Page 50 of The Orc's Protection
He glances at me then, heat and restraint braided together in his expression. “Only if that’s acceptable.”
I squeeze his hand, my pulse quickening. “More than acceptable.”
Chapter Seventeen
Vraag
The drive to my apartment feels both endless and too short. Riona’s hand rests on my thigh, her fingers occasionally tracing patterns that make concentration difficult. I should suggest we wait, follow proper courtship sequences, and maintain the control I’ve practiced my entire warrior life.
But the recognition band on her wrist changes everything. The elders saw her—truly saw her—and found her worthy. That is not courtship approval. It is something quieter and more significant, the community opening a door. Whether we walk through it together is still ours to choose. But we are no longer choosing in secret, or in defiance of something larger than ourselves.
And I want her with a desperation that threatens to consume me.
The elevator ride to my floor tests every ounce of warrior discipline I possess. Riona steps in close, her hands sliding under my jacket, her face pressed against my chest. She glances up at the security camera mounted in the corner. Then back at me. Then she presses her lips deliberately against my chest.
“I don’t care who sees,” she murmurs against me. “Let them watch.”
My hands grip her hips, holding her steady even as my control fractures. “Riona—”
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she continues, tilting her head to look up at me—and the angle of it, the deliberate exposure of her throat, does more damage than anything she could have done on tiptoe. “Watching you at the cultural center, seeing how the other orcs looked at me, knowing they could all tell I was yours.”
A possessive growl rumbles through my chest before I can stop it. “They could smell my claim on you. Know what it meant that I’d brought you to our hearth myself. They knew.”
“Good.” She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her own dark with desire. “I want everyone to know.”
The elevator doors open and I all but carry her down the hall to my apartment, my civilized veneer crumbling with each brush of her body against mine. The moment my door closes behind us, she’s in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as I press her against the wall.
“Finally,” she gasps between kisses. “No more enforced distance. No more restraint.”
“Some restraint,” I manage, even as my hands roam her curves with barely controlled hunger. “We’re not going all the way tonight.”
She makes a sound of frustration. “Vraag—”
“I know you know why,” I say quietly.
She stills. “Yes,” she says. “I know.” Something in her expression shifts—not disappointment, but recognition. She trusts me to know what we’re building.
Her expression softens, though the heat in her eyes doesn’t dim. “Then what are we doing tonight?”
A slow smile curves my lips as I carry her to the couch, settling her on the cushions before kneeling between her legs. “Tonight, I’m going to show you exactly what being mine means. I’m going to make you come so many times you forget your own name. I’m going to claim your pleasure so thoroughly that you’ll feel it for days.”
Her breath catches, pupils dilating. “Yes.”
I run my hands up her thighs, pushing her dress higher with deliberate slowness. “And you’re going to let me. You’re going to open for me, trust me, give me every sound and response. Understood?”
“Yes,” she whispers, already trembling under my touch.
The dress comes off first, pulled over her head and discarded without ceremony. Her simple cotton bra and underwear follow, leaving her bare before me. I take a moment just to look—to memorize the sight of her flushed skin, her quickened breathing, and the way she watches me with equal parts anticipation and trust.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, my hands spanning her waist. My green skin contrasts sharply against her paler tone, my fingers nearly meeting at her spine. “So perfectly made for me.”
I lower my mouth to her breast, my tusks framing the soft flesh as I lavish attention on one sensitive peak. She arches into me with a cry, her hands fisting in my hair. The scent of her arousal intensifies, making my cock throb almost painfully against my jeans.
Not tonight. Tonight is about her.
I work my way down her body with deliberate thoroughness—kissing, licking, occasionally letting my tusks graze her skin in ways that make her gasp. By the time I settle between her thighs, she’s trembling and incoherent, small pleading sounds escaping her lips.
“Please,” she manages. “Vraag, please—”
