Page 32 of His Orc Lady

His words warm me from the inside, heat spreading through my veins. I step farther into the room and untie Owen’s cloak from my neck, then hang it by the door to dry. I want to snoop around, see what few items he has brought from the human lands, but he’s surprisingly neat, with no clutter in sight.

Perhaps he doesn’t expect to be here for long, so he hasn’t bothered unpacking and making this space his own.

The thought leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I’m being tugged in so many different directions, I no longer know what I want, what Ishoulddo. If I refuse him again, refuse to tell him the truth, it might finally be too much for him—too much dishonesty on my part. But if I admit that he’s my mate, it’s entirely possible that it will destroy whatever is building between us because we’ll never know if what we had was real or just an obligation, at least for him.

And if I give in and take what he’s offering, if I kiss him again and see where it might lead us?

Well, that path is sure to be enjoyable, at least for the day.

“Will you sit?” he asks, still waiting by the door.

I pause, weighing my options. There’s a chair by the table, a plain wooden one—and there’s the bed.

With every passing moment in Owen’s presence, the fire burns brighter, and his room isn’t helping either. It’s soaked in his scent, fresh cedar and spicy anise teasing my senses. I’m too hot, so I untie my wool shawl, drape it across the back of the chair, and walk over to the bed.

There, I glance over my shoulder at Owen. “Will you lock the door?”

It’s another small step from my side, one he might not accept.

Owen straightens his broad shoulders. He bites his lower lip, hesitating, then releases it. He faces the door, turns the large iron key in the lock, and throws the bolt for good measure.

“Thank you,” I murmur. I keep my gaze steady and step away from him until the backs of my knees meet the bed, then sit right there, inches from where he lays his head to rest each night.

“Mara…” Owen takes a step forward, then another—but stops by the table, illuminated by the orange glow of the lantern. “We should talk.”

But I don’t want that, not yet. I have no wish to discuss my reasons why I can’t go outside, nor the truth behind this too-strong pull between us.

I need to know what he feels for me before I can open up about my deepest fears.

“Tomorrow?” I cock my head to the side, offering him the suggestion.

I’ve never in my life made a proposition like this, but with Owen, even this bold move feels too slow. I need to know everything about him, and the instinct to get closer to him is so overwhelming, I can barely sit still on the bed, waiting for him to come to me.

Perhaps it’s the relief of seeing him return safely after I had to watch him leave the Hill. Or it’s the way he kisses me, like stopping might kill him. Or it’s everything mashed together, theFates interfering in my life—inourlives, pushing us into this madness.

I see the moment something snaps in Owen. He closes the distance between us and doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of me, the tips of our boots touching.

He grips my chin and tilts my head back, his touch firm. “Tomorrow?”

Breathless, I give him a quick nod. “Aye. I promise.”

Owen bends down and crushes his lips on mine. I grasp the front of his tunic and yank him down with me, and he follows willingly, bracing his hands on either side of my head. He devours my mouth, and I moan, then return his kiss lick for lick. His scent deepens, a new, irresistible note driving me wild. Then he breaks the kiss, takes my hips, and shifts me farther up the bed so he can settle between my spread thighs.

We’re both still clothed, but the heat of him permeates through the fabric of my dress, the wool of his jacket. His weight feels amazing on top of me, so I hike my skirts higher and wrap my legs around his waist, trapping him in place. He grins against my lips, then rears back as far as I’ll allow him and stares down at me.

“You’re so beautiful.” He brings one hand to my cheek and rubs his thumb over my lower lip, then gingerly touches my left tusk. “Huh. I thought they’d be sharper.”

I bare my teeth at him, growling lightly. “Oh, they’re plenty sharp, human.”

He raises his eyebrows, though he can tell I’m joking, and continues his slow exploration of me, exchanging kisses with teasing caresses. He kisses his way past my jaw to my neck and discovers the spot just under my ear that has me shivering in delight.

“Here?” he asks, pressing another kiss in the same spot. “You like that?”

I squirm under him, my hips rocking up on instinct. “It’s your beard. It’s scratchy.”

He meets my gaze. “Too scratchy?”

“No.” I rub my palm over it, and the bristling hairs rub against my skin one by one, a multitude of tiny pinpricks. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

---