Page 81 of His Enemy Mate

He circled my clitoris with his thumb, applying gentle pressure that made my hips lift off the ground. His fingers explored me, sliding through my arousal, dipping inside me just enough to make me whimper for more.

“Please,” I breathed, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Vrogul, please.”

“Aye, love. I’ll give ye what ye need.”

He settled between my legs, his weight braced on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush me. I kicked my gown out of the way, needing naught between us, and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

The head of his cock pressed against my entrance, and he looked down at me, his eyes glowing softly in the darkness of the tent.

“I love ye, Rowena. More than my own life.”

“I love you too,” I whispered, reaching up to cup his face.

As he lowered his mouth to claim mine, he pushed forward, sliding into me in one smooth thrust. The sensation of being filled by him, stretched around his ridged cock, never failed to overwhelm me.

And true to orcish nature, the moment he was fully seated inside me, my orgasm crashed over me.

I cried out, my back arching, but he swallowed down my sounds. His tongue slid against mine as my body convulsed beneath him, my inner walls clenching around his cock. He kissed me deeply, reverently, his body still as he let me ride out the waves of pleasure.

But before the climax had fully subsided, while my body was still trembling and sensitive, my inner muscles throbbing, he began to move. He withdrew slowly, each ridge of his cock dragging against my inner walls, then pushed back in with the same deliberate pace. The sensation was exquisite torture, prolonging my orgasm, stretching it out until I couldn’t tell where one peak ended and another began.

“That’s it,dkaar,” he murmured against my lips. “Let me love ye. Let me worship ye.”

We made love softly, quietly. Not because I was concerned about the Battleborn of Islay who might be listening, but because it seemed like an appropriate time to reaffirm our love for one another.

His thrusts were slow, deep, reverent. Each movement was calculated to bring me pleasure, to show me how much he cherished me. His hips rolled against mine, grinding his pelvis against my clitoris with each inward thrust, sending sparks of sensation through my body.

I could feel the pleasure building again—or mayhap it had never truly crested. My body was alight with sensation, every nerve ending singing. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, my legs tightening around his waist.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, his forehead pressed to mine. “So beautiful when ye come for me. I could watch ye like this forever.”

His pace increased slightly, his control beginning to slip. I could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of holding back. His cock throbbed inside me, and I knew he was close.

“Come with me,” I whispered, my hands sliding down to grip his arse, pulling him deeper. “Please, Vrogul. I want to feel you.”

That was all it took. His rhythm faltered, becoming more urgent, more desperate. He thrust into me once, twice more, and then I felt him swell inside me, felt the hot rush of his seed filling me as he came with a quiet grunt against my neck.

The sensation pushed me over the edge again, and I peaked with him, my body clenching around his cock, milking him, taking everything he had to give. We stayed locked together, both of us trembling, our breath mingling in the small space between our faces.

He didn’t withdraw. Instead, he carefully shifted his weight to the side, keeping us joined as he settled more comfortably against me. My legs remained wrapped around him, my arms holding him close.

We drifted like that, suspended between waking and sleep. His cock softened inside me gradually, but neither of us moved to separate. His hand stroked lazy patterns on my hip, my side, my arm. I traced the line of his jaw, his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath my fingertips.

Time became meaningless. The sounds of the camp outside the tent faded away until there was naught but the sound of our breathing, the warmth of our bodies, the perfect rightness of being together.

Finally, with a soft exhale, he slipped free of my body and rolled us again, pulling me to stretch out on top of him, so I could sleep pillowed by his body.

I settled against his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around me, holding me secure, and he kissed the top of my head.

“I love ye, Mate,” he murmured into my hair, his voice rough with emotion and satisfaction.

“I love you too,” I whispered back, already feeling sleep pulling me under.

His hand stroked down my spine, a soothing rhythm that made my eyes grow heavy. Safe in his arms, claimed and cherished, I let myself drift off to sleep.

This was home.

Not a place, but a person.

My Mate.