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So Lorcan did.
Lorcan’s breath caught at the willingness of her. But he knew he had to be delicate, especially with her foot being how it was. If he had let his restrain snap as he wanted. He would break her. And that was the last thing he wanted to do. Also, he had to take into consideration the fact that Elide, aside of her unbreakable will, was a virgin. And he was not a small man by any means, he would need to break her open, little by little, using his mouth, tongue and fingers first before attempting to fill her just how he had envisioned for a while now.
Lorcan’s head dipped, his mouth brushing over hers once more as if to steady himself before the storm he knew he was about to unleash. He let her sink back into the cot, his massive frame braced above hers, shadows coiling faintly as though they, too, longed to touch her. But he would not frighten her with the dark things that answered his call, how deadly his magic could be, not when this moment was hers. His hands trembled faintly where they rested at her waist, the smallest betrayal of the restraint binding him.
“Show you everything,” he echoed, voice thick, nearly hoarse. His thumb stroked the curve of her ribs, savoring the shudder that rippled through her. “Then I’ll begin slowly. With my mouth. With my hands. Nothing you don’t want.”
Elide swallowed, lips parted, but she nodded. That courage of hers, the courage that had carried her through Morath’s horrors, through her uncle’s torment, burned brighter than her fear. She whispered, “Yes.”
Lorcan bent, dragging his mouth down her throat, mapping her skin as though learning it by heart. Every press of his lips was reverent, unhurried, but beneath that care simmered raw possession, a hunger he barely leashed. He kissed the hollow of her throat, the delicate edge of her collarbone, until Elide arched for more, until her breath hitched in a plea she hadn’t even voiced.
His hand slid along her side, pausing just beneath the swell of her breast, waiting. Always waiting for her word.
“Touch me,” she whispered, so faintly he might have missed it if not for the sharpness of his demi-fae hearing.
Lorcan’s chest shuddered with his exhale as he obeyed. His palm, vast and calloused, cupped her breast, thumb brushing across her nipple until it pebbled, hard against his touch. Elide gasped, clutching at his shoulders, her nails digging into muscle as her body arched helplessly into his hand.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her skin, his voice like gravel dragged low. “So sensitive… Gods, Elide.” He lowered his mouth, closing over her nipple with a slow, consuming suck that had her crying out. He lavished her with his tongue, teeth scraping gently, then soothed, worshiping one peak, and then the other, until she writhed beneath him, her injured ankle forgotten in her mind due to the haze of sensation.
Every sound she made wrecked him. He could feel his restraint unraveling, thread by thread. But he would not rush. Not with her.
His other hand slid lower, over her belly, lingering at the band of her trousers. Lorcan lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes. “May I?”
Elide’s cheeks burned crimson, her breath ragged, but she nodded. “Please.”
The word undid him. He kissed her hard, swallowing her plea as his fingers undid the ties, sliding the fabric down, baring her inch by inch. He groaned low in his chest when he finally saw her, spread out beneath him, trembling but unflinching.
“Perfect,” he rasped, as though the word itself might brand her into his soul. His hand returned, trailing lower, closer, until his fingers brushed where she was already slick, already waiting for him. Elide gasped, her hips jerking as he stroked her gently, reverently.
“Lorcan,” she moaned, his name both a prayer and a curse.
He shut his eyes, nearly undone. “Easy, Elide. Let me open you first. Let me taste you.”
Her breath caught, but she didn’t stop him as he slid down the cot, his broad shoulders settling between her thighs. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, then another higher, his stubble rasping deliciously against her skin. She trembled, her hands fisting in the blankets, but when his mouth finally brushed over her, hot and wet and devastating, Elide cried out, a broken sound that made him growl against her.
He devoured her slowly, with lethal precision, tongue stroking and circling until her thighs clamped around his head. He was mindful of her injured leg, and yet he held her thighs open easily, relentless, until her cries filled the tent and her back arched, straining toward the edge he drove her toward with merciless tenderness.
“Let go,” Lorcan murmured against her, his tongue flicking just so, his fingers gently caressing her near her clit with exquisite patience. “I’ve got you, Elide.”
And when she shattered, trembling and gasping his name, Lorcan only held her tighter, drinking down every sound she made as though it was the first mercy he’d ever known. He did not stop. He would not stop. Not until she begged him for more, not until she was ready for everything he had to give.
Lorcan lifted his head slowly, his mouth glistening, his breathing as uneven as hers. He pressed one last kiss to her trembling thigh before bracing his palms at either side of her hips and looking up at her. The shadows in his eyes were not lust alone, but something deeper, concern, restraint, devotion all tangled together.
“Elide,” he murmured, voice rough yet laced with that same concern. “Your leg, did I hurt you?” His gaze flicked briefly to her twisted ankle, the one he had massaged minutes before, then back to her face. “Tell me if it aches. Tell me if we need to stop.”
Her chest still heaved, lips swollen from her own biting. But she shook her head, strands of dark hair plastered to her temple. “It doesn’t hurt,” she breathed. “Not with you.”
His shoulders sagged with something like relief, though his hands still shook faintly where they rested against her skin. “Do you want to keep going?”
Her answer was quiet but steady. “Yes.”
Lorcan shut his eyes for a heartbeat, as if to steel himself against the tidal wave of want threatening to drown him. When he opened them, the hunger there was tempered with control. Always control, even when every muscle in his massive body screamed to take.
“Then I’ll make you ready for me,” he said, dipping his head to press a reverent kiss just above her navel. “You’re tight, Elide. So tight. I can’t… I won’t risk hurting you.” His voice dropped, darkened. “Not when I’m as big as I am.” It wasn’t bravado or male pride. But the undeniable size difference between them both, the absolute knowledge of his own physique.
Her breath stuttered, heat racing to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Didn’t shy from the truth of what he meant.
Lorcan’s hand slid lower again, fingers finding her slickness. He stroked slowly, gently, before easing one thick finger inside her. Elide gasped, hips jolting, and his free hand instantly found her thigh, steadying her, ensuring her twisted ankle wouldn’t be hurt due to her body reactions. “Easy. Just me. Just one,” he murmured, brushing his lips over her belly. “Breathe for me.”
She did, her body stretching around him, clenching as he moved carefully, deliberately. He angled just right, curling his finger until she cried out again, her nails scraping down his shoulders. He didn’t stop. He coaxed her higher, then eased a second finger inside, scissoring them gently to stretch her.
Elide moaned, back arching, the cot creaking beneath her as he worked her open. “Lorcan…”
“That’s it,” he growled softly, his forehead pressing briefly to her hip as if to ground himself. “You’re taking my fingers so well. Gods, Elide, you have no idea how good you feel.” His fingers spread, stretching her further, his thumb brushing her clit, where she was most sensitive until her thighs shook.
He took only a moment to adjust her leg, making sure the ankle was still safe
When he finally added a third finger, her breath caught in a broken sob. He stilled at once, gaze snapping to her face. “Too much?”
She panted, eyes wide, lips parted. Then she shook her head, whispering, “No… just full.”
Lorcan’s teeth clenched, a tremor running through him as though the word itself had gutted him. “Those are only my fingers, Elide,” he said, his voice low and guttural. “I’m thicker. Longer. You’ll need to be open for me. I won’t take you until you are.”
Her flush deepened, her lashes fluttering. “Then keep going,” she whispered. “Please.”
Lorcan groaned, his head bowing as though in prayer, even as if he long lost his faith in the divine. Then his mouth was on her again, tongue stroking her high above while his fingers scissored deep inside, preparing her with agonizing patience, coaxing her body to accept what he knew would stretch her far beyond this, and Elide, panting and gasping beneath him, gave herself to his care, her cries filling the tent as he worked her open with a reverence that was more worship than sin.
Lorcan did not relent. He drove her higher with ruthless tenderness, each flick of his tongue and deliberate curl of his fingers meant to unravel her, to coax her body into yielding where her mind still hesitated. Elide writhed, clutching at the furs beneath her on the cot, then at his shoulders when he rose enough for her trembling hands to reach him. His size dwarfed her completely, yet he held her as though she were fragile glass, as though one wrong move would break her, and yet he touched her like she was fire, something that could consume him whole.
Her breath shuddered out in broken sobs of pleasure when his thumb circled her clit again, his three thick fingers stretching her, working her with patient, steady thrusts. Her walls clenched hard around him, and his groan vibrated into her, ragged and nearly feral. “Gods, Elide… you’re already squeezing me like this, and it’s only my hand. How in hell am I going to survive being inside you?” His words were muffled against her skin, reverent and rough, like vows rasped against an altar.
Her reply came on a whimper, her body bowing as another wave crashed through her. “Show me,” she gasped. “Show me how.”
He nearly broke then, every instinct in him howling to claim her, to sink deep and never let go. But his control, hammered into him over centuries, held fast by a thread. Lorcan eased his fingers out slowly, deliberately, drawing a cry from her lips at the sudden emptiness. He kissed her thighs, her belly, even her ankle just above the injured flesh, as if to remind her every part of her was his to cherish. He licked his fingers, clean. Ensuring her wetness wouldn’t go to waste. He closed his eyes at her taste, at the sweetness of Elide, of this woman, so small in size, and yet endless in spirit.
When he finally looked up, his mouth and chin glistening with her, his chest heaving like he’d just left a battlefield, he rasped, “My magic will shield you.” His shadows stirred, sliding over his skin like smoke as his hand tightened on her hip. “You’ll come to no harm from me, not in this, not ever.”
Elide pushed up on her elbows, watching as the faint shimmer of dark power coiled down his arm, disappearing where his hand gripped himself. The sight made her flush, made her heart thunder, but steadied her too. He wasn’t careless. Not with her. Not with anything.
“Tell me no, and I’ll stop. Right here. Right now.” His voice shook, his eyes black as night, but his words were steady as stone. “This has to be you, Elide. Your choice.”
Her throat bobbed, her lips parting. And though fear twined with the fire in her belly, she whispered, “I want you.” Then, bolder: “I want all of you, Lorcan Salvaterre.”
The sound Lorcan made was low, wrecked, as though she’d cleaved him open with those words. Especially by his full name on her lips. He bent, kissing her hard, his hand guiding himself to her entrance. He stroked once, just the head sliding against her slick folds, before he paused, bracing one massive hand beside her head.
“This will sting,” he said quietly. “But I’ll go slow. As slow as you need. You tell me when to stop.”
Elide nodded, eyes locked on his, chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. She hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him down, her whisper hot against his lips. “I trust you.”
Lorcan shut his eyes, cursing softly, before pressing his flushed and already leaking cock forward, just an inch. Her body resisted, then yielded, stretching to take him, and her cry split the air. He stilled instantly, jaw clenched, sweat beading his temple as he held back the crushing urge to drive deep.
“Elide,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to hers, shadows trembling at the edges of the tent like they mirrored his restraint. “Breathe for me. Gods, you feel… you feel,” He broke off, groaning as her walls spasmed around him.
Her nails dug into his shoulders, her lips at his ear. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. “More.”
And Lorcan, brutal general, slayer of thousands, feared across continents, shook as he obeyed, sinking into her inch by slow inch, until his cock met resistance. The proof of her virtue, that same virtue he was about to take. “Breathe for me, Elide. This might hurt, focus on me, look into my eyes.”
Lorcan held himself at the precipice, his massive body trembling above hers, every muscle corded with the strain of restraint. His forehead remained pressed to hers, as though grounding them both, his dark eyes locked unwaveringly on Elide’s.
Her breath hitched, uneven, caught between fear and need. The sting lanced through her as he pushed against her barrier, but she clung tighter around his neck, nails biting into his shoulders, creating mall crescents on his skin.
“Look at me,” Lorcan ordered again, softly, though his voice was frayed, ragged. “Breathe. Just you and me. No one else. Nothing else.”
Elide forced her gaze to hold his. His black stare was wild and endless, but steady, tethering her. His hand slid beneath her jaw, thumb stroking the line of her throat as if to soothe, to anchor. She nodded, breath shuddering out. He brushed his fingers over her pulse, it was fast, yet strong.
Lorcan pressed forward again, slow, so gods-damned slow, until the resistance gave way. Her cry broke between them, her body clenching hard around him, the pain sharp and fierce. He stilled instantly, every muscle quaking with the effort to hold back, to not drive into the heaven of her heat.
“Elide,” he rasped, his forehead damp with sweat against hers. His voice was wrecked, guttural. “Tell me. Do I stop?”
Tears stung her eyes, but not from sorrow. From the rawness, the enormity of what she’d given him. She shook her head, whispering against his lips, “Don’t stop. Please.”
Lorcan groaned, the sound torn from the depths of him. “Gods damn me, I’ll ruin myself on you.”
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he sank deeper, inch by inch, giving her time to stretch around him, to adjust to the fullness of his size. His jaw was clenched so tightly a vein throbbed at his temple. His hands cradled her face as though she were the only thing holding him together.
When he was finally buried to the hilt, his body shaking with the effort not to move, he panted against her mouth. “You’ve taken me… all of me.” His lips brushed hers. “You’re perfect, Elide.”
The burn eased, replaced by a building heat that curled low in her belly. Her hips shifted instinctively, drawing a hiss from him, his entire frame jolting as if lightning had lanced through him. His muscles tightening and rippling.
“Careful,” he warned, his voice shredded. “I won’t last if you…” He broke off as she deliberately rolled her hips again, testing, learning.
A broken laugh tore from her throat. “You, Lorcan Salvaterre, undone… by me?”
His answering snarl was feral and reverent all at once. “Only you. Elide Lochan. Lady of Perranth.”
Then he moved. Just a shallow pull, a slow thrust back in, but it stole the breath from her lungs, dragged a moan from her throat. He repeated it, again and again, until the pain bled into aching pleasure, until Elide clutched at him not in desperation, but in demand.
Her lips found his ear, her whisper ragged and reckless. “Harder.”
Lorcan froze, his entire body trembling with the effort to obey and not destroy. He pulled back, eyes dark as night, his voice a plea and threat in one. “Don’t ask me for that unless you’re certain, Elide. Because once I start, I won’t stop.”
“Don’t stop.” She whimpered, a small sound.
Lorcan’s entire body vibrated with the tension of holding himself back, every nerve ending begging to unleash, to drive into the heaven of her heat until nothing remained but ruin and rapture. But even as her plea echoed in his ears, even as her nails dug crescents into his shoulders and her slick walls clenched around him like a vise, his gaze flicked downward, past the flush of her breasts, past her trembling belly, to her injured ankle.
The sight grounded him. Reminded him. She was his to protect, not to break.
He adjusted his weight, bracing on one forearm, the other hand sliding down her thigh to hook it gently higher around his hip, careful, so careful, to avoid twisting her injured foot. He angled her body with painstaking precision, aligning himself so the strain would not touch her ankle at all. His magic swirled, brushing her ankle, as if guarding it.
When he pressed forward again, his thrust was deeper, harder, but controlled, angled to give her everything without risking harm. Elide gasped, her head tipping back, the burn of his size now flooding into molten pleasure. “Lorcan…” She moaned.
“You’re safe,” he murmured against her ear, his voice guttural, fraying apart. “I see your ankle. I’ll not hurt you there. I’ll not hurt you anywhere.” His thumb stroked the line of her jaw as though to anchor her. “But gods help me, Elide, I can’t keep gentle much longer.”
Her answering moan was broken, desperate. “Then don’t.”
That undid him. With a growl that rattled the tent poles, Lorcan drew back and drove into her fully, the sound of their bodies meeting sharp, devastating. Elide cried out, not from pain but from the overwhelming fullness, the way every inch of him claimed her. He buried his face against her throat, his breath hot and ragged, his hips rolling into hers with brutal precision, yet each movement angled to shield her ankle, to keep her safe even in his ferocity.
Her hands clawed down his back, her thighs clutching his sides, and Lorcan obeyed the only command her body seemed to give him: more. His rhythm quickened, relentless, until every thrust had her writhing, sobbing his name like it was salvation.
“Elide,” he groaned, her walls tightening around him, his control snapping thread by thread. “Gods, you’re mine. Mine.” He shifted his angle slightly, and her cry nearly broke him as he struck that hidden spot deep within, her body convulsing around him in shuddering waves.
He didn’t stop. Not when she spasmed around him, not when her voice broke on his name. He drove through it, into it, carrying her over the edge again with the sheer force of his worship, his vow branded into her skin with every bruising, reverent thrust.
After another release was ripped from Elide’s body. Lorcan’s control snapped like a bowstring under too much strain. Every ounce of restraint he had honed over centuries, every wall of discipline and shadow-forged patience, crumbled beneath the sound of Elide gasping his name. He drove into her with slow, devastating force at first, each thrust angled carefully to protect her ankle, one hand locked firmly at her hip to keep her steady. His other arm braced beside her head, body bowed over hers, caging her in but never crushing her, his bulk shielding her as if the world itself might try to intrude upon this moment.
She arched into him, small body taking him, stretching around him, clinging with desperate determination. The sting was gone, drowned in molten heat, in the perfect, overwhelming fullness of him, as he continued to thrust into her through the waves of her latest release. And gods, the sounds she made, breathless, broken, helpless, ripped through Lorcan like lightning. He bent, kissing them from her mouth, swallowing every sob, every moan, until her taste and her scent and her body wrapped tight around him became the only reality.
“Elide,” he groaned, his voice unrecognizable, raw and guttural against her throat. His hips snapped forward, deeper this time, angled just so, and her answering cry nearly undid him. “Mine. You’re mine.”
She clutched at his back, her nails carving lines down his muscle, urging him harder, faster. And he gave it to her. Gods help him, he gave it to her, each thrust brutal in its hunger but never careless, always mindful of her ankle. He shifted slightly, adjusting her leg higher around his waist, his shadows curling protectively around her ankle as if they, too, vowed not to let harm touch her.
The angle had her sobbing into his shoulder, her walls tightening violently around him. He hissed through his teeth, nearly undone, then groaned when he struck that secret spot again, and her body convulsed, her new release crashing over her so hard she trembled in his arms.
Lorcan did not relent. He fucked her through it, each thrust wringing more shuddering cries from her, driving her into another climax before the last had even subsided. Her body clamped around him, fluttering and squeezing, dragging him toward his own ruin.
His control was gone. His rhythm turned savage, punishing, every thrust an oath carved into her flesh: mine, mine, mine. His hand slid to the back of her head, cradling her as though she were both his greatest treasure and his undoing. His mouth found hers again, brutal and reverent in the same breath, until his body locked, buried deep inside her, and his release tore through him with a growl that shook the tent. He was almost sure the camp would hear them. But he didn’t care.
He poured into her, magic flaring, black and endless, his breath a ragged roar against her skin as his seed filled her in thick, hot pulses, and yet protected by the earlier magic he had summoned. He trembled with the force of it, holding her so tightly she thought he might shatter her into pieces, and still, still his hands remained careful, one braced to keep her ankle safe, the other stroking her hair as though to soothe her through the storm he had unleashed.
When the last of his release shuddered out of him, he collapsed forward, chest heaving against hers, his weight carefully held on his forearm so as not to crush her. He pressed kisses across her brow, her temple, her jaw, murmuring her name between each one, as though her existence alone had saved him from the abyss.
Elide clung to him, wrecked and trembling, her face buried against his neck. She felt the steady pounding of his heart beneath her cheek, wild and unrestrained, proof that even the immortal demi-fae Lorcan Salvaterre had been undone.
For a long while they stayed tangled, breathing each other in. Then, with painstaking care, Lorcan withdrew, biting back a groan at the loss of her heat. She hissed in response at the loss of him. He immediately cleaned her up with his discarded tunic and the warm water from the earlier bath, after he ensured their release and the blood were gone, he pulled the furs higher over her trembling body, pressing his lips to her ankle as though sealing a vow into it.
But when she shifted, wincing faintly as her foot caught against the cot’s hard edge, Lorcan cursed softly. He rose, towering over her, his cock still heavy though softening, his chest gleaming with sweat. Without a word, he bent and seized the edge of his cot, dragging it with a single arm until it slammed flush against hers. The wood groaned under his strength, but he didn’t stop until both cots formed one wide bed. Even in the small, crammed space.
He layered the furs across, arranging them with surprising gentleness for a male built of war and destruction. Then he bent, sliding an arm beneath Elide to lift her as though she weighed nothing, settling her into the center of the newly made bed. He retrieved a thick material from his pack, strapping it snugly around her ankle to support it, a makeshift brace, his massive fingers careful, almost tender, as he fastened it gently on her.
When he was satisfied, he proceeded to clean himself up, not bothering to clothe him, nor her. And then he slid in beside her, pulling her against his chest, his arm around her waist. His mouth brushed the crown of her hair, his voice low, wrecked, but unshakable. “You sleep with me tonight. Every night. No more space between us.”
Elide, half-asleep already, managed a faint smile against his skin. Safe, warm, utterly spent, she whispered, “Thank you, Lorcan.”
Lorcan shut his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips, holding her as though he’d never let go. “Don’t thank me for this, Elide, I should be the one to thank you.” For more than this night, he thought.
Lorcan waited until Elide’s breaths evened out and she softened against him. He kissed her crown one last time. And for what it had seem like forever. Lorcan fell asleep, calm, and with more satisfaction than what he had ever experienced during battle. Because he held in his arms, not only the most courageous woman he had ever met, but something far more precious and rarer. Hope. Hope to be more than just Maeve’s former second in command, hope of being more than just a battle worn demi-fae. Hope of a future, with her.