Page 41 of The Outcast Orc

“I don’t want the human for my stable. I want him for my bed.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd...and not just because orcs didn’t technicallyhavebeds, either. But it was nowhere near the uproar this announcement would have garnered in the Fortifications—where, frankly, I couldn’t picture anyone publicly saying such a thing at all.

Even the chieftain seemed surprised, though only mildly so. “Well, then. What do I care where the human sleeps? He must report daily to the stables. But if you want him in your household, this I shall grant.” He stroked his tusk. “Though I, personally, would have preferred the head.”

23

QUINN

When orcs celebrate, they don’t hold back. And in driving off their enemies, the Red Hand Clan had plenty of reason for celebration. But for all that Marok had longed for his kinsmen to acknowledge him again, he was eager to leave the festivities. And so was I. As soon as the chieftain stepped down from the dais, we went back to Marok’s dwelling. Taking in that tidy timber-built home crammed with all his trophies and spoils, I felt less like a stranger in a strange land, and more like a wanderer who’d finally found his way home.

I’d last crossed the threshold to Marok’s house as a slave.

And now?

Well, I guess I was still a slave.

“They say Borkul wounded you,” Marok said. “I can always petition the chieftain for your revenge—”

“No head.” I gestured toward his packed shelves. “Where on earth would we keep it?”

Marok considered me. “Your words are light…but a man’s scent never lies.”

He couldsmellmy trepidation? That would take some getting used to.

He removed his heavy chest-plate and hung it from a stout rack. “I thought you would prefer living here to the stable,” he said. “But if I’m wrong, and—”

“That’s not it.” With nowhere to sit and legs far too sore to squat, I settled for leaning against the wall. “Don’t get me wrong. This is a fine house—lack of furniture notwithstanding. And the prospect of being with you—”

My scent must have shifted when I recalled how hot it had been to ride his muscular thigh. He whiffed the air, and I felt myself blush like a stable boy stumbling across the red lantern district for the first time.

“Anyway, the point is, I want to be here because I choose to be. Not because you own me. I don’t expect you to understand. Our people are too different. You’re an orc, and you have a certain way of seeing things, and in your eyes, I’m just some lowly human—”

Marok was fast for his size—stunningly quick—and he flattened me against the wall before I even had a chance to blink. He pressed his broad face into my hair, framing my skull with his tusks, andbreathedme, filling my senses with his rock-hard muscles, his mossy earthen scent, and his overwhelming presence. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated my whole body when he said, “You’re wrong, Quinn. There’s nothing lowly about you. The orc soldiers are twice bigger than you, but you never cringe or quail. All of them are terrified of the warhorse—and only you were brave enough to earn its trust. But most important of all, where I failed to warn Ul-Rott of the attack, you made him listen. I don’t see you as a human…but as a hero.”

Back in the Fortifications, I’d been plenty of things. An ambitious dreamer. A clever horseman. Even a good lay.

But I’d never been anybody’s hero.

I flexed my hips and found myself straddling that muscular thigh again. And just like a horse that’s finally grasped its training, my body shifted from caution to arousal so fast it left my head spinning. Marok was so phenomenally big I could hardly make sense of him all. And he’d called me ahero.

His bulk wasn’t intimidating—it was fucking sexy. And when I slid my arms around his waist, he didn’t try to shrug me off. No…he pressed closer.

He was so huge, I had to strain to reach my arms all the way around him. The thought of doing the same with my legs made my pulse throb low in my groin.

And Marok knew it.

“I’ve never lain with a human before,” he said into my hair. “Tell me what pleases you.”

All this big, solid hotness…andhe was a giver?

Damn.

“Touch me,” I said as I slid my hands down to clutch the muscular globes of his ass. “Everywhere. Not just my dick. Run your whiskers down my neck. And if you don’t mind the taste of human—”

Marok grunted and spun me toward the center of the room. He grabbed a pelt from the cabinet, the bottom of the stack, and the whole pile slid to the floor in a haphazard heap. If it weren’t for my wound, I suspected he would have just shoved me right down on top of them. But he restrained himself—tense all over, nostrils flaring, chest heaving.

He pulled off his gauntlets and said, “Goblins don’t take off their tabards. And ogres only fuck things from behind so they’re harder to stab. But humans…?”

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