“Look at me.”
Her eyes snapped open at the order to find him looming over her. His eyes glittered with a feral light, lust and darkness fighting for dominance. His leather and mail were gone, presumably the same way as her clothing.
She caught her breath at his male beauty. Broad, muscled shoulders were covered in satin skin that showed the marks of a warrior’s life. One scar looped almost decoratively around a pierced nipple and disappeared down onto his stomach. She bit back a whimper, the need to follow that silvery trail with her lips and tongue almost overwhelming.
Strong fingers captured her chin and forced her to meet his green-gold gaze. “You’re mine, little faery, now sleep. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Karak scowled as he stomped through the forest toward the orc camp with his pack over his shoulder and his little captive in tow. Her wrist manacled by his fingers, she hadn’t tried to get away. Not this morning or on the march here. Nor did the cursed trees around them try any of their usual tricks, keeping their blasted branches to themselves for once. Not that they bothered him. The frustration coiled within him fed his power, stoking it to fever pitch—more than enough to flambé a few wayward dryad-infested trees.
He didn’t even want to think about what had happened this morning. He’d had plenty of women in his time. Until he’d gotten bigger and uglier, his reputation nastier, plenty of camp followers or hangers-on had been looking for a powerful protector. They’d flocked to his bed happily, always wanting more thanks to his legendary stamina.
He’d never woken up with any of them, though, not ever. As soon as they were done, he sent them packing so he could sleep. War was a tough business and an orc needed his rest without worrying about some bedwarmer stealing his furs and leaving him with a cold ass half the night. Not to mention he didn’t do “the morning after.”
Sex was sex. He’d never once been bothered about a woman after they’d had a roll in the furs. Hells, half the time he didn’t bother to find out their names. Names were dangerous. Find out a woman’s name and she expected cuddles in the morning and first pick of the morning’s kill for breakfast.
He’d never woken with his big warrior’s frame wrapped protectively around them. Until this morning. And he hadn’t even fucked her. Not yet. Not properly. But he’d tasted her pleasure, the memory of her honey making his cock harden in his loin-cloth.
He’d woken with his little faery fast asleep nestled against his chest, her long red hair spilling over his bare arm in a silken blanket. Her legs had been twined with his, and her hand had been resting over the center of his chest, as though the feeling of his heart beating comforted her.
Then she’d opened her eyes and he’d been lost. For a moment, between sleep and true wakefulness, she’d looked at him and smiled. The sleepy trust in her gaze had rocked him to the core, said things about moonlight and romance, long walks into the sunset. All the kinds of things he should run a furlong from. Shoving her from him, he’d gotten up to get dressed.
Even now, hours later, that sleepy look of trust still had him on edge. She shouldn’t trust him. She was his prisoner. He owned her, body and soul. Owned. He could do with her as he pleased. And he wanted to do a lot with her and to her.
Like tumble her to his bed furs and fuck her until she was hoarse from screaming his name and they were both exhausted. Pin her down and pleasure her until she couldn’t take anymore and begged him to fuck her. Begged him to spread her pretty thighs and own her completely. He could even see the look on her face as she begged, needy and accepting…wanting him.
Loving him.
Fuck. He sped up, dragging her behind him. She stumbled, but his grip on her arm kept her on her feet. He needed to get control. She was his prisoner. A faery. No way would she ever look at him that way. Ever. Faeries hated anything orcish with a passion.
The feeling of magic increased as they neared the main camp, and the noise of morning training reached his ears. He sighed. Nothing like a good bloodcurdling scream to set up for the day ahead. As if on cue, a sentry stepped out in front of them.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“The queen of the fucking faeries. Now get the hell out of my way,” Karak growled, not stopping or slowing. The sentry’s eyes widened and he did his best impression of a fleeing rat, disappearing into the undergrowth he’d appeared from. Claw snarled after him, causing another squeak and rustle of undergrowth.
“You fucking bully,” a female voice berated. “There was no need to be like that. He was just doing his job.”
“Gods, give me strength.”
Karak stopped suddenly, causing her to run into his back. He didn’t move, absorbing the hit easily. After all the turmoil that had been churning through his head this morning, she just had to pick fault. Didn’t she?
Moving quicker than a striking snake, he turned and grabbed her by the collar of her jacket. She gasped, eyes wide and dark as he backed her up against the nearest thick tree trunk.
“Don’t ever question me,” he snarled, pressing against her. The friction and pressure against his rigid cock almost undid him. He’d been hard all morning, unable to get peace from his ever-present arousal. Anger flared. How had she gained such control over him? When? And how fucking dare she?
Anger replaced the fear in her eyes and she struggled against his hold.
“Fuck you.”
Something clicked inside. Anger fled, only to be replaced by something darker and inherently more dangerous.
“Oh, you will be.”
He rolled his hips against hers, making her aware of just how hard and ready he was and smiling as her beautiful eyes widened further. Lust raged through him, replacing common sense. He didn’t care how close to camp they were or that anyone could wander by at any moment.
Growling, he brought his lips down on hers. It was a harsh kiss, but he wasn’t in the mood for soft and sweet. Instead, he was dominating and swept his tongue across the seam of her lips to demand access. She shivered, giving in to him without a fight. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, plundering and taking what he wanted as she shuddered against him.
He dispensed with his pack with a shrug of his shoulder, ignoring the heavy thud as he shoved a hand between them. Without preamble, he yanked her skirt up over her hips so she was exposed to him. She whimpered, a soft sound, which was lost under his lips as he kissed her like his life depended on it.
With an unsteady hand, he freed his cock. Thick as a quarter-staff bar, he ached with the need to be inside her. With her clinging to his shoulders, he kicked her legs farther apart. Dipping his knees, he ran the swollen head of his cock over her lower lips and groaned.
She was slick and wet, ready for him. All sense fled as instinct spurred him on. The need to possess her, claim her, roared through his veins. Hand braced against the trunk, he ground against her, the hard ridge of his cock slip-sliding against her slick pussy lips.
She gasped as his broad head rubbed against the hard button of her clit, her eyes wide. Shocked. Aroused.
Triumph filled him. He’d done that, put that sexy look on her face. Pulling back, he ground against her over and over. The feel of her heat against his cock nearly sent him over the edge there and then. Grimly, he fought the climax back. She was his and he was going to push her higher and higher until she admitted it.