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Chapter 23
Wodred
My cock hardens under my warkilt, my eyes arrested by the bewitching trolless before me. She is a siren, alluring and untouchable. She is teasing me, tempting me, and I love it. This is still unbelievable to me, that after all these years, Melelea is returning my interest. She has not spoken words of love or devotion yet, but I don’t care. This is more than I have ever expected.
I make no response but my continued thrum, the words dried out in my throat. Melelea merely smiles and takes a step into the hot spring. She gasps in a way that tells me that the water is warm and pleasant, and I harden further, that sound of pleasure doing things to my thoughts. I can only think of taking her again, of feeling her beneath me, the tight clasp of her heat. The softness of her body, her hands upon me. But I will not risk such things now. Not only do I not want to kiss in case of contamination, but I also need to be at the ready. I do not trust this village of golems. Any moment, they could turn on us, and I must be ready.
But I am not strong enough to tell Melelea to stop. I watch her like a starving orc watches a feast. She climbs into the waist-high water and then turns back to look at me. My eyes greedily devour her form under the gentle purple light of the star lichen. She has the body of a mature female, with curves and dips and lusciousness. The perfect place to put my hands and feel her softness with my strength. Her breasts hang heavy and tempting, topped with greedy dark silver nipples puckered in the air. Then my eyes travel up and snag on the circular scar on her shoulder, the place where she cut off Guruk’s Mating Bite. Helpless rage fills me as I think of how scared and in pain she must have been as she desperately cut into her own flesh to rid herself of the bond.
My eyes must linger a little too long on the scar, because Melelea notices, her hand flying up to cover the mark.
“I thought you wouldn’t be able to see it,” she says, embarrassment in her voice.
Embarrassed? Of the evidence of her strength and resilience? That will never do.
“All of you is beautiful, love,” I say, finding my words again, even as it is still thick with my thrum. “Scars are a warrior’s honor. The evidence of battles won and survived.”
“I am no warrior,” Melelea says hesitantly.
I shake my head. “You are more of a warrior than any orc I have ever met. You fought and lived and survived. I see that scar and see resourcefulness and feel nothing but gratitude that you are alive. And you are beautiful. Every span of you. Never doubt that.”
The trolless stares at me, her eyes hooded in the low light. I can’t see what she is thinking, but I can smell her insecurity in her scent, even over the sulphur of the spring. But then her hand drops and she stands proudly in front of me, showing me all of her body, and I growl in approval, my thrum increasing.
“Brave female,” I purr.
A smile grows on her face, pride replacing insecurity, and I have a startling realization. She needs words, this trolless. She needs praise and softness, where she has only known harshness and brutality. Though Guruk is long dead at this point, he must haunt her, and the way that I can chase away his ghost is through my words.
“Can you show me how beautiful you are when you come, love?” I say. “I could not see you last night. Show me how brave and beautiful you really are.”
Melelea’s eyes widen at my words. “You want me to . . . here?”
“More than anything,” I growl.
The trolless considers my words, looking at me. Her eyes dip down to where my cock is visibly pushing up the cloth of my warkilt. That seems to embolden her, the evidence of my desire. With a shy smile, she walks backwards, until she is at the edge of the pool, then sits on the stone ledge, her long legs still in the water. Then, deliberately, she opens her thighs.
My sibilance explodes, my thrum as strong as it can be, my cock straining upward. Melelea shivers as the pleasure of the sound washes over her, goosepimples erupting on her skin.
“You like that?” she asks coquettishly. “You want to see more?”
“What I want is to have my head between your lovely thighs, licking your pretty pussy until you come all over my face, love,” I growl at her, sounding almost feral. “But if I cannot do that, what I want is to see you pet yourself. Give yourself pleasure, love.”
Melelea shivers again at my words, and her smile grows. That smile does things to me, so sweet and shyly pleased. I want to feel that smile under my lips and curse myself for eating those mushrooms earlier.
But the trolless doesn’t mark my frustration. She only goes to do as I bid her, her delicate fingers stroking down her body to find the juncture of her thighs. But just as she is about to touch her pussy, which I can see is wet in the low light, her hands instead move upwards, coming up to cup her breasts.
I growl in thwarted desire, but Melelea just laughs, a throaty, musical sound. She thinks to tease me. But I am undeterred. Whatever pleases her pleases me.
“Pinch those pretty nipples, love,” I command, my voice almost garbled with the force of my sibilance. “Make them stand up and greet me like they would if I had my mouth on them.”
“I wish your mouth was on them,” she tells me, and moves to do what I ordered. She pinches her impertinent nipples. They are large, like little berries, begging to be sucked and pinched and played with.
“Harder,” I rasp. “Roll them between your fingers.”
Melelea does as I tell her, gasping and moaning, her lovely eyes closing as she feels the sensations of her own fingers. The sharp lemon ginger scent of her arousal cuts through the air, the heady perfume drowning out all other scents, making me hard as fucking stone. But I only want more.
“Imagine I am the one touching you,” I purr out. “Imagine my hands on your body, giving your pretty nipples all the attention they deserve. Imagine my lips and tongue on them. My teeth and tusks nipping at them, just hard enough that you feel it in your clit.”
The trolless’ breath hitches with my words, and then she whimpers, the sound so sweet.
