by Isoellen
Lurann deserved this happiness, this safety, this wonder.
"Lurann is cream. You are my daughter."
Annabell closed her eyes, tried to hold back the tears. She'd cried so much, but now there was more. Pressing her face against the Orki's side, she inhaled his unique, wild scent to calm herself, breathing through this pain and acceptance of failure and guilt. Awful desires burned in her heart, but she did not deserve to indulge in them, to feel good. She would not be happy when others paid such a high price. She did not deserve it.
Yet White Eyes' scent calmed her. Centered her. Made her safe.
His arm tightened, and that noise in his chest returned. Head pressed close, it was all Annabell could hear. It relaxed her, carried her away into a soft and dreamy space.
*
Waking with one arm numb and prickling, her neck hurting from the awkward tilt of her position, she tried to move. Oh, she just had to stretch out her neck, straighten her hips. As strange as it was to be sharing a sleeping space with an Original, waking up with aches and pains was a familiar routine. She knew she could sleep hard and deep for hours, but there was also a well-practiced habit of half-asleep stretches to relieve the discomforts of her lumpy mattress, hard workdays, and body that felt its age.
The hand on her waist tightened, keeping her tied to his side, not letting her escape.
"My neck. Got to move. Sorry to wake you," she whispered. The moment left Annabell flustered with its strangeness. Memories of her one other bed partner were striking compared to this Orki. He hated it when she moved—said it made him dizzy when she shook the bed with her restless fidgeting and practically pushed her away.
His hand tightened. She couldn't help her yelp when he repositioned her on top of him. Her weight was nothing to him. First face down, then face up, she found herself with her head resting between his pectoral muscles on his sternum, her bottom cradled and supported by his pelvis, and her legs splitting around his.
The purr he made was louder this time, forceful, sinking into her chest. His fingers moved in languid, firm strokes over her neck, finding stressed muscles just like he had before. Annabell bit her lip. It was the rubbing that hurt and felt good at the same time. Very good. Too good. Sensitizing her all over, filling her up with heat. Her body melted to warmed honey beneath that touch, her will floating away in a cloud of steam.
She was lying with her back to his front, on top of an Orki Original. Naked, wearing her stockings, she had the big pelt and blanket over her breasts, pulled up to her neck. It slipped to the side when her grip loosened and she began to move her hips. Relaxed from sleep, her inhibition slackened. She moaned softly at his touch, accepting everything he gave her.
He was warm; that sound, the smell of him, the care. She had no resistance. He lit the old, barren fires of her desires, and fed them, fingers in her hair, on her scalp, at her neck, on her shoulders.
Annabell's hands wandered as if she were back in her own bed after a bath, longing for touch, for companionship, for the lost hopes of the girl she had been. One hand explored the skin of her living Orki bed, the muscles of his sides, whatever she could reach. He had removed the belt and the pouches, but still wore the Orki version of trousers, which was like a chopped-off dress. She could feel him under that, his manhood, familiar and foreign all at once.
More bull than man.
Her other hand traveled over her skin. Hungry for years, simmering with revived desires, she cupped her breasts, her collar bone, her ribs. She found her nipple and thumbed it, dreaming of being suckled. Mark's refusal to touch her breasts made her want it even more. His lack of interest turned her curiosity into molten obsession. She pulled at the stiffening bud. Would the Orki also dismiss her breasts?
"Please," she moaned, thinking of that, both the possible pleasure and the chance of rejection.
Beneath her, that hum increased to the low growl of a rush of water rapids rolling over her body, starting at her center and rushing up and down her spine. Her insides contracted. Crying out at the sharp hard pleasure, her moans turned to a whine, and she liquified. Every part of her that was woman turned soft. Need hollowed her out, took everything, stole reality. She pulled at her nipple. Hard.
It wasn't enough.
Need.
Her hips pumped up and down on that cock in the crack of her bottom, her hands went between her opened legs and the drenched delta there. She leaked hunger, the petaled flesh engorged and sensitive. "By the moons," she said with a drawn-out vocal groan. Filling herself with her left finger, she rubbed delicate circles on the inflamed peak near the top of her slit. The finger inside went back and forth, tormenting the empty walls of her vagina.
Never once stopping that sound, the Orki's hand cupped the side of her face, his forefinger across her lips. His other hand at her hip, keeping her in place. Nothing he did discouraged her, and Annabell couldn't think of stopping. So good.
And she needed. How she needed.
That finger at her lips rubbed her bottom lip in the tiniest of exquisite sensations. She mimicked it. Following the direction of his one finger, whimpering as the heat within her grew, changed colors, from yellow-orange, to red, then blue and purple. Hot. She was flame and sparks. Combusting. Gasping. Her mouth open, White Eyes slipped his finger inside the dark cavern, touched her tongue. Her muscles bunched and nerves shivered. She came in a burst of sparks behind her eyes at the raw, sexual intimacy of his finger in her mouth.
Driven by instinct, her lips closed around it, licking as her body trembled, flames shrinking, all her fuel exhausted. He tasted like he smelled, only saltier. Her fingers still wet, Annabell gripped his arm, keeping his hand cupping her face, and suckled at him.
This was right. Satisfying. Lost to sensation, she couldn't do anything but what her exposed impulses asked. Heart rate decreasing, need satisfied—she drifted. The crackle and desperation of her flames, the fuel of need and hunger drowned out the invasive critical voice in her head. Blunted the twisted edge of grieving and emotions.
They were there, at the edges of her closed eyes, howling specters but blocked from getting in.
The Orki's free hand opened over her bare belly and held her close as the panting slowed and cooled. Safe. So safe. Shutting out the voices.
Laying on the Orki, sucking on his fingers, Annabell drifted into a restful, comfortable sleep.
Chapter 9
You Wash Me Clean
War beast muzzle sniffing in her face woke her up. All the animal had to do was open its deadly mouth and devour her. Instead, it was making all kinds of noise. Standing over her, telling her to wake up.
"Oh," she gasped.
Waiting for the most disgusting moment, the war beast swept its rough pink tongue from the top of her naked chest up to the top of her head.
Annabell screeched, bringing her arms up, grabbing at the furs to pull over herself for protection. Already up, White Eyes' abandonment left her to his riding mount's attention. More of an oversized, spike-armored, short-snouted wolfish creature than a dog. The animal acted in familiar doggish ways. Bigger, differently shaped, differently made, and too intelligent for its own good, but dog-like in its mannerisms. Annabell saw her frown reflected in the glint of its knowing, amused eyes.
The beast annoyed her on purpose.
Annabell gave it her sternest face of disapproval.
The war beast wheezed and chuffed in its throat, laughing at her.
Standing nearby, the Orki snapped his fingers at his riding mount. With a few gestures, he silently communicated something. They "talked" back and forth for a moment before the beast went off to take care of whatever it was the Orki wanted.
"You won't tell me your name. What am I to call you? What am I to think? My papa told me of the agreement with the Orki. I know you only take women to become wives. He said you care for them well. I know your ways are different. But this silence… I remember you could speak." She let those words hang like a question in the air, waiting for him to a
nswer.
Still on the ground in the hard bed of furs and blankets he had put together for them, her position gave her a sense of smallness. Drained of the weight and disappointments of her experiences, she discovered a youthful hope, looking up at him from the floor with trusting supplication. She blushed. There was no word in any language to encapsulate the giggly, girlish discomfort of the position.
He made her feel young. Inexperienced. He robbed her of the bitter, determined loneliness of her life, reverting Annabell into a young woman losing herself to romance and affection. Shaking the silly feelings off, she forced her thoughts in order, stumbling ahead, seeking answers. "I remember some of it. Your common was incomprehensible and my Orki was huumonish, but I remember you talking to me. You told me your name that day. You told me I was your redress woman and that you could see me. I was alone by the river, and the war beast came up, almost pushing me into the water."
He nodded with the barest curl of his lips at the corners, an Orki smile. They smiled little, she knew. The size of their teeth, the shape of their wide mouths made smiles into snarls and were not a common Orki expression. It was his eyes that told her things. He shared the memory. But still, he did not speak.
Regret and shame lurked, chucked into the corners like thunder waiting to detonate. Annabell knew she carried an inclination to define the ugliest things in life and set them as standards. But this morning, her Curse of Woe could not dull the intimacy and connection of sharing pleasure with him.
And there was more, they had just begun.
Warmth flared at the back of her neck, down her spine, to that spot low in her pelvis, quivering with the first flutters of desire. Clenching her thighs together, she panted to calm herself. Last night's satisfaction birthed a need for more.
White Eyes took her hands in his, encouraging her to stand. Forgetting herself, Annabell did. She hollered like a crazy woman when the pelt she used as a blanket fell to the floor, exposing breasts and backside, her stockings sagging at the knee in need of a wash.
White Eyes looked at her—no words. A need to cover up driving her, she went to get the damn cover back, but he stopped her. A hand on her shoulders, he pressed a bowl of water at her.
Annabell didn't know what he wanted, but she wouldn't stand there naked. There were Orki all around her. Men. She had never been this exposed in her life, not even with her brothers. Did he think she was just going to go around naked all the time?
Shoving the bowl back at him, it splashed across his middle, dripping onto his waist leathers. When he didn't grab it, the bowl clattered to the floor. She twisted around him, chasing the covering and the hope of modesty.
One of his hands closed around her throat before she moved a step, yanking her to him. Radiating heat, that giant paw stilling her breath, her hands fluttered uselessly at her sides and a squeak of distress escaped. A squeak like a little mouse. Now she knew what a mouse felt like, caught by a mousetrap and pinned down by the tail. He could crush the life from her with one hand.
Using a gentle squeeze, he drew her into him, bending so that his eyes burned into hers. Annabell faced an intimidating male wall, touching his wet abdomen to push him away. The muscles of his belly twitched.
Another mousy squeak escaped before she caught it. The intimacy from last night, and that wild lack of inhibition lingered under her surface more than she thought. Exposed, trapped in his fist, she felt none of the things that she should have. Where was her outrage? Where was her fire? Palpitations turned to throbbing from the pulse under his hand, spreading all over, down her chest to the tips of her nipples, over her belly and lower.
He squeezed his hand. Right there. Looking into her eyes, thick fingers at her pulse points, tipping her chin up. His brows narrowed, determined. Standing close enough that his breath puffed on her face, she inhaled the woodsy, natural scent. In the flickers of torchlight, his milk-white eyes revealed sparks of color, tiny bursts of gold and the faintest turquoise, bits of life, intelligence.
His thumb rubbed across her jaw. Reminding her of his hand on her face, his gentleness, the tapping at her lips. Annabell didn't deserve pleasure—people were dead—but that touch, that memory, the current unrelenting command in his eyes, added to the building desire in her woman's core. She bit her lip.
This Orki made her want.
His hand mimicked her inner clench, tightening, putting his fingers in just the right place to cut off her air and make it hard to breathe. Driving his point home, sending the message of his authority by taking her ability to breathe and holding it before giving it back.
Annabell knew what he wanted.
She didn't know what she wanted. Her body's response conflicted with all she knew to be true about herself. With no rumbly, gorgeous, warm noise, in total silence, she went weak and willing at a single touch. He stayed silent. His focus probed and commanded. The Orki male set off tingles and explosions to her pleasure zones with ease.
"Yes. Okay. I will stand here naked. I'll do what you want. I understand," she conceded.
He made that low throat sound deeper, longer, harsher than before, and it went straight through his hand into her neck, a direct line to the swelling woman's nub between her thighs.
Oh.
What was wrong with her?
"A fool is known by his folly," Mama said.
This was foolishness. She was so wet there, uncomfortably plump. "Don't look at me, don't see."
She wasn't wearing clothes, but he saw, deeper than her heavy breasts, the curve of her hips. Or her too large behind. Exposed down to the soul in front of him, nothing could hide her from his relentless gaze. He claimed every revelation he found. When he let go of her, Annabell stood there, naked, a pulse beating in her center, her nipples tight and itchy in the air.
And she didn't move a muscle.
The other Orki moved around them. Somewhere in the cave, the protesting noise of other Peace River women, outraged and angry, burst out. Everyone washed whether or not they liked it, Annabell guessed.
He returned with a bowl of fresh water and pressed it back in her hands. Standing too close. Trapping her gaze, he undid the tie holding up his waist covering. He planned to wash his body, naked, right next to her, where she could see everything, touch any part of him she wanted.
Annabell had to stifle a moan. The Orki's lack of humanity had never bothered her. Rather, they were a beautiful curiosity. Powerful, muscular, masculine perfection. She couldn't look away.
He didn't want her to.
A storm flooded her, she was all lightning and thunder, ready to explode. She wanted to touch him. Smell him. Know him. Every part of him, but especially the thick, rising, hard rod that made him male.
These desires couldn't be natural. Perverse, the wrongness of this glared at her. Where was her respect for family? Where was her grief? They were dead. She lived. This was sick. She shouldn't want this.
Not right. Not right.
When she opened her eyes, White Eyes was running the cloth over his head and face. Wet and sloppy, the water dripped down the unhuman shape of his features.
Muscles tensing, restraining herself, she licked her lips with a mad urge to drink every drop of water off his body.
Wringing the rest of the wet cloth out, he dipped it in the bowl of water she held, wrung it out once more, and rubbed it over himself. The bowl wasn't that big. There was a lot of him. And though it felt like hours, it only took minutes until he finished and stood before her with a wet cloth.
Grinding her teeth, fingers clenching the bowl, Annabell held still when White Eyes started washing her. She never knew a male who said so much with his eyes. And what his gaze did to her, what his presence did to her. Annabell felt dizzy with the rush of hunger he caused.
It was no surprise she liked him. She had liked him from their first meeting. Different from her, a presence of pure masculinity and a sweet gentleness as he handed her a wildflower and told her his name.
"Doku-ni, I remember. And the
war beast is Zerzer!" Annabell remembered suddenly, saying it out loud.
His heavy brow relaxed, a smile emerging. In a flash of sensual provocation, his black tongue came out, black against the white of his skin. Enthralled, she watched him echo her own actions and lick his bottom lip.
Oh.
The sight of his tongue made her nipples throb. Images of feeling it curled over and around her, wet, barely there, then firm. Licking, tasting, and sucking. She wanted that. Would he touch her breasts?
Holding her eyes captive, he ran the wet cloth over her face, her neck, and her shoulders. Her skin turned to gooseflesh in the air. The cloth stayed sloppy wet, rivulets of tepid water running down her body, cooling quickly, tickling. He ran it down both arms, to her hands, and wiped finger by finger. Instead of efficient speed, he took his time. Never taking his eyes off her, he bathed her with care and attention.