The Velvet Den

Chapter 2

Fae of every kind filled the bar. Orcs with gleaming tusks, fairies with translucent wings glowing faintly in the dim light, vampires with pale, sharp features, and werewolves whose eyes burned gold as they scanned the room. Giants ducked to fit through the door, their booming laughter vibrating through the walls, while centaurs pawed the ground, their muscular forms towering over the rest. Each carried an edge of wildness, their magic and primal hunger crackling in the air.

I weaved between the tables, the press of bodies brushing against my bare skin, their touches leaving trails of heat. My eyes caught Leila’s figure disappearing into the crowd, her moan cutting through the noise. A vampire had her pinned against a column, his fangs sunk into her neck as his hips pressed hard against her from behind.

I laughed to myself. She always knew how to find fun.

At a table packed with goblins, I slid a pint of beer onto the rough wooden surface. “Who ordered this?”

Quickclaw, a regular, raised a clawed hand and gave me a sharp-toothed grin. “How’ve you been, Aria?” His voice was rough, almost guttural.

“Better now that I see you,” I teased, letting my voice drop low.

Quickclaw the goblin was a wiry, agile figure, his body built for speed and precision. Standing just over five feet tall, he had a compact frame that was deceptively strong despite his small stature. His skin was a mottled greenish-gray, like weathered stone, with faint scars crisscrossing his forearms and hands—a testament to his adventurous, often reckless nature.

His face was sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin that gave him an impish appearance. Quickclaw's nose was flat and slightly upturned, accentuating his mischievous grin that revealed jagged, slightly yellowed teeth. His large, almond-shaped eyes were a vivid golden hue, glinting with intelligence and a hint of cunning. They had darted around constantly, taking in every detail of his surroundings, always searching for an opportunity or potential threat.

His ears were long and pointed, twitching slightly as they caught even the faintest sounds, making him a master at navigating dark alleys or shadowy forests.

Dressed in a patchwork of leather and fabric, Quickclaw's attire had been practical rather than decorative. His tunic was made from stitched-together scraps of dark cloth, reinforced with mismatched pieces of hardened leather to provide some semblance of armor. Small pouches and satchels dangled from his belt, stuffed with trinkets, tools, and likely more than a few "borrowed" items.

True to his name, Quickclaw's fingers were long and nimble, tipped with sharp, slightly curved nails that he kept meticulously honed. Whether he was disarming traps, picking locks, or snatching something shiny from an unsuspecting passerby, his hands were always in motion, as if they had a mind of their own.

Despite his mischievous demeanor, there was a resourcefulness to Quickclaw that made him invaluable in a pinch. He was quick-witted and pragmatic, often finding clever solutions to problems that others might have overlooked. Though his motives leaned toward self-interest, Quickclaw's loyalty, once earned, had run deep, making him a surprisingly reliable ally.

He grabbed my waist, pulling me effortlessly into his lap. I laughed, but my pulse quickened as his hands roamed over me. His rough fingers trailed up my sides, slipping beneath my top to cup my breasts. The hardness of his chest pressed against my back as he pinched and teased my nipples, sending sparks of pleasure straight between my legs.

“Mmm,” I moaned softly, my body arching into his touch. Around us, his companions barely noticed, too engrossed in their own conversations. But a few of them stared, their eyes dark with hunger, their lips parted as they watched me squirm.

Quickclaw’s cock was already hard, pressing insistently against my ass. When he tugged it free, the thick, veined length pulsed with heat. He didn’t rush, his clawed fingers dipping between my thighs to find my clit, circling it with maddening precision.

“Quickclaw, please,” I whispered, the words tumbling out as my hips bucked against his hand. The scent of my arousal filled the air, and he chuckled, the vibration rumbling against my back.

“You want it?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Fuck me.”

His laughter was dark as he lifted me effortlessly, settling me down onto his cock. I gasped, my walls stretching to accommodate him, every ridge and vein pressing against me. He held me there, his hands firm on my hips, letting me feel the fullness of him without moving.

I leaned forward, my nipples brushing the cool wood of the table as I flushed with heat. He continued his conversation as if nothing had changed, the casual dominance sending a thrill through me.

Leila appeared again, balancing a tray of drinks. Her eyes lit up at the sight of me, impaled and trembling. She leaned down, her lips capturing mine in a deep, searing kiss. My moan spilled into her mouth, and Quickclaw throbbed inside me, a reminder of just how precarious my position was.

Around us, more creatures had taken notice. A troll stood at the edge of the room, his massive frame dwarfing those around him. His dark eyes burned into mine, his gaze intense and unrelenting. I couldn’t look away, caught in his spell even as my climax built.

Quickclaw’s fingers found my clit again, stroking in time with the pulsing heat of his cock. My body tightened, the orgasm crashing over me in waves as I cried out. His hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just holding me, grounding me as I shuddered against him.

When I slumped back into his chest, spent and trembling, I could feel the weight of the troll’s gaze still on me.