Page 19 of Scoring the Orc

I stand my ground, my heart pounding in my chest. “You heard me,” I say, my voice trembling with fury. “What else do you want from me?”

He’s so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath hot against my skin. “I want you to remember your place,” he says, his voice a deadly whisper.

But instead of shrinking back, I take a step closer, my anger giving me a courage I didn’t know I had. “And what place is that?” I demand. “Your servant? Your punching bag? What am I to you, Jurto?”

His eyes flash with something dark and predatory, and he closes the gap between us, his massive body towering over mine. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough with barely contained anger. “And you will do as I say.”

His words send a shiver down my spine, but it’s not just fear that I feel. There’s something else, something I don’t want to acknowledge. Being this close to him, his powerful body pressing against mine, is doing something to me. My body is reacting in a way I didn’t expect.

I’ve always thought Jurto was attractive in a dangerous, forbidden way. But having him this close, his hands gripping my arms, his breath hot on my face, is turning me on in a way I can’t explain. My heart is racing, and I can feel heat pooling in my lower abdomen.

“Starting with your smart mouth.” He pins me to the kitchen counter, his grip firm but not painful. I stare up at him, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “You think you can talk to me like that?” he snarls, his eyes blazing with anger. “When I tell you to clean, I don’t expect you to talk back.”

I don’t know what to say. My mind is a whirlwind of fear and something else, something I don’t understand. I’ve never experienced this before. Aleryn never touched one of his slaves like this, never invaded their space in this way. I don’t know what to make of it.

And I don’t get why he’s acting like I’m the one who is out of line here when he’s always pushing me. He sounds angry. He’s snarling in my face about his rules. But there’s something in his body language that’s telling me that’s not it…

It’s like he wants a reason to be mad at me. Maybe punish me.

Jurto’s grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his face inches from mine. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Emilia,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “And you’re going to lose.”

For a moment, I can’t breathe. His proximity, his touch, is overwhelming. My body is trembling, but not just from fear. I hate him, but my body is betraying me, responding to his touch in a way that leaves me confused and ashamed.

I try to stand strong, to push away the confusing mix of emotions swirling inside me. “I’m not your plaything,” I manage to say, my voice shaking but resolute. “You can’t just?—”

But before I can finish, Jurto’s mouth crashes down on mine, silencing my words with a kiss that’s demanding, possessive, and raw. His hands move from my arms to my waist, pulling me closer as his lips claim mine with a desperate intensity.

For a moment, I’m frozen, my mind reeling from the sudden assault. But then, against all logic and reason, I find myself responding. My hands, which had been pushing against his chest, now slide up to grip his shoulders, pulling him closer even as my mind screams at me to stop.

The kiss is frantic, a clash of lips and tongues that leaves me breathless and dizzy. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, the hard planes of his muscles pressing into me, and it’s intoxicating. My resolve is crumbling, the anger and fear giving way to a need I don’t want to admit.

Jurto’s hands roam over my back as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth with a hunger that both terrifies and excites me. I hate him, I remind myself, but my body isn’t listening. It’s responding to him, demanding more even as my mind rebels.

I try to regain control, to push him away, but he’s relentless. His hands slide down to my hips, lifting me onto the kitchen counter. I gasp as my back meets the cool surface, the sudden change in position making me acutely aware of how vulnerable I am.

“Jurto,” I manage to gasp out between kisses, trying to sound firm despite the desperation in my voice. “Stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze dark and intense. “You can’t hide from this, Emilia,” he murmurs, his voice a rough whisper. “You can’t hide from me.”

And then his lips are on mine again, more urgent this time, as if he’s trying to consume me, to claim every part of me. My hands are trapped between us, unable to do anything but clutch at him as he kisses me with a desperation that matches my own.

I feel a tear slip down my cheek, a mix of frustration and something I can’t quite name. I’m losing myself to him, to this moment, and it scares me. But at the same time, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to stop, that wants to surrender to the intensity of it all.

Jurto’s hands slide down my legs, his touch burning against my skin, and I shudder, fear and desire coursing through me. This is wrong, I know it is, but I can’t seem to pull away. His lips move to my neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along my skin, and I bite back a moan, my body arching into his touch.

“Jurto,” I whisper again, my voice trembling. But this time, it’s not a plea for him to stop. It’s a plea for something else, something I don’t fully understand but can’t deny.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that mirrors my own. Then, he kisses me again, and I surrender to the storm, letting it sweep me away.

Jurto’s kisses become more insistent, his lips moving with a hunger that should terrify me. My mind is a maelstrom of conflicting emotions—fear, anger, desire—all swirling together, leaving me breathless and disoriented. His hands roam over my body, exploring with a possessive fervor that both terrifies and thrills me.

I want to resist, to push him away, but my body betrays me, responding to his touch with a need I can’t control. His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pulls me closer, pressing his hard body against mine. The sensation is overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and pain that leaves me gasping for breath.

“Jurto,” I whisper, my voice trembling with desperation and desire.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes blazing with a dark intensity. “Not going to fight anymore?” he growls, his voice rough and commanding. “Huh? Where’s your fire?”

Before I can respond, his lips are on mine again, kissing me with a fierce, almost savage intensity. His hands slide under my shirt, his touch burning against my skin as he lifts the fabric over my head, tossing it aside. I shiver as his fingers trail over my bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

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