Page 12 of How To Woo A Warrior Orc

A clean tray in hand, I begin to carefully place chocolate croissants and almond tartlets in neat rows as I mull it over, wishing my pale skin didn’t show all my heated emotions nearly immediately by burning up.

My mother used to tell me it was a good thing that I wore my emotions so close to the surface. I wonder what she would think about Ga’Rek.

It’s almost as though I hear her soft murmur against my ear.

Life is too short, sweetling. Grab it with both hands and hold on for the ride.

I blow out a breath, knowing exactly what I should do.

There’s only one thing for it.

I need to woo a warrior orc.

CHAPTER SIX

GA’REK

Ibarely get the chance to speak to Piper as the day winds down.

I’m intimately aware of her, though, the way she brushes past me to grab a pastry or a sandwich, the high-pitched musical patter of her speech with customers. The black tea and flour scent of her skin, always out of reach and tantalizingly close all at once.

By the time the crowd wears out, it’s nearly full dark outside, thanks to the earlier evenings and the grey clouds hanging low over the town.

The contentment that rolls through me in spite of the exhaustion of having to deal with people for hours is a new and welcome feeling.

A job well done in the Underhill was met with the taste of copper in my mouth. Sore muscles if I was lucky, stitches and broken bones if I was not.

Any day that ended with me still on the right side of my sword and not skewered by the business end of someone else’s was a good day.

This is infinitely better, though I’m well aware of a surplus of physical energy I have left to burn at the end of the workday.

Although, I can think of a few ways to burn it off that are infinitely more pleasurable than anything I could have done in the Underhill…

And they all involve one pretty brunette witch.

I lock the front door after the last patron leaves, flipping over the sign to read ‘closed.’

It’s just us left in the shop. Not an unusual thing, but for me to still be here after we’ve cleaned and finished the day’s work?

That is strange.

“Ah, so. I usually make dinner upstairs…” she says slowly. Piper winces, her nose wrinkling. “Make is sort of not, ah, reality, though. It’s much less make and much more ‘scavenge what’s edible.’ Then I drink a cup of chamomile tea from Lila’s teashop, read or draw and go to sleep. Most nights.” She clears her throat, her fingers working nervously at the apron tie she’s double wrapped around her waist to keep it in place.

I want to unwrap her.

I want to untie the little bow she’s made at the front and tease her as I take it off her body, then the clothes beneath.

My cock gets hard at the thought, and I adjust my own apron, too turned on to be embarrassed by the way my body is responding to every little twitch of her lips. Her gaze dips from my face to the small canvas cloth that does very little to cover my clothes, much less my body, and I stifle a groan.

I have to get myself under control.

Piper Paratee is more than just some idle lay to pass the time and enjoy in the moment.

I like her. I respect her. I want her.

I am not about to scare her off by taking that small, strong hand and wrapping it around the hard length of my cock. I’m not about to take her by her firm ass and hoist her onto one of the many tables in The Pixie’s Perch so I can lap at the sweetness between her thighs.

I grit my teeth, my tusks digging into my lower lip at the force of my vivid daydreaming.

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