Page 27 of Orc's Pretend Mate

His eyes don’t move from mine but he moves his hand to cover mine. His is roughly calloused but warm. I like the tone of his skin, the rich green color. I like how big his hand is, fully covering mine. I think he could cover both of mine with one of his.

“It’s… fine,” I murmur.

Fine. What an insignificant, almost non-committal word. What is fine? What does that even mean? His hand tightens onto mine as he grunts.

“No. Not fine. Not okay.”

I look up, meeting his eyes once again. My heart beats faster. In his eyes there is kindness. Unexpected, uncalled for even, what have I done to deserve anything from him? I’ve acted like a bitch. His body reacted and so did mine. No matter that I don’t want to admit it, I liked it. I like him.

Vapas rumbles. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a growl, a grunt, or something else. He frowns, shakes his head, then his mouth opens. I lean in, ready for his words. Ready, I think, for more. The warmth of his breath brushes my skin. Warmth suffuses my cheeks.

“Vapas,” I whisper.

He leans closer. Both of us have our elbows on the table. My breath hitches then races to match the beating of my heart. This is it. I…

I want him.

I lean closer still. Our eyes are locked, lips close, almost close enough.

He pulls back and the moment breaks.

17

VAPAS

No!

I drop back onto my chair and scoot back from the table. As I move to remove my hand from hers she clamps her free hand down onto it. The room spins. The drink has gotten to me and blood is rushing to my head. I shake it to clear it, but all I accomplish is making the room tilt wildly.

“Phoebe, no,” I whisper. “No. I am sorry.”

“No,” she insists. Gripping my hand between hers, pulling me back towards the table, towards her. “Vapas, I am the one who is sorry. I overreacted. It’s not?—”

“No,” I snap, jerking my hand free of her grip.

My dragoste. I cannot betray her. Why did I get involved? I should have let this human be taken by the Maulavi, then none of this would be happening.

The moment I think it I am ill. I do not mean it, would never say it, but even thinking it offends all that I believe I am. All that I want to be.

She stares with her large, wide eyes brimming with unshed moisture and my heart shatters. I approach the table, her. Slow. Hesitant, torn on what I am going to do. She is beautiful and so many things she does reminds me of my dragoste.

Her lip trembles. Her full, sweet lips that taste of flavors I’ve never had in my life. Every bit exotic as they are erotic. A drop of water, they call them tears, falls from her eyes. I catch it on my thumb, wiping it away.

“Vapas…” she says, her voice a soft caress in my ears.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No more. No sorries. Please. No.”

She stands, pushing her chair back, both hands flat on the table as she leans in closer. The scent of her fills my nose. She has a scent that I’ve only smelled once before in my life and it has been so long that it took me some time to figure it out. She smells of baobab. The trees that grow on the surface, the wood of which we craft our mudrosti from.

Known for its hard core but soft on the outside, making it the perfect material to carve our life histories on. Every Urr’ki travels to the surface once as part of the rites of passage into adulthood. We go to the surface and find the stick that will be our mudrosti. Where we will carve the story of our life, adding our story to that of our people.

She is like that. Soft on the outside, curving in every place I could ever desire in a female, but beneath that softness there is a hard center. Hard enough to be unbreakable. She comes closer.

And closer.

I lean in too. Pulled closer by the whirlpool of her. The pull is more than I can ever hope to resist. As inexorable as gravity holding me to Tajss, she pulls me in. A tremor races over my body.

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