Page 45 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

The corner of Mara’s lips turns up in a small smile. “Thank you for telling me that.”

I lean back, satisfied. “It’s not easy to admit, but I don’t hate him either.” I shrug, then add, “His actions brought me here, after all. And I’m very happy here.”

Mara places her ledger on top of a stack of papers. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, you’d better go.”

I purse my lips, a little offended at the abrupt dismissal. “Of course. I will see you tomorrow.”

She shakes her head, grinning. “Tomorrow is my day off, so you get one, too. But I didn’t mean to throw you out so rudely. It’s just that Morg and Torren are waiting outside the door, and I think they’re very impatient to see you again.”

Chapter

Sixteen

Mara’s words prove to be true. The moment I open the door, Torren grabs me and swings me up in his arms. His lips find mine, and I cling on to him instinctively, wrapping my legs around his waist. Then Morg is there, hugging me from behind, so I’m pressed between their hard, muscular bodies.

“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow,” Mara calls.

I peer over Torren’s shoulder, face heating. “Sorry! Yes, I’ll see you soon.”

She laughs at us, although a twinge of something dulls her eyes. I make a note to ask her about it another time, when my overbearing mates aren’t present and trying to devour me in the middle of the corridor. She waves and disappears back into her office, leaving us alone in the hall.

I’m about to suggest that we head straight to Torren’s room when my stomach rumbles loud enough for even me to hear.

“Dinner,” Morg snaps between kisses he presses to the side of my neck. “You’ll need the energy.”

My body goes pliant with desire, and I lean my head to the side to give him better access, even as Torren palms my ass to lift me higher up his body.

“Can’t we just skip it?” I whine. “I’m not that hungry.”

What I want is them, naked in Torren’s bed. I don’t know where this intense need is coming from, but if I don’t taste them soon, I’ll surely die.

“Morg is right,” Torren says. “We are not letting you starve, Jasmine.”

I groan and release his neck, thinking he’ll set me down so we can walk to the great hall together. But Torren keeps me snug to his chest, his arms like iron bands around me. He starts walking, and Morg falls in step with us. He throws his arm around Torren’s shoulders, as if he can’t bear being even a breath away from us.

“Gods.” I squirm as Torren’s fingers brush that sensitive seam between my ass and thigh. “You can’t carry me in there. Everyone will know.”

Morg drags in a deep inhale. “Aye, they’ll know. They’ll smell your need, love, and they’ll know how lucky we are that we’re the ones who get to take you to bed afterward.”

I bury my face in Torren’s tunic. “There will be kids,” I complain weakly. “This will scar them for life.”

“This is the natural way of things,” Torren argues. “And we won’t do anything inappropriate in public.”

I could argue that smelling like lust and need is inappropriate in itself, but from what I’ve seen of other orc couples, everyone is likely used to such things. Orc noses are much more sensitive than ours, so I suppose they get used to scenting all sorts of things.

We arrive in the great hall. No one pays us much attention, which relaxes me further. Torren sets me on my feet, though he doesn’t let go of me. He leads me between tables to where several orcs are already sitting. I’ve met Ozork, Torren’s friend, while working with Mara, and he gives me a kind smile that stretches his scarred cheeks.

But he doesn’t even try to engage me or my mates in conversation—and neither do the other orcs seated at the table. From the way Morg and Torren are piling food on our plates, it’s clear they’re on edge. They sit on either side of me, their thighs pressing against mine, and I’m so warm between their bodies, my neck and face are flushed with heat. I bite back a grin when a younger orc, Neekar, asks me politely to pass him the butter dish, and Morg snarls at him, then passes it himself.

I place a hand on Morg’s thigh under the table and give him a gentle squeeze. “It’s all right,” I whisper. “I’m here with you.”

He lets out a low moan and nuzzles his cheek on my temple. “I know, love. But perhaps coming here wasn’t such a great idea after all.”

Torren pushes another yeasted roll at him. “Then stop talking and eat.”

“Yes, sir,” Morg says, his back snapping straight.

Torren gives him a heated look that has Morg flushing a deep green. I giggle, covering my mouth with my hand. Gods, what fun we’ll have, I can already tell.

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