The Orc from the Office (Claws & Cubicles Book 2)

Khent raises an eyebrow. “Actually?”

He looks a little concerned, probably because he’s not following my thought process.

“Um, I mean, only if totally necessary. I mean,” I fumble with my words because that definitely sounded more like a threat and less what I really meant.

I try to reach my pockets, but my hands are a little preoccupied, keeping me from falling off the Orc holding us to the side of the building and all. “Can you…?”

He takes my meaning and nods. He cups a hand under my ass to support my weight as he shifts us down to some kind of ledge. The window that the architecture frames is covered up by curtains on the inside. It’s not quite a balcony, but it’s somewhat less precarious.

“I don’t think you can get the Blood Fever to restart on purpose–” he’s starting to say, when I pull the vial of oil from my pocket.

His eyes widen and I know he knows what I mean now.

“I want to do the claiming ritual,” I say, just in case. But also because saying things out loud is important, and I need to tell him how much he means to me so he knows without a doubt. “I want to do what we would have done if I’d understood what the Blood Fever meant from the beginning.”

He looks bashful for a moment, and then like he’s going to say something, and then he decides against it.

“If that’s still possible, and if that’s something you want,” I add quickly, but my attempts to give him room to say no are cut short by him drawing me close.

Khent tries to kiss me but he’s so happy that he’s just smiling against my mouth, the dork. But I say nothing, I’m smiling too. Then I casually slip my hand down the front of his pants.

Khent bites down on his grin, trying to hide that he was enjoying every second of it.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to mate on the side of the building,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t see you stopping me.”

Unhinged Janice is now in charge. I’m letting her have free reign because Calm and Collected Janice has not had great success with decision making.

“I think I know roughly how this works, but maybe you should start it,” I say, undoing the vial’s cap.

Khent moves us, so that my back is pressed to the window and he knelt on the ledge before me, one hand still holding the brickwork, locking us in.

“There’s not much method to it,” he said, taking the vial from me. He tipped the vial into my palms, showing me how to let it flow out in rivets along my fingers. His hand joined mine, soon the both of us had the oil covering our hands, our palms entirely stained with the ink.

“Alright,” he said, nodding his chin to me, ready with enough oil on the top of his fingers.

I leaned forward with closed eyes, holding in a breath. After a hesitant moment, I felt him sweep his fingertips across my eyelids, grazing my lashes gently as any brush. He drew a few careful lines on my face, and I was touched by his attentiveness.

Forgetting my hands were still drenched in the ink, I took hold of Khent’s face and kissed him for being so thoughtful. I rose up on my knees, sinking into the kiss as he received me, merging into his lap. I drew my thumb along his jaw, stroking his cheek as I kissed him deeper, brushing my tongue against his teeth. Eventually we broke apart, and we were left breathing heavily, holding each other’s stare.

“Oh, oops,” I giggle when I realize there are now matching palm prints on the sides of his face.

“You can mark me how you like,” he shrugs, and I nod, bumping my nose against his.

He grins at that. His fingers kiss along my eyes with gentle dots, and sweep delicately across my cheeks, and over the bridge of my nose. I expand on the design on one side of his face and draw a pair of lines across the other side, continuing down his neck. He shrugs out of his shirt as I continue my design on his shoulder and spread it across his chest.

I want to touch him whole-handedly, but I know that unless I keep to only using my fingertips, I wouldn’t be able to take my time with this. And I want to savor every second of this, to feel what it really meant to be unabashedly open with my feelings for Khent.

He marks my upper lip carefully with the ink, with a touch so tender and careful to avoid any mistake. I dare not breathe and disturb what he was doing. Somehow, it’s more intimate than a kiss.

He wet the tips of his fingers in the oil again, and I feel a heavy drop of ink slip down my chin. It travels down, drawing a warm line of its own on my throat, before it slips down the valley of my breasts.

Without thinking, I caught his finger in my mouth. I licked a trail down the length of it, and sucked the oil off his finger.

“It’s got a bitter taste,” I say, surprised. “But I like it.”

Khent raises an eyebrow, and I can tell he wants to make a dumb joke about that. I roll my eyes and advance before he can say anything.

I put a handprint on his ribcage as I push him onto his back, crawling forward to straddle his waist. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looks over to see me lean over his knees, dragging my teeth against his hip bones. Wetting two fingers in the ink, I draw a line from his chest along his stomach, my other hand unzipping his pants.

With the oil, I draw careful lines down from his navel to his hardened cock, and press a kiss to his stomach, making my way ever lower.

My blood is simmering with that sun-kissed warmth, singing, wanting, craving.

My fingers, small and delicate against the enormity of his cock, trace the shape, the pattern of the veins up to the head. My eyes flick up to his face as he stifles a noise under my touch. I nuzzle my lips against the soft skin and he groans at the stimulation, lifting his hips in reaction.

I giggle again and take his cockhead into my mouth, my tongue swirling around it. He lets out something of a strangled moan as my lips draw him further into my mouth.

He closes his eyes, turning his face up towards the open sky, letting the pleasure show plainly on his face, though I saw how the brickwork under his hands was starting to crack with the grip he held onto it. It must have been all he could do not to curl his fingers in my hair and fuck into my mouth.

I pulled my mouth off him with a wet pop.

“Say it again,” I tell him, flicking my tongue across his cockhead, and say, if only to see my mere words unravel him, “Call me your mate.”

I watch his hips jerk in reaction as I lick the pre-cum that is beading over his slit. I give another teasing stroke to his cock, sitting up, slipping my other hand down to stroke myself through my pants, the fabric already damp.

His chest heaves with breath before his eyes lock with mine, and he growls, “You’re my mate.”

A burst of warmth in my chest nearly knocks me over at that. I have to hold myself steady between his knees.

The thought that he had wanted this as badly as I do, that he had ached with as much need as I had, was almost too much to take in.

He cups a hand under my ass and draws me up to his level, my legs scrambling to find purchase. Gently, he brings his lips to mine, and caresses slowly but vigorously.

Clinging to his shoulders, my legs gripped around his hips, my roving hands threaten to tear his shirt off, and then mine. I wanted him to see what a mess he made me, how easily his touch made me rosy-cheeked and breathless, helpless with desire.

I grin through my kisses up at him, moving my knees apart as he pulls off my pants. His hands slide up my thighs, finding me wetter than ever.

My hands are tangling in the disaster of his thick hair, pulling him in and holding him shamelessly as he ducks down to nuzzle my thighs.

His broad shoulders graze the insides of my knees as he kneels between them, his head bent, lashes dark on his cheeks. He parts me with his tongue, my hips bucking at the sensation.

I draw in a short breath, my fingers tangling in his hair as he searches around with his tongue, finding my clit and swirling his tongue around it, his tusks bruising my inner thighs. He licks up and down my cunt, the heat of his mouth too much to bear as he alternates between tonguing my hole and sucking my clit.

“Right there, oh, do that,” I moan, my hips bucking into his mouth. I’m lost in my pleasure, finding salvation riding on the breaths of his name. “Khent, Khent, I want you in me–” I gasp, spreading my legs as wide as I can.

Khent stops short, looking up. “Are you sure?”

I lean up on my elbows to look at him, and I see the unspoken part in his eyes. A moment of hesitation, in case I don’t actually want this and I’m just taken in by the moment.

But I want him to know I’m all in. I’m with him and I want this. I want to be mated to him.

Holding his gaze, I wet my fingers with the oil, and draw them down my leg. I curl my fingers inside my cunt, the slick oil mixing in. I was ready.

I watch his pupils darken and his nostrils flare as he breathes in my arousal.

I lean back against the glass of the window, watching as he oils up his heavy cock with a few slow tugs. Then he slips a finger inside me, down to the knuckle. I whine for more with every thrust, even as he adds one lubed finger after another.

Finally, he eases himself into me, little by little, stretching my cunt ever wider until it’s nearly too much.

“Fuck, Khent,” I gasp, “How much more of you is there?”

“Um, about halfway,” he mumbles after a moment. He pulled back an inch or so, and suddenly I was achingly empty.

“No,” I moan, no care for how needy I sound, how desperate I am to be fully sated. “A little more, come on just a bit further.”

I hook my legs around his waist, and sink ambitiously down to the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” he chokes, falling onto his forearms over me, pinning us to the window frame. I manage a grin through my wincing.

“This is not a competition,” he manages to say after a moment. He looks like he wants to say something else, but his response is to gently move into me again.

“Then you should fuck me better than I can myself,” I tease, trying to lift my hips into his again, but he stops me with a hand, holding me completely against the glass.

His large hand is braced against my stomach, holding me safe as he ruts into me, a finger poised just right to rub against my clit with each thrust, teasing me. Each movement, each sensation, pushed my pleasure a little further. He takes his time, nipping at my neck, rubbing my clit even harder till I’m shaking, my thighs are soaked and I’m about to beg for him to fuck me hard enough to make me pass out.

“Make me yours,” I moan, and those are the words that make him lose the last shred of gentleness he was holding onto. “Claim me, please.”

Every thrust pounds into me, and soon it’s enough to push me over the edge. My fingers grip his shoulders and my nails dig into his back. I come with a gasp, or maybe a cry– I can’t tell how loud I’m being anymore. All I know is as my back arches up with the feeling, my cunt squeezing around his cock as his body tenses.

I can feel his cock twitch before he comes, my cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks of my own orgasm. I feel the hot, seeping wave of his cum as he groans again, each spurt of it slowing his thrusts.

Between the waves of little tingles that reaches even to my toes and the feeling of his cum dripping out of me, I think I must pass out in his arms. The next time I blink, he has me curled up against him, draped over his body like my bones turned to jelly.

“I think I missed my floor’s roll call,” I mumble into his skin. I lean back just enough to give my thighs a once-over. Definitely messier than usual. I don’t know where I’m going to find enough paper towels to clean this up. “I don’t think I can show up looking like this anyway.”

I look at Khent, and he’s just giving me this utter look of tender love. My own expression softens, and my knee jerk need to say something cheeky again rises up.

But I don’t say anything. I push back on the need to shield my heart. I can be vulnerable with him.

I take his chin in my hand, giving him a quick kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue, that salty, bitter, almost imperceptibly sour touch. “I don’t know what words to use to tell you I love you. I don’t know anything I could say would actually do the emotion justice.”

“Just to hear you love me at all is enough for me,” he says, stroking my cheek. “My mate.”

Mate. I could get used to that.