Aithne felt a glow in her and she basked in its heat as she set the breakfast table. It was a new emotion, one she had difficulty naming. Joy seemed a bit strong. Happiness as well, though treading carefully around the perimeter of the word did not lead to a feeling of it being entirely out of place. She feared to pursue that thought further, shying away and shifting downward.

 

Content.

 

She rolled the word around in her head and it felt right. She had made her Master happy, and that made her feel content.

 

But, no. It came to her in a shock of realization that it was more than that. Just making him happy wasn’t all of it – he had provided things for her as well. Like the books. Like the bath. Like the small freedom of being allowed to roam the library or, apparently, the college itself without express permission.

 

He had given her so much, she realized. She was just a lowly slave, less important than a farmer’s livestock in most people’s eyes, and he had given her…a life. And she…she had given him nothing. Well, nothing except a single breakfast, and not even a breakfast he was fond of. She needed to do better, to give him more. But what did she have that she could give him?

 

The answer hit her like a slap on the face. It was obvious, had been obvious since the moment she had first entered his rooms, all those weeks ago. She smiled as a plan formed in her mind. A simple plan, to be sure, but a plan nonetheless.

 

“Tonight.”

 

She hadn’t realized she had spoken until her Master said from the doorway, “Hm? What’s tonight?”

 

Aithne flushed and cast about for an answer. Her plan required just the right timing, and there were few points in the day when the timing would be worse than first thing in the early morning. She needed a diversion.

 

 Her eyes landed on the menu and she picked it up and tapped it.

 

“Tonight, I’m going to order food for tomorrow. I know you don’t like the porridge.” She motioned at the bowl and saw his lip curl a little as he glanced at it. “Well, Ghint says I can put in an order the day before so you can have what you like.”

 

“Who is Ghint?”

 

“Oh! Um…he works in the kitchen. He’s the one who has been bringing your food.”

 

“Ah. I never bothered to order anything. Just seemed like a waste of time.”

 

“Yes, sir. But is it okay if I order for you? Then you don’t have to waste your time but can still eat food you actually like.” She motioned toward the bowl again.

 

He shrugged. “That’s fine. Is that where you went last night? To the kitchen?”

 

“Yes, sir.” She bowed her head as a quake ran through her body. Maybe he was mad after all! Her spirit dropped and she began to tense. “I…I apologize for failing to ask. It was…sort of an accident.”

 

“It’s fine. And you got this this morning?”

 

Relief swept through Aithne as she nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Good. I don’t like having people I don’t know in our suite. I’ll be right back.”

 

Aithne’s heart sang and she clutched the menu to her chest as Urag strode past toward the bath.

 

It was a long long day. Aithne could not remember a time when she felt such anticipation for something, which made the hours seem to stretch to triple their normal length. She nodded at Eleanor’s chatter without hearing any of it, went to the kitchen to bring back the breakfast dishes (Urag hadn’t even touched the porridge) and bring back lunch, then tried to read, but for once, she couldn’t concentrate on the words on the page.

 

By the time the day was over, she felt she might burst. She went back to the kitchen with the lunch dishes, dropped off her orders for the next day, and brought dinner back, but she only fiddled with her food. Her nervous energy erased all other concerns.

 

At long last, her Master finished eating. As he headed for the bedroom, Aithne went to the bath and cleaned herself from head to foot, nearly as vigorously as she had her first day there, then slipped out of the water, stepped past her crumpled robe, and walked toward the bedroom. Her Master looked up from his book as she entered and approached the bed.

 

“What are you…” he began, then choked to a stop when she reached down and stroked the blanket over his cock. “Hey, what…”

 

“Sir,” Aithne said as she held his gaze while her fingers traced the shape of his rapidly growing member. “I’m chilly. Would it be okay if I got into bed with you?” His cock strained at the blankets and she ran her fingers down its shaft. It was as long as, possibly longer than, Borkul’s. She could imagine it inside her, the fullness and the pain. The pain she hated yet somehow longed for.

 

“Look, you don’t have to…I never said you had…”

 

“Sir. I want to. If it’s all right with you, of course.”

 

“But….”

 

“Truly. Sir. Urag. This is not you forcing me to do something I do not want to do. I…appreciate all you have done for me. And all the things you…could have done but didn’t. Please. Let me do something for you. I want to, I truly do.”

 

His breath was already ragged but she could see the conflict in his eyes as he tried to maintain self-control. He set the book carefully down on the bedside table. Aithne took the opportunity to slide onto the bed, straddling him as she brushed her fingernails across his chest. She could feel his cock jump, pressing against her. She ground her pelvis against it through the blankets.

 

“Look,” he said, lifting a hand.

 

Aithne took the hand and pressed it to her breast.

 

“You don’t understand,” he protested, but he did not remove his hand. “I am an orc. Orc sex is extremely violent. Most other races…” He grunted as Aithne moved her hips again. “…can’t…look…I’m saying, once I get started, I won’t be able to control myself.”

 

Aithne grinned, then, and lifted herself off just long enough to flip the blankets from the bed.

 

“Sir,” she said as she regained her position straddling him. His cock pressed against her and she shifted until she felt it align and begin to slide into her. She had been thinking of this moment all day, and she was more than ready for him. “That is exactly what I am hoping for.”

 

She slammed her hips downward, forcing his full length into her, and they cried out in unison as pain and lust exploded inside her.

 

It was everything she had hoped and feared, the perfect melding of her dichotomous orc masters: all the pain Borkul inflicted, all the care Urag provided.

 

Of course, it was care in the most Orcish sense of the word. Aithne had been afraid he might try to hold back, to spare her from his nature, but he did not; once he recognized she was not going to back down, he lived up to his promise of letting himself loose.

 

However, even as he grabbed and turned and pinned and slammed into her, he did so with the clear intention that what he did was meant to bring pleasure to both of them. He spent time touching her, licking and even kissing her, something Borkul had never even intimated as an idea.

 

He, in short, treated her as a lover, not a slave. And, at the end, when they both lay drained and gasping, she tried to leave the bed, to crawl back to her blanket on the floor, but he stopped her. Asked (asked!) her to stay.

 

Held her.

 

And as she fell into the first truly deep sleep she could remember having, she tiptoed closer to the yawning danger-filled chasm that represented happiness.

 

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