Page 23 of The Grinch Who Stole Orcmas

My lips leave hers, tracing a path along her jawline, down her neck. Her skin is soft and sweet, her pulse fluttering beneath my touch. She tilts her head back, offering me more, her breath coming in quick gasps. I can feel her heart racing, matching the pounding of my own.

“Grum,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. It’s a plea, a question, a demand all rolled into one.

I answer her with a low growl, my hands sliding up to cup her breasts. She gasps, arching into my touch. Her nipples harden beneath her dress, pressing against my palms. I want to tear the fabric, to feel her bare skin, but I force myself to be patient. I want to enjoy every second of this.

“Joy…” I had nothing to say but that. I just wanted to feel her name on my lips, to make this real.

Her taste lingers on my tongue as I memorize the moment.

“Grum.” Perhaps she feels the need to codify this moment, so she can remember it forever, too. I can see in the dark; she can’t see me. But Gods, she must feel my cock, jerking against her with a mind of its own, perhaps trying to communicate with her in Morse Code. If it’s trying to talk to her, I doubt she’d want to hear the filthy words it must be tapping out right now.

I hold my breath, unsure of how she’ll respond. With one hand still gripping my shirt, she lifts the other and presses her palm to my nape as though she doesn’t want me to pull away.

Trust me, Joy. I’m not going anywhere.

Her lips are plump and inviting as they press against mine, kindling heat that spreads through me like wildfire. Joy’s hands now roam my chest and back, her touch igniting little spark-like shocks.

As our kiss intensifies, she hikes up her long skirt, twists in my arms, and straddles me. My lids had drifted shut, but they shock open to make sure the woman in my lap is Joy Noel.

This is the woman who wears hideous Christmas sweaters? Who has tinkling bell earrings and little Santa earrings and reindeer earrings? Because she’s grinding against my hardened cock beneath the fabric of our clothes, riding me with the softest, most expressive sexy little grunts.

Each time her passion escalates, it ratchets something up within me. I shouldn’t even think it, but the erotic picture in my mind, of yanking down her panties, opening my zipper, and settling her onto my dripping cock, will not leave my mind.

She fumbles with my bun, yanking the band off so her fingers can sift through my hair. She’s not dainty about it, pulling my hair in the process. It’s so passionate, so off-the-chain, and out of character, that it’s setting my blood on fire. I growl, deep and low as I cup her sweet ass cheeks and tuck her even closer to me. She whimpers my name, then whispers, “Please.”

Her breath is warm and sweet, mingling with mine. I can taste the remnants of champagne on her tongue, a heady mixture that makes my head spin. A low rumble builds in my chest, a primal response to her touch as I mentally engineer the logistics of lifting her up and sliding into her wet heat.

I trail my hands up and then down her back, tracing the curve of her spine until I reach the swell of her hips. She arches into me, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sound goes straight to my cock, making it twitch. I want to claim her right here in this dark, confined space. But I rein myself in, wanting to savor this moment, to explore her slowly.

This time, when my purr rumbles in my chest, as loud as a Harley running without mufflers, I don’t try to tamp it down. Orc purrs are one-size-fits-all to our females: they’re calming when needed, and during sex, they increase arousal.

“Oh, fuck, Grum.”

That sounds like my purr had the latter effect. Joy’s hands roam my chest, feeling the vibrating rumble, then fumbling with the buttons of my shirt. She manages to undo a few until her fingers brush against my bare skin. I groan, the feel of her touch calling to my primal roots. I capture her mouth in another fiery kiss, my tongue dancing with hers.

Suddenly, the elevator jerks, trembling but not descending. The lights flicker back on. We break apart, blinking in the sudden brightness, still panting. Joy looks at me, her lips swollen from our kisses, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I can see the desire in her eyes, reflecting the same hunger I feel.

Assuming we’ll be surrounded by others soon, we quickly straighten our clothes, but the air between us is charged, electric.

“Wow,” she whispers.

I chuckle as I help her up and can’t control my urge to run my hands down her back, unwilling to let her out of my grip. For a moment I consider one of my trademarked grunts, but no. Not with Joy. I’m going to give her the best of me. So I admit, “Yeah. Wow,” with a pleasured sigh.

“So, Mr. Grinch. Still hate Christmas?”

I pretend to think about it. “Well, I’m not sure that what I’m feeling has anything to do with Christmas, but my Grinch heart might have grown a size or two.” Among other things that have expanded south of my waistband.

Joy laughs, swatting my chest playfully. Then her expression turns serious. “Grum… what is this? What are we doing?”

I pause, though I know we can’t avoid this conversation forever. “I don’t know,” I admit. “This wasn’t… I never planned …” I let her see my raw emotion, how I’m as floored by this as she is.

“Me neither,” Joy says softly. “But, whatever’s happening, I like it. I like you.”

“I like you too,” I say, surprised by how easily the words fell from my lips. “But it’s complicated. You’re human, I’m an orc. We come from different worlds.”

Joy cups my face in her hands, her touch gentle. “Yeah, complicated. But we’re here now, in this world. Together.”

I lean into her touch, closing my eyes as I cup the back of her head. She’s right, of course. And as much as it scares me, I can’t deny how I feel about her.

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