Page 28 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

He draws me closer and guides me to straddle him, rather than sitting across on his lap.

“Take what you want,” he tells me, his hands on my ass. “I’m yours.”

So I explore, peppering kisses over his jaw and cheek, then finding his mouth again for a longer press of our lips. When he squeezes me and urges me to spread my knees wider, I gasp, and he swipes his tongue over my lower lip, tasting me for the first time.

Sparks of desire dance through my body, gathering deep in my belly to form a glowing, pulsing coal. I slide my hands up and behind Torren’s neck, then reach up to tangle my fingers in his hair. It’s amazing, cool and smooth like silk, and he groans when I scratch my nails against his scalp.

Emboldened, I touch my tongue to his. It’s the most amazing sensation, so unexpected considering what we’re doing. It makes me wonder what else I could lick—what else Torren could lick—and if it would taste as good. The thought fans the flames inside me, and I mold myself closer to his chest, needing to feel the heat of him.

What I discover instead is the hardness in his pants, a bulging ridge that makes contact with the juncture of my thighs, and suddenly I wish my skirts weren’t in the way. I squirm closer still, until Torren tightens his grip on my behind, holding me in place.

“We don’t want to start that,” he rumbles, but he nips at my lower lip a moment later, drawing a moan from me.

I pant against his cheek. “Why?”

“For one, Morg will return shortly with our dinner,” he reminds me. He releases my ass and palms my face with both hands, squishing up my cheeks. “And we haven’t talked about what it means for a human to be with an orc yet.”

“Oh.” I settle back on his legs, knees still spread wide, but I’m no longer rubbing against his groin. “Is it different from how humans, er, do things?”

Torren brushes back my mussed hair and tucks it behind my ears. “Aye. The obvious part is that I’m much larger than any human man you might have slept with.”

My cheeks, already warm from all the kissing, heat up even more. “I haven’t slept with anyone yet.”

I thought I’d lose my virginity on my wedding night. And now I’m eager to have this orc take it from me, because I want it to be something I choose, not an obligation that comes with marriage. No one has even brought up marriage since I arrived at the Hill, and now I think of it, neither Rose nor Ivy mentioned having wed their mates.

“Do orcs get married?” I blurt out.

Torren lifts his eyebrows. “You want to get married?”

I press my hands to my cheeks. “Yes? I mean, I don’t know. I thought I had to, you know, to…” I motion at the narrow space between us, hoping Torren will understand.

But he throws his head back and laughs, good-natured chuckles echoing around his room. “No, sweetheart, you don’t have to marry someone if you want to fuck them. But orcs do get married sometimes. It depends on the couple. Most are happy to be mated, and it’s a commitment we take more seriously than any marriage vows.” He brushes his knuckles over my cheek and adds, “You will decide, all right? If you feel like you have to get married first, that’ll work. But I’m telling you that you don’t have to. It’s your choice.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. I think of my wedding dress, still crumpled in my saddlebags, where I stashed it in a fit of pique when I was packing for this hasty trip. It’s hard to believe such a short amount of time has passed since I left my parents’ home.

“I’ll think about it,” I promise. “I don’t think I’d want a big ceremony in any case.”

With stilted words, I explain to him about Ansel and our canceled wedding. Halfway through the story, Morg returns with a small pot of stew and a basket filled with clay bowls, spoons, and bread. He sniffs the air, and I know he must scent what Torren and I did earlier, but to his credit, he doesn’t comment, only pulls Torren’s desk to the middle of the room so we can eat. I repeat what I already told Torren, then finish the tale between bites of a delicious venison stew with sweet chunks of carrots and turnips.

“He sounds like an idiot,” Morg remarks as he mops the last of the gravy from his bowl with a piece of bread. “He should have at least told you himself. Leaving you at the altar was a cowardly thing to do.”

Torren leans back against the armchair, his hands on my hips. I’m still sitting in his lap, because he only has two chairs in his room, and besides, we didn’t really want to move.

“Hmm,” he says. “I can’t help but be grateful for his cowardice. If he hadn’t done that to you, you wouldn’t have been angry enough to leave your home and come here. And we might have gone our entire lives without meeting each other.”

Morg pauses, eyes wide in horror. “I didn’t even think of that.”

He reaches over the table, and I take his hand. He squeezes my fingers tightly as if he needs the contact. Orcs are much freer with touching than humans, and I can’t say I dislike their customs—I didn’t even know how much I craved casual touch and hugs before I came here. But every time either one of them brushes up against me or takes my hand, a small burst of happiness explodes in my chest, filling me with warmth.

“I’m here,” I say softly.

Torren’s fingers twitch on my hips. “Would you like to stay here tonight?”

I turn in his lap to stare at him. “You mean…?”

“No,” he says with a smile. “Our clothes stay on. And you don’t have to. But I thought I’d offer.”

I glance back at Morg to find him… Well, he’s not pouting, exactly, but he’s definitely not happy about Torren’s suggestion. I’m about to refuse for the sake of keeping the peace when Torren leans past me to glance at the younger orc.

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