by Randi Darren
He was awful at it. Truly awful.
Thankfully, she seemed well suited to learning English. Her vocabulary expanded every day, and he thought she’d have it mastered relatively quickly at the rate she was moving.
“Being wounded does tend to make one stink,” Vince agreed. Splashing over to the bank, he set down his hand towel on a flat rock, the soap going down atop it.
Fes grunted and watched him. Her eyes trailed down his body and then back up with a carnivorous eye.
“Wound good. Look good,” Fes claimed. She reached out with two fingers and brushed them along the healing skin. His skin prickled quickly at her gentle touch.
The wound itself looked far more like an angry scar by now, and it pulled at his skin when he moved.
That’d fade with time, though.
“Glad you approve,” Vince said, picking up the towel and starting to dry himself off.
Fes nodded her head and then stood up. In a few quick movements, she was naked.
The entire time they had traveled, she’d never once removed her clothing. She’d been insistent that he strip for her, but he’d never forced the same stipulation on her. During their sexual romps or otherwise.
In fact, they’d never even kissed or spoken of their nightly sessions.
Picking up the soap and used washcloth with her right hand, she unbound her hair with the left.
Blue-black hair fell around her shoulders and face in a shower.
Vince couldn’t help but inspect her green body with a touch of admiration.
And regret that he’d waited this long to get the view he was now afforded.
Despite knowing she was an Orc, he could only see a woman with green skin. Everything about her was more or less human. She only happened to be stronger, green, and have a few extra teeth.
That green muscular body was dirty, stained with the road, and the world.
And sexy as hell. An alpha predator in her prime. Lean and fit.
She didn’t have an hourglass figure or an impressive bust, but she was put together in a lovely way. Slim but with a decent waist, athletic and incredibly toned, but still a bit more than a handful in the chest.
Letting his eyes roll over her like a starved wolf eying a steak, he felt the heat return to him quickly.
Fes didn’t notice the visual assault he launched at her. Or if she did, she didn’t care.
Instead, she set about washing herself clean, mimicking the same things he’d been doing but minutes ago.
She was watching.
“I need to head into town. City. Village. I have to tell the guild what happened with my clients. Tell them the result of my mission. Let them know what happened,” Vince said, taking the opportunity to watch her bathe.
He’d developed a tendency of overexplaining things to her. It’d help her vocabulary, he was sure, but it would create problems further down the road if he didn’t keep it from becoming a long-term habit.
“I understand. Fes go with Vince.”
Fes turned around, watching him as he watched her. His eyes immediately moved to her hands as they lathered up her underarms and chest.
“Okay. You’ll have to wear a fake collar. All non-humans have to wear a collar,” Vince said apologetically.
“No collar. No slave. Fes,” declared the woman. Her eyes hardened a bit, and she turned to the side as if contemplating putting her back to him.
“No collar. Fake collar. Fes not a slave. Fes is Fes,” Vince agreed.
“Fake collar?”
“Lie collar,” Vince tried instead.
Fes blinked at that, her mind probably sorting through the words she knew. Suddenly she looked at him and gave him a small smile.
“Lie collar, yes. Fes is Fes. Fes go with Vince,” Fes agreed.
“Great. We’ll pick it up when we’re done here,” Vince answered, his eyes roaming down her body again.
Fes apparently had noticed by this point and flicked water at him. She gave him a smirk when his eyes finally returned to her face.
“Sorry, look good,” Vince apologized, imitating her earlier proclamation over his healing wound.
“Fes look good?”
“Yep, Fes look good. Very good.”
Unbelievably, the warrior woman’s face became a darker shade of green. Turning her back to him, she went about her business.
Fuck it.
Standing up, Vince dropped the towel in a dry spot on the bank and waited.
Fes finished up and made her way back to her clothes. She eyed him warily now after the way he’d watched her.
Her eyes were tracking his midsection, as if they were about to start fighting and she wanted to be able to react accordingly.
“Fes,” Vince said softly when she came close.
Her eyes jumped from his torso to his eyes.
Not waiting for an invitation—or to give her one, because she probably wouldn’t understand it anyways—he finally made a move of his own.
Reaching out, he placed one hand on the side of her jaw and then leaned in close to her.
Her response was no response. She froze rock solid. Still as a statue as he pressed his lips to hers.
Her lips were warm and soft, a little cracked, and one corner had a cut, but the feeling of her mouth was wonderful.
Slipping an arm around her hips, he kissed her deeply, before tilting her backwards towards the towel he’d laid out.
Firm hands came up to clutch his shoulders as he eased her down into the fabric. Settling gently atop her, he continued to kiss her.
Moving his hands gently, slowly, he started to explore her body, caressing and flowing over her smooth skin like the wind.
Turning his head an inch to the side, he caught her pointed ear and bit into it carefully. The soft flesh was warm between his lips as he tugged at it.
“Vince, Fes. Fes. Fes is…” panted the Orc.
Breathing out heavily into her ear, he lifted his knees and tried to spread her legs apart.
Fes shivered, her strong fingers digging into his shoulders. She allowed her legs to spread wide after a moment of hesitation, her ankles coming up to rest behind his thighs and pull him in closer.
Angling his shaft, he managed to find her slit on the first try. Taking in a breath, he bit at her ear again. Moving his hips forward, he plunged himself into her in one smooth stroke.
Fes took in a quick breath. Her ankles pulled at him even as she turned her head to press her face into his neck.
Vince held himself up with his forearms resting on either side of her head. Giving the tip of her pointed green ear a nibble, he started to work himself in and out of her.
Slow and cautious, he could only bask in the roaring heat of her insides. Her body as a whole was rapidly heating up, despite having been in the snow runoff only minutes before.
Truthfully, he had to fight against Fes more than his own desires. She seemed as if she wanted to drive him straight into sexual abandon. Her teeth and lips worked furiously at his throat and neck. Her heels and ankles pulled on his legs when he moved forward. As if she wanted him to move faster and harder.
To take her.
Growling a little under his breath, he turned his face into hers and kissed her fiercely, keeping his own rhythm and pace.
Fes responded immediately, her mouth opening and her teeth and tusks biting at his lips. She gouged her fingers into his back, dragging them down forcefully.
Vince only kissed her in the same way he had earlier, refused to change speed, and pressed in closer to her.
Fucking wasn’t his goal right now. He’d done that plenty enough to know the difference between that and what he wanted.
She calmed down, albeit slowly. Apparently it finally sank in when he didn’t respond in the way she expected to her actions. Instead, she began moving in time with him.
She started to move in sync with his body.
Her hips slid forward and back as he thrust into her.
Callused and tender hands pre
ssed into his back without the urgency that they had previously. Now they held him.
Her thighs and ankles were glued to him now, instead of pulling at him.
Strong limbs melded to him instead of trying to dictate a pace.
Pulling back from her face, he switched his weight to his hands instead of his forearms.
Slowly, he built up his momentum, his speed, his strength. Fes’s cheeks darkened as her eyes began to lose focus as he worked.
Letting his control slip as he got closer to release, his empathic gift got away from him.
Shocking in its intensity, he felt every emotion that poured out of the woman beneath him. Most of it flew by him before he could identify it, but there was one overwhelming feeling he couldn’t overlook.
A feeling of acceptance and completion.
Grinding his hips into her, Vince felt himself spill his seed into her fiery depths.
The empathic link shut off at the same time Fes smashed her face into his, kissing him with a passion he hadn’t expected.
Grunting, he collapsed atop her, kissing her hungrily.
In time, and after his loins were done filling her, he pulled back from her face. Gasping for breath, he pressed his forehead to hers.
With a quick kiss to her lips, he rolled off of her. He reached out to his side and rested a hand on her hip and stared up at the blue sky.
Gotta wash up again.
Chapter 4
It took five days to get to Knight’s Ferry from Vince’s home, most of which was trail hiking.
The trip, normally dull and boring, wasn’t unpleasant in the least with Fes as his companion.
Days were spent talking, building on Fes’s vocabulary, and giving her the right set of expectations for where they were going.
Evenings were interesting with the change that had occurred down at the creek. Sometimes she’d be on top, other times he’d be on top. It was a tossup of who managed to wrestle the other one to the ground first.
Knight’s Ferry was as close to the big cities as Vince ever really wanted to get. The location acted as a perfect outpost for him to purchase supplies, make sales, and pick up contracts sent from the local Ranger headquarters.
When the Wastes had been created, it had been at the height of the war in Europe. This had left a serious population gap between men and women, as well as fracturing what control the military could have provided during such a catastrophe.
All of this had led to the simple fact that the big cities became sprawling slums and neighborhood turf wars were dominated by women.
Eventually, the cities became deserted or became more feudal-like, as it was clear much of the world was reverting to an earlier place on the technological timeline.
There wasn’t really a need for bankers, scientists, or artists. Guns fell out of favor when ammunition ran dry in the first several years. As technology collapsed, no one was making new guns or ammunition.
Swords, polearms, axes, all the old accoutrements of war made a rapid comeback.
In that first decade, the world had turned itself into an appalling approximation of medieval territories reporting up to a neighborhood “baron.”
From these barons eventually rose the government that loosely governed the West Coast. A collection of barons or baronesses who answered to a count or countess, who in turn reported to a council of dukes or duchesses. From Baja all the way to Alaska, that was how it was ruled.
They’d called themselves “The Government of the Western States” with a complete lack of creativity. Most called it The West or The Government.
A similar and separate situation had occurred in and on the eastern seaboard. They’d ended up with a king rather than a council, however.
Eventually people had begun making the long-distance journeys between the two would-be kingdoms. The Rangers had been born from that need.
Membership was voluntary and required a certification. On top of that, there were examinations and tests to determine if you were fit for membership.
No training was provided by the guild. Membership in the guild came at a contracted percentage of every mission being handed over.
The guild kept their people in line while providing contracts. They were also swift in distributing justice to their members.
For these reasons, the Rangers were trusted completely to be employed.
Trying to hire someone outside of the guild was a sure way to get your throat slit in the Wastes during the night.
Or so the guild would have you believe.
Fes stayed at his side when they entered Knight’s Ferry, her head moving on a swivel to track everyone and take in everything at the same time.
Unthinkingly, she reached up and adjusted the thick silver slave collar that rested on her collarbones. It wrapped around her neck in a way that would deprive her of oxygen if she disobeyed.
Well, that was what it would have done, if it had been a working collar. Which it wasn’t.
Vince motioned to the large two-story building to one side of the cracked pavement road.
“We’re in there for a few minutes. I need to report in, and then we’ll go hit the merchants’ square,” Vince whispered.
Fes followed the direction of his fingers and nodded her head. “Fes will remain at your side.”
Nodding to that, Vince walked in through the front door and stopped for the door guard.
Holding out his Ranger license, Vince only had to wait a few seconds. Then he was ushered in without a word.
Ignoring the common room, the bar, and job board, as well as everyone inside, Vince went straight to the service counter.
An older man of perhaps forty winters sat with an open ledger in front of him.
Withdrawing two stacks of five standards each from the pouch at his waist, he set it down atop the ledger along with his license.
“Partial completion. Clients made it to the Mississippi River fort. I was wounded by an ambush of gators. Took one Orc warrior woman as a slave on the return trip. Registering her as mine,” Vince said.
Five coins were a penalty for a non-completion of his contract, and the over five coins were to register Fes.
“Name?” the man said, flipping over Vince’s license.
“Fes.”
The clerk grunted and reached down beneath the counter. Then his hands came back up with a small iron stamp. Popping open a container to his left, the clerk pressed the iron into the sponge inside and then pressed it to Vince’s license.
Closing the container, the man dropped the iron back into whatever he’d pulled it out of below the counter.
Sliding the wooden license to one side, the clerk pulled out a paper from a folder and then rapidly filled it out.
Spinning the paper around, he slid it in front of Vince.
A quick signature on Vince’s part and Fes was registered.
The clerk then picked up the Ranger license and wiped a piece of cloth over the wood. A symbol had appeared on the back. Exactly where the clerk had pressed the iron. A big letter O with a small S next to it.
“You’ll be notified if the clients report in and the penalty will be refunded. Anything else?” the clerk asked, looking up at Vince.
“Nope, thank you.”
Turning on his heel, Vince left as quickly as he’d come in. He didn’t really want to look at contracts right now. His body didn’t quite feel at one hundred percent even though he knew he was healed.
Exiting the building, they stood on the cracked and broken sidewalk.
“What now?” Fes asked, her eyes sweeping up one side of the street and then the other.
“Clothes and armor for you. Maybe get something a bit more… balanced than that I-beam of yours. You handled it well, but I I’m betting you’d be better with a weapon that required less work,” Vince answered. Turning to the right, he began walking down the street towards the merchant quarter.
Fes scrunched up her nose in obvious distaste.
“Small sword for small peopl
e.”
“No, a big sword. Larger variant of the longsword. Trust me. Clothes and armor first.”
Fes only nodded her head, falling in beside him.
Vince kept himself on alert as they walked along the boulevard. Violence in Knight’s Ferry was rare, but not unheard of.
Everyone was an enemy until proved otherwise. This world wasn’t for the faint of heart.
The short time it took them to get to the tailor was thankfully uneventful. A few people took in an eyeful of Fes, but that wasn’t completely unexpected.
Orcs were a little uncommon. Orc women more so.
Clothes shopping with Fes was blessedly swift. She accepted everything he set out to purchase for her with barely a nod.
Four sets of clothing and a few coins later and they were on their way back into the street.
“Next up, armor. Can’t have you running around in just clothes,” Vince said, indicating the blacksmith several doors down from the tailor.
“Why? Armor not right. If I get hit, I lose,” Fes grumbled.
“Because I don’t want you to get hit? Honor is for the dead and pride is a commodity.”
“You don’t want Fes to lose.”
“No, I don’t. I want Fes to grow old and die when her heart gives out,” Vince said, shaking his head.
Fes said nothing more, following Vince into the blacksmith shop.
A Dwarf with a slave collar stepped out from behind a counter and peered up at him.
“Vinny, come to finally get some real armor, eh? None of that stupid cow skin? Didn’t help the cow none, why would it help you?” shouted the dwarf.
“Deskil. Good to see you. Loud as ever. How’s Minnie?” Vince asked, holding out his hand to the diminutive blacksmith.
“Speaking of her, I’m not nearly half as loud as the ol’ ball and chain. Just the other night I had her squealing for hours until the—”
A door banged open along the back wall, and a woman stepped out in the common room.
She was on the plump side, and the hard work she put in was starting to show in her face and hair.
“Another word, Deskil, and I’ll have you making pots and pans for months,” she threatened with a warm smile.