The bell above the heavy wooden door of The Iron Anvil chimed.

The air inside the shop was stifling. It smelled of burning coal, sweat, and hot steel. From the back room, the rhythmic, deafening CLANG, CLANG of Brokk hammering steel on the anvil echoed constantly.

Arthur walked right up to the front counter.

Brunhilda looked up from her ledger. The moment her eyes landed on his black armor, her breath visibly hitched. She remembered exactly how he had handled her the last time he was here. The illicit, suffocating heat he had left her with hadn’t faded; it had only fermented.

"Vance," Brunhilda breathed. She tried to sound professional, but she couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to his broad chest before nervously snapping back up to his cold blue eyes.

Arthur didn’t bother with small talk. He swiped his hand through the air, opened his inventory, and dropped the Shard of the Necrotic Core directly onto the wood.

Thud.

The jagged black crystal hit the counter, pulsing with a heavy, toxic purple light. The ambient temperature in the room instantly dropped.

Brunhilda gasped.

"By the forge," she whispered, her dwarven eyes going wide. She leaned over the counter, completely captivated by the pulsing dark magic. "Is that... is that a Raid Boss core?"

"Level 45 Death Knight," Arthur said casually. "I need a custom, dark-attribute hunting knife. Razor sharp. Eight-inch blade. Good for close-quarters."

"I... I haven’t worked with a material this high-tier in years," Brunhilda admitted, her professional curiosity warring with her nerves.

Arthur didn’t stay on his side of the counter. He leaned his entire upper body over the wood, completely invading her personal space.

Brunhilda froze. The heavy silver buckle of his belt was just inches from her nose. She could feel the intense, radiating body heat coming directly off his crotch and thighs.

She slowly looked up. Arthur was staring directly down the loose collar of her leather tunic, enjoying the flawless view of her massive, pale cleavage spilling out. He already knew her proportions intimately, and he knew exactly how much it flustered her when he looked at them.

"Can you handle it, Hilda?" Arthur asked, his voice low and mocking.

Brunhilda’s face flushed bright red at the nickname. A sharp, undeniable flutter pooled in her lower stomach.

"O-Of course," she stammered, backing up half a step. "There is nothing a dwarf can’t forge. A-Anything else?"

Arthur chuckled, highly amused by her reaction. He stood back up and dropped his ruined Shadow Wolf armor onto the counter.

Seeing the shredded leather, Brunhilda immediately snapped back to her professionalism.

"Vance, are you kidding me?" Brunhilda groaned, completely ignoring the rare crystal to inspect the ruined gear. "I literally just fitted this for you a few weeks ago! Every time you come in here, your armor is practically destroyed!"

"I can’t do anything about it," Arthur said lazily, leaning against the counter. "A Level 45 Death Knight isn’t exactly a joke. I need the leather repaired, and I need Brokk to forge the knife out of that core."

"A Level 45..." She sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "Fine. But the schedule is completely packed. Brokk is backed up with academy orders. The repairs and the knife will take at least a week."

"That’s too long," Arthur stated. "I have a dungeon dive this weekend. I need gear."

"Then buy a spare off the rack until this one is fixed," she suggested.

"That won’t do," Arthur shot back. "The last readymade you gave me was a loose fit. It slows me down. I need it tailored."

Brunhilda bit her lip. She looked around the empty shop. The heavy thud of Brokk’s hammer continued in the back room, perfectly steady. A deep, guilty flush suddenly crept up her neck.

"Then..." Brunhilda stammered, her voice dropping to a hesitant whisper. "M-maybe you wait in the fitting room. I’ll bring several readymade pairs. We can adjust the straps to make sure it fits right."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. A slow, highly amused smirk spread across his face.

"Oh?" Arthur teased, his voice dropping low. "It seems you’re desperate to get me back into the fitting room again, Brunhilda."

"S-stop talking nonsense!" she hissed, her face burning bright red as she violently avoided his gaze. "I’m running a business! Go to the back!"

She turned around fast, practically waddling toward the storage racks to grab the leather sets.

Arthur smirked and walked to the back of the shop, slipping behind the heavy velvet curtain of the private fitting room.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t just take off his shirt. He stripped completely naked. He tossed his boots, pants, and shirt into the corner, standing barefoot on the wooden floorboards.

A minute later, the velvet curtain was pushed aside.

"Alright, Vance, I brought three different—"

Brunhilda froze.

The stack of heavy leather armor slipped from her arms. It crashed onto the floor with a loud thud.

She quickly reached back and pulled the heavy velvet curtain completely shut, sealing them inside the cramped, dimly lit space. Her chest was heaving.

"W-What are you doing?" she stammered, her voice barely a squeak.

Arthur stood in the center of the small room, completely naked. The Troll Blood enhancement made his muscles dense and heavily defined. But Brunhilda wasn’t looking at his abs.

Her eyes were glued directly to his crotch.

Because of her extreme shortstack proportions, standing right in front of him put the top of her head barely past his stomach. Her face was perfectly, flawlessly level with his dick.

And it was a monster. Thick, heavy, and already half-hard from the sheer thrill of the exhibitionism. It’s bigger than my whole head, Brunhilda thought, her mind completely short-circuiting.

"What?" Arthur asked casually, crossing his arms. He looked down at her flushed, terrified, and completely aroused face. "You said I needed to check the fitting. You didn’t expect me to try the armor on over my street clothes, did you?"

Brunhilda couldn’t form words. Her thick thighs squeezed together tightly. In the background, right through the thin wall, Brokk’s hammer slammed against the anvil. CLANG.

"Now quit dawdling," Arthur commanded, his tone dropping the teasing edge and becoming entirely authoritative. "Pick the armor up and help me try it on."

The shortstack swallowed hard. Her legs were trembling wildly as she bent down to pick up the heavy leather straps.

She stepped closer to him. She was right at his waist. As she reached around him to adjust the leather harness over his hips, she had to lean in. The cramped space forced her entirely into his zone.

Arthur shifted his stance slightly.

The movement made his heavy, half-hard cock brush directly against the tip of her nose.

Brunhilda gasped. She froze entirely, the hot, heavy weight of his manhood resting right against her lips and nose. The musky, primal scent of his sweat and arousal completely flooded her senses.

She didn’t pull away.

While her husband hammered steel in the next room, the lonely wife closed her eyes, parted her lips slightly, and took a deep, trembling sniff.