Page 31 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

I wake up slowly, sleep clinging to me and drawing me back into darkness. I’m too cozy to get up, warm all over, and surely it’s not morning yet.

I reach for my blanket to draw it up to my chin, only to discover I’m not covered at all. Then how am I so warm? Blinking my eyes open, I lift my head an inch off the pillow. The first thing I notice is I’m still in my day dress. Then the memory of last night comes crashing in, and I realize why I’m so very cozy.

Morg sleeps soundly in front of me, his body curled around mine. The big orc’s hand rests on my hip, just as it did when we went to sleep. Behind me, I sense the steady, slow breaths coming from Torren. It’s his arm that’s flung over me, protecting me from the cool air. But apparently, he wasn’t satisfied just by holding me, because his hand is clenched in Morg’s tunic, holding the other orc close. They’ve both pressed up against me in the night, so we’re huddled in the middle of the bed. My hair is flung half over Morg’s chest, and I’m fairly certain some of the hair on my face is actually Torren’s.

It should have been very uncomfortable sleeping like this, squished between two large males, breathing each other’s air, but I slept incredibly well, and my head feels clear, my thoughts sharp.

Last night, they told me I wouldn’t have to choose between them. Was that because I’d bawled my eyes out and they only wanted to console me? I hope not, but I’ll have to make certain they both agreed because they want this, too. That leaves the question of how we’ll organize our lives. Will they want me to spend my nights alternating between their rooms or will we all meet up right here at the end of every day? And what does that mean for Morg’s promise to have his way with me in his bed—and Torren’s suggestion that I should decide what I want to do first?

I think I know what I want. The only issue is I might not be brave enough to say it out loud. If I tell them I want both of them to be there with me, every night, in all the ways, and they refuse… I don’t know how we’ll ever come back from that. If they’re not ready to truly share me now, they might never be. Or perhaps they’ll get used to the idea if I introduce it slowly?

I should ask the other women for advice because I’m out of my depth with this. I wouldn’t know what to do with one mate, let alone two.

A knock at the door interrupts my musing. Morg growls low in his throat, and his grip on me tightens. He pulls me toward his body, still asleep, and buries his face in my hair. At that, Torren rolls closer to me and slings his leg over mine, half trapping me under his weight.

“Uh,” I squeak, suddenly overwhelmed with the closeness and the scent.

Gods, the scent of them is incredible. I drag in a deep inhale through my nose, and my body responds to theirs instinctively, my belly warming with desire. Torren groans, and he’s hard again, the length of his cock pressing against my hip.

“Torren,” I whisper. “Someone’s at the door.”

My words have an immediate effect. He snaps awake, his dark eyebrows furrowed in a fierce scowl. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I shiver in the sudden absence of his warmth.

Morg stirs at my side, but instead of getting up, he reaches behind himself, snags the covers, and wraps us both in a cocoon. He hooks his arm around my waist and rolls me so my back is flush with his front and his hard cock rests against my ass.

“Mm,” he says. “This is how every morning should begin from now on.”

I pinch his arm under the cover. “Hush, someone’s here.”

Torren is already at the door, undoing the latch and pulling it open.

Rose pokes her head through, grinning. “Good morning, Torren. Is Jasmine here?” Then she casts her gaze my way, and her eyes flare wide. “Oh, there you are. And so is Morg. Well, I’m very glad you three have worked things out, congratulations. But Jasmine, Mara will be waiting for us. Ritta had to go out on patrol, otherwise she would have been here. We’ll have breakfast with Mara, that’s the only way to catch her, really, she’s so busy, so we should get going.”

I stare at her, working through the rush of words. Then it hits me—I’m meeting Mara, the Steward of the Hill, today, to get a job. I sit up, glancing down at my wrinkled gown in dismay.

“I look a mess!” My hand flies unconsciously to my hair, and from how it hangs, I already know it’s just as horrible. “I need to get back to Ritta’s room and get changed.”

Rose shakes her head. “That’ll take too long. We can talk to Mara tomorrow, then? I know she’s busy all afternoon.”

Torren studies me for a moment, then barks, “She’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’ll wait in the hall.” Rose gives me an encouraging nod.

I scramble from the bed, brushing my hands over my skirts, but it’s no use. The fabric is squashed, and it’s quite clear I slept in it.

“Give it here,” Torren says, motioning to me.

I snap my gaze to him. “What?”

“Your dress. I’ll help.”

He sounds so certain, I decide to trust him. I loosen the laces of my dress and shimmy out of it, then hand it over to him. Left only in my undershirt, I feel exposed, but Morg doesn’t leer at me at all. Instead, he picks up my stays from the floor where I dropped them last night and brings them to me. With his help, it’s quick work to get them tied properly, and then he nudges me to sit on Torren’s chair.

He grabs a metal comb from Torren’s shelf and runs it gently through my hair, working the tangles until he’s satisfied. Then he braids it with surprisingly deft fingers, rolls the braid up in a bun, and secures it with a leather tie from Torren’s stash.

I pat the bun carefully and turn to him. “Where did you learn to do that?”

I might have expected Torren to know how to work with long hair, but Morg’s is cropped quite short for an orc.

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