourage little elf girls from following their hearts and chasing their dreams. Plenty of statistics surrounding the rest of Fair Isle's key exports, our dwindling population, and infamously nude solstice rituals… but absolutely nothing about mind-blowing orgasms so intense that they make you glow.

Still eating, I slow my chewing and sigh because at this point… I know what I need to do. There's nothing for it, really. I'm not going to find what I'm looking for in the beyond dry, barely there web archives of the Encyclopedia Elftannica—I'm going to have to use Rok's computer to look at porn. Either that, or maybe… Maybe it's time, maybe I could…

No.

No.

It's been six years. Not long for an elf in good spirits, sure, but too long for an estranged daughter and sister to go without reaching out at all, so… porn it is.

I take a deep breath, opening up a private browser tab and searching on the major sites. And while there is the odd sun elf here and there, they're all males, and all paired with moon elves. I wish it were surprising, but the backwards ideals I grew up with surrounding chastity and propriety—backwards ideals that are super specific to female sun elves, of course—as well as the downright speciest attitude held by so many in Fair Isle had me worried this would be the case.

Amateur forums are equally barren and only confirm my worries. I do find some still images of females, as well as some sexy, fun artwork way better than anything I could dream of drawing that makes me really, really want to have something commissioned for Zoya's socials, but nothing anywhere near what I need, nothing close to what I was hoping for.

My eyes keep darting to my phone, and after picking it up and putting it down several times, nails nervously tapping against Rok's polished table, I scroll through my contacts and make the call before I can stop myself.

It only rings twice before my sister picks up.

"Taliagh?" My voice is barely above a whisper, throat tight with nerves.

She releases a long, slow breath through her nostrils, and I can practically see her sitting before me, pinching the bridge of her nose carefully between two fingers, the perfectly polished tips matching whichever perfectly pressed dress suit she slipped into at the crack of dawn that morning before bringing our mother her tea.

More silence from her side, though. Silence and the sound of her breath—somehow already sounding like it's haughtily judging me—as well as some indiscernible noise in the background; she must be cupping her hand over the phone.

"Tal… listen, I know we?—"

"How much?"

The sharpness in her toneless, hushed voice is like a slap across my face even as I'm flooded with memories of home, of sunrises and sunsets, of her. My big sister. Of staring up at the reflection of her perfect, beautiful face in the mirror while she braided my hair for solstice, of spending every social event stuck to her side, scheming and smirking around at the sycophants our parents attracted and collected in droves. Her voice is at once so familiar and so foreign that the contrast makes tears well in my eyes, makes my heart feel like it's about to explode in my chest.

I'm so overcome that it takes me a second to register what she's just said, and once I do, all I can seem to muster is a single word, in that same tight whisper.

"W-what?"

"Well, Orlagh, it's been six years of silence. I can only assume you're finally so destitute that you're calling your mindless drone of a sister, wanting me to slip my doggedly obedient hands into our mother's pockets for you."

I squeeze my eyes shut, cringing at the memory of the last time we spoke, of the fight that broke out between her, my mother, and I on my last day in Fair Isle. I'm not proud of having been so cutting and cruel, but I also don't regret it; I was never going to go quietly into that gilded cage, never going to marry someone I didn't love, never going to be groomed into the lifelong assistant to the pillar of a community full of closed minded assholes like my mother and sister wanted me to be so they could pursue their own agendas.

My neck is growing hot, pulse quickening, old edges that I thought had been long-smoothed, suddenly resharpening, slicing, piercing my composure.

"Yeah, six years, Tal. And that's how you start things off?"

I can hear her shuffling through papers as she moves her hand, hear the soft tinkling of piano keys and muffled chatter and laughter.

"Orlagh, I don't have time to soothe your conscience by allowing you to weave whatever wondrous tales you're trying to weave here. I'm in the middle of supervising mother's reelection luncheon. This may come as a shock to you, but some of us have responsibilities."

"I have plenty of responsi?—"

"What I meant to say is," her voice raises over mine and I can hear the thin smile she must be giving someone across the room, "some of us have more than our fair share of responsibilities."

"Sweet Solstra, do you even hear yourself?" I scoff, angry, disgusted, and most of all… hurt. "I knew this was a bad idea, and I can assure you that I didn't want to call you, I just have no one else, just thought if anyone would know why I was glowing it would be Fair Isle's beloved, perfect, never-done-a-fucking-thing-wrong pseudo-historian, thought that?—"

"Glowing?"

Her tone shifts, and I can practically hear the wheels in that gigantic brain of hers turning—she knows something.

"Yes. During. Or, um, after…"

"Sex?" Her voice is low and hushed, the background noise gone—she must be cupping the phone again.

"YES! So it is a thing?"

Tal is silent a long moment, so long I actually pull the phone away from my face to check and see if the call disconnected.

"With another elf?"

"No," I press the phone to my shoulder, feeling my hackles raise as I cross my arms over my chest. "And why does that even matter?"

"A human?"

"Orc."

"Sun above, an orc…"

Another long silence, one I'm too impatient to wait for her to break because she knows. And now I need to know.

"Why is it happening? Tal, please, I just-"

"All these years…"

"I know but?—"

"Not you, Orlagh," she hisses. "This might be difficult for you to comprehend, but everything isn't always about you. I'm talking about hundreds of years of—" Her voice shifts, that tight smile audible again. "Absolutely Lorealle, just set it down there and I'll handle the rest. Mm-hmm, see you inside!"

And then, just as easily as I'd heard the smile appear, I could hear it melt away, see it sliding off her face to make way for that same cold, hardened gaze she'd fixed me with on the day I left.

"You know what?I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain the lesser known and long unheard of facets of Solstrian culture to an outsider, especially one who's taken on that role by choice. Goodbye, Orlagh."

I'm not sure how long I sat there after she hung up, but at some point I'd finished crying, content to continue staring down at my phone in silence, only brought back to the present by the lock clicking and Rok walking in with… an espresso machine, and a nice one at that.

I laugh mirthlessly, wiping at my tear-stained cheeks. "Rok, you hate coffee."

"Can't stand it. Guess you'll have to stay awhile, put this to use." He does a double take at the porn still up on his laptop as he walks by me to set the machine and grounds on the kitchen counter, pulling up a chair next to me after. "You call your momma?"

"Sister."

"Oh, sunshine," he murmurs, pulling my phone gently from my hands before enveloping them in his. "That must have been hard."

The tears start again, in earnest, and he pulls me into his arms. Rok's touch is… steadying, to say the least. Those muscular green arms of his are pure safety, his breath a sure, sweet song that soothes my shredded pride and leaves me wondering if I'll be the one to utter those three little words first. Because, Solstra help me, but I am absolutely, no doubt about it, falling head-over-heels in love with the orc next door.