Page 16 of Captured By the Orc

She takes a deep breath. “Feels... intense,” she says.

“Next time, we'll really test it out,” I smirk, kissing her forehead. “For now, we rest.” She relaxes against me, melting into my arms.

We stand there, locked together, my body holding her up. And I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to fuck her again. To hear the little sounds she makes, to make her come again and again all over me.

When my knot finally lets go, I pull out, feeling empty as we separate. She blushes, grabs her clothes, and heads for the showers.

I claimed her, marked her as mine. She has a price on her head. What the fucking shit am I going to do now?

CHAPTER 8

LILA

Particles of steam hiss against my skin, the air shower stripping away the sticky residue of our mingled sweat. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the cool mist envelop me, desperately trying to cleanse more than just my body. The memory of Garoth’s touch lingers, branding me with every pulse of air that cascades over my flesh.

It was incredible—the kind of sex you read about in the forbidden pages of a smuggler’s pulp novel. Garoth’s powerful body moving with mine and driving me into an orgasm faster than even my vibrator has been able to do.

But what now? My thoughts are colliding and sparking with fear and longing.

I can’t give in and have sex with him again. Yet, my body betrays me with a shiver, craving his touch once more.

He’s a bounty hunter, an orc with allegiance to those warlords who view my life as nothing more than a bargaining chip if at all. They had come for me, guns blazing through the hull of my diplomatic vessel, and all protocol and peace talks vaporized in an instant.

And when they came after me, shooting at both of us, he could’ve pushed me out the airlock and been done with me.

Except, he didn’t. He defended me. But he’s still not someone I can trust fully. He’s a bounty hunter and what if they offer a price he can’t refuse?

The air dries around me, leaving my skin tingling, and I step out of the cleansing fog, my braid heavy against my back. I wrap a towel around my athletic frame, not for modesty, but for warmth against the chill of uncertainty that clings to me tighter than any fabric.

What will Garoth do next? My heart pounds, each beat echoing the unanswered question. Will he see me as something more than a job?

Could he take me to the council, and stand by my side as I plead for peace and protection for my homeworld?

I shake my head cause as hard as I try to imagine that, I can’t.

Or he could be plotting to cast me off at the nearest spaceport? Would he look back as his ship vanishes leaving me behind like space dust?

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the defiant blue in my eyes warring with the intelligence that screams caution. But there’s no harmony in this treacherous edge with desire and danger.

“This isn’t some cosmic romance. It’s survival.” Besides, I’m sure Garoth doesn’t have actual feelings for me. He must have slept with dozens of females and I’m just a notch in his belt. That as soon as he has his pay for ’rescuing’ me, he’ll be off with someone else.

Yet that thought makes my stomach twist.

I force my legs to move, to carry me back to the reality where star charts matter more than stolen kisses, where speeches could mean salvation or slaughter.

But hope, much like peace, is a fragile thing in a galaxy carved by conflict.

I’m pacing the length of Garoth’s ship, bare feet silent on the cool metal floor. The hum of the engine is a soothing backdrop to the thoughts raging in my head, where thoughts of him and what we did clash against my better judgment.

And I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the way he knew just how to bring me to the edge and over with an ease that left me breathless.

“Damn it,” I curse under my breath, rubbing at the tension knotting between my shoulder blades. So it was amazing sex…so what?

Focus on the mission! My people! Not get lost in those dark eyes that promise more than just heat between tangled sheets.

The door slides open with a whisper, and there he stands—Garoth, in all his towering, orcish glory. His presence fills the room like a tangible force, and for a moment, I’m caught in his gravity, unable to look away from him.

“Made dinner,” he grunts, holding out a tray. There’s something else too—a paper flower, delicate and oddly beautiful in his rough hands.

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