Page 35 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

Soon, Morg stops in front of the door to Torren’s room. He knocks, two heavy thuds on the wood. The door swings open, which I only note because I see the bottom of it move. That means that Torren is now faced with my backside—and likely Morg’s smug face.

“Hello,” Morg says cheerfully. “We’ve come to fuck.”

“Gods, Morg, you are the most insufferable orc who has ever lived,” I shriek, thumping him on the back with clenched fists, not that it does any good. “Put me down this instant.”

“Er,” says Torren. “What?”

My face, already burning from being turned upside down, flames even more. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him when Morg marches right past him and into the dimly lit room. “This was not my idea, and I can’t believe he—eep!”

Morg swings me from his shoulder and sets me on my feet. All the blood rushes from my head back to my legs, and I sway in place, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Torren grabs my elbow and snarls at Morg, “What are you doing? You can’t treat a human like that.”

Morg, to his credit, looks slightly abashed. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. Are you all right?”

I put my hand to my forehead, nodding slowly. “Give me a moment.”

Torren leads me to his armchair and gently helps me sit. He’s so massive, he blocks my view of the room completely, and all I can see for a moment is him, staring down at me with concern in his dark eyes. He holds my hand lightly, as if I’m one of his precious creations, then brushes a lock of my hair back from my face. His fingers are so warm. He touches my skin, and I instinctively lean into the touch.

He hums appreciatively, cupping my face with his big hand, and runs his thumb over my cheek, down to my mouth. We’ve done this before, kissed and touched, but not with Morg present. He puts his thumb in the middle of my lower lip, and I open my mouth just enough to flick the tip of my tongue against his finger. His inhale is quick, his nostrils flaring, and I know he must scent my need.

“So,” Morg says from behind Torren’s back. “Shall we do this or not?”

I pull away from Torren’s touch to hide my face with my hands. “Oh gods.”

Why I thought this would be anything other than mortifying, I have no idea. But when Morg put his hands on me, my mind immediately went to Torren, just like I couldn’t keep Morg out of my head during Torren’s kisses. They have become inextricably linked in my head, and trying to move forward with one while ignoring the other seems impossible.

Torren slowly turns and focuses on the other male. Who is now lying on Torren’s neatly made bed, his boots off, his arms tucked under his head as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. I wish I could shake some sense into Morg, but he apparently can’t help himself—he’s doing exactly the things that are guaranteed to infuriate the older orc.

“What are you doing?” Torren demands, his voice rough and low.

Morg rolls to his side and pushes himself up on one elbow, propping his head with his hand. “Well, see, Jasmine and I were kissing just now,” he says, winking at me.

Torren meets my gaze, and I nod without looking away from him. Something flashes in his eyes, jealousy perhaps, but spiced with a good deal of heat. He dislikes that it was Morg’s kisses that brought me here, but he’s not disgusted by the thought at all.

Torren turns back to Morg. “What has that to do with me?”

Everything! I want to scream at him that they should stop pretending that they don’t care about each other. But perhaps that’s why I’m here. Maybe I’m the glue that will make them fit together after all this time.

The thought is preposterous. But I can’t convince myself it’s entirely wrong.

Morg now grins at Torren, his gaze sharp. “When we tried to more than kiss,” he continues, “Jasmine expressed her worries over you not being part of the act. So we came here to include you.”

I stand, marching forward. “That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

He’s being deliberately annoying, and I think I know what’s wrong.

“You think I rejected you, don’t you?” I ask softly, nearing the bed. “You think that because I asked for Torren, I somehow don’t find you enough?”

Morg turns his gaze away from us, and I know I hit the truth in one. I cast a glance at Torren, who’s now staring at Morg with an inscrutable expression, his arms crossed over his chest. I give him a small smile, and the tension around his eyes softens. Then he lets out a long breath and gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

He’s with me. Whatever happens here, he’s with me—with us—and that feels like a victory. Now I only have to get my stubborn Morg to agree.

“I didn’t reject you.” I sit next to Morg on the bed and, feeling very daring, place my hand on his thigh. The muscles bunch under my touch, but he doesn’t react otherwise. “And you misinterpreted my words,” I add. “I’m sorry if I let you believe otherwise. I only wanted to say that I couldn’t move forward without having a conversation with Torren.”

“Right,” Morg mumbles. “So talk.”

I let a long breath out through my nose to calm my nerves. If I bungle this, I’ll ruin more than just my own happiness, I know it.

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