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“So good,” I sigh.
He smiles again and says, “Then I’m going to move. Slowly at first, alright?”
Move. Yes. That’s what’s missing. I want that. I nod eagerly and he starts moving his hips, in and out. With every movement, my thrum grows louder and my climax grows nearer.
Marvik chokes out, “Fuck me. You’re vibrating on the inside.”
Am I? Is that another aspect of mysibilance? I ask, “Is that good?”
“So good,” he groans, repeating my earlier words. “So fucking good.” His hips pick up speed and oh, I like that. I can feel my climax approach, like a steady beating drum.
“Harder,” I moan, not really knowing what I’m saying. “Harder!”
“You want it harder, my dirty little huntress? You want me punishing your pussy with my cock? Want me to make you come?”
“Yes!” I cry out, loving his filthy words.
Marvik gets even faster, his rhythm brutal. He’s fucking me like a savage and I love it. My orgasm takes me and I keen out in pleasure. I feel my interior walls squeeze down on his cock and in a trice he pulls out, ejecting his seed all over my stomach in long, white ropes. Then he collapses on me, a welcome weight, our bodies pushing together.
My instinct is to put my arms around him, hold him after our shared intimacy, but in the afterglow of my climax I am thinking more clearly and wariness takes hold. What was this? A slaking of lusts? Or something more?
My Mating Instinct thinks it was something more. I feel it riding me totake, toClaim. My mouth is right by his shoulder. It would be a simple thing to bite down. But I don’t because I don’t know why Marvik did this, or where we stand.
Marvik breathes heavily and then he must realize that my thrumming has stopped. He looks up, long blond strands of hair in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Chapter 14
Marvik
Coming down from the best sex of my life, my wits are scattered to the wind. It takes me a moment to realize the female beneath me has gone stiff and the sound she’s been making, her sibilance as she called it, has stopped.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking up to see Dura’s face is a guarded mask. A far cry from the writhing, sensitive lover I held in my arms just a moment ago.
“Nothing is wrong,” she lies. “I just need to bathe again. We made a mess.”
I can see that, my cum liberally painted on her stomach and ribs. It’s sticking to me as well, where our bodies are touching after I collapsed with my release. I barely pulled out in time, preventing a baby. Our relationship is still too new for such things and, as far I know, Dura doesn’t have a contraceptive charm. But this is not just dismay over needing to bathe in cooled bathwater. This is something else. Wariness and distrust.
Dura pulls apart from me. I sit up to let her leave, and she walks over to the tub without so much as looking at me. She steps into it and crouches down, scooping water over her belly, removing the traces of me from her body. The sight makes me grow irrationally irritated.
“What’s wrong?” I ask again. “What is going on? Did I hurt you? Did you not enjoy it?” That can’t be it. I felt her squeezing like a vise down on my manhood while she came. It almost made me come inside her, despite my best intentions. I was careful and considerate, going slowly and working to prepare her, in light of her virginity. I was as good as I possibly could have been. But what if I’m wrong? What if I did something she didn’t like? My pride doesn’t want toadmit it, but itispossible. I consider myself a practiced lover, but being with her made me wild, forgetting all my technique. And something about her made my words go foul as we were together, a need to tease and shock. Maybe she didn’t like it and would have preferred more finesse.
Dura doesn’t answer any of my questions. Instead, she asks, “Yesterday, you had a plan to get away from me, didn’t you? What was it?”
I go still. She picked up on that? She knew something was coming and didn’t say anything? But of course. At the pond I was too obvious, acted too agreeable. She isn’t stupid; in fact, she is clever and discerning. I should have expected this.
I consider lying, telling her she is wrong. Defend myself. Distract her from her suspicions and lack of trust. It is what my father would want me to do. Which means it is the wrong thing to do. If I lie, it will mean her distrust in me is warranted. And somehow, I think she would be able to tell.
“I was going to wait until you were visible again and then turn you into the orcs. Tell them you were a deserter and then slip away while they arrested you,” I admit, wincing as the words are said aloud. This is definitely not what I wanted to be talking about in the aftermath of our lovemaking.
Lovemaking? Since when do I refer to fucking like that? But it is true that what we just did was more than fucking, deeper in meaning than I am perhaps ready to admit. But I don’t love Dura. Do I? I can’t. Just yesterday, she was my jailer, my enemy. We are still adversarial, as is shown by this conversation. But I think I do . . . care about her. Want her. Respect her. But love her? No. Not yet.Not yet?
Dura stands up from the tub, turning around, her skin wet and clean. She is a vision in the firelight, the glow from the fireplace reflecting off her shining limbs. My unruly cock stirs again, looking at her, but I try to think of something else, something unarousing. Now is not the time.
“So, you were going to betray me,” she says evenly, her face neutral. It is impossible to tell what she is thinking. “Even after I told you what would happen to me if the other orcs found me. Even after we fought together against the wolf.”
“I was desperate,” I argue. “I told you about my sister. And you said they would strip your titles, which you have already lost, and then just banish you, but with a knife. It was the only way I could think of to stop you from stopping me while not hurting you. You would have survived.”
