Page 18 of My Orc Pen Pal

“How about next time, you let me buy dinner?” I asked as we cleaned up. “I feel bad, taking advantage of you?—”

Akhmim touched my forearm, just briefly. Just enough to send shivers down my sides and shut me up. “It’s okay, Rosemary,” he said with a small grin. “I can afford it, and… I like providing. For you.” Was it my imagination, or was he flushing as he glanced away?

I cleared my throat. “Well. Okay then. Um. Thank you. Dinner was really good.”

He brightened. “And you have leftovers in your fridge for tomorrow!”

“Oh yeah?” I teased. “Our second date isn’t tomorrow?”

Akhmim’s eyes—with green flecks at the center that weren’t there when I’d first met him—were serious when he turned back to me. “I don’t want to waste all my dates at once. I was hoping the next one would be over the weekend. If you’re free during the day?”

“Saturday,” I agreed with a nod. “I have grocery shopping in the morning—I go off-island to buy in bulk—but I’m free all afternoon.”

“Perfect.” He sprung for the potter’s wheels. “Now for the fun stuff!”

I might have objected to him considering pottery more fun than dinner with me, but I had to admit, after fifteen minutes of trying to get the wheels set up, when I almost peed myself from laughing so hard at his impressions of the imaginary quality-control woman at the factory, I was having the time of my life.

And it continued.

As I showed him how to shape the clay, as I teased him about his lopsided pot, as he insisted his clay wasn’tclay-yenough, he kept me laughing. I was amazed because although his emails had been amusing, I’d never realized what an amazing sense of humor and timing he had. By the time I was ready to show him how to remove the pots from the wheels, he only had to send me a look, and I’d dissolve into giggles.

We had our own inside jokes now, and wasn’t that interesting?

As we worked, I would occasionally brush against him—his arm, his hand, his shoulder—just to see what he would do. Akhmim never took it as an invitation, never took it farther.

He was respecting my wishes, which was… Well, it wasn’tremarkable, because really, that’s not that high of a bar, right? But I noted it and appreciated it.

By the time we were done, and I was setting our pots on my kitchen windowsill to dry, we were both covered in wet clay.

“Next time we do this, I’m not getting dressed up,” I heard him mutter. When I turned, he was glaring down at his jeans, and I had to chuckle again.

“At least we haven’t started throwing wet clay at each other. I student-taught in a large high school where the kids did that in art class, and it was a nightmare.”

I saw his brow twitch as he scraped a claw against a piece of clay on his forearm. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is when it’s a bunch of hopped-up-on-hormones teenagers. But even then…” This last part was said in a murmur as I crossed back to him, my still-wet hands held atmy sides so I wouldn’t give him any warning. “They never did…this.”

Akhmim opened his mouth, likely to askwhat, but I surprised him by lifting my hand and planting it in the middle of his face. My fingers curled over one brow, and when I pulled away, the gray handprint was startling against his green skin.

He gaped at me, and I nodded in satisfaction.

“Now,” I commanded, “you have to say”—I lowered my voice to as close to a growl as I could manage—'Meat’s back on the menu, boys!’”

Akhmim’s astonishment lasted another heartbeat before he burst into laughter. “Lord of the Rings! So youhaveseen it? I knew you couldn’tonlywatch those fluffy romcoms.”

“Please,” I managed flippantly, as if seeing the way delight had flashed across his expression hadn’t rocked me, hadn’t made me want to make him feel that way again and again. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn? Legolas? Boromir? All of them are hotties, of course I’ve seen it.” Quite a few times, but I wasn’t going to tell him I usually fast-forwarded to that one scene with the doors at Helm’s Deep. “And now…” I cocked my head and smirked. “I’m seeing the appeal of the orcs.”

“Uruk-hai,” he quickly corrected. “Don’t lump us in with those monsters.”

Since this was said teasingly, my own laughter escaped. “Iknewyou were a fantasy nerd.”

“Hello? I’m anorcinI.T.! Of course I’m a fantasy nerd!”

The rest of the evening was passed in the same teasing sort of way. Like we werefriends. Like we knew each other well. Like he hadn’t had his tongue and fingers so far in my pussy, I could still feel him at times.

Occasionally, I’d remember the way he’d felt, and I’d get a surge of desire so strong I’d have to press my thighs together. And when that happened, I noticed his nostrils flare, and he’d look away, as if he knew what I was thinking.

But not once did he suggest we pick up where we’d left off.

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