Page 67 of Buck Wild Orc Cowboy
Sel turned to me, his face carved in stone, his voice gentle. “Are you alright?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”Howhad she seen my face on Instaplug? I wasn’t posting images myself.
Tourists. Maybe when Sel was introducing us to Zist and Brelar.
He reached for my hand. “He won’t get near you or Max. Not while I’m breathing.”
My throat tightened. I looked up at him, into those fierce dark eyes, and I started to believe I could trust someone to protect me without taking anything away. “Thanks.”
He held my gaze a second longer, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
We returned to the kitchen, but my sunny moon had been blown wide open. Sensing that, Sel turned on some music on his phone and started singing along in a terrible voice. The sway of his hips got me smiling again, however.
A bit later, the kitchen smelled like sweet spice and warm bread, and I was elbow-deep in a bowl of orcish sweet dough, trying not to steal a bite of the honey-slicked mixture. Sel stood at the other counter, scooping mounds of brundle-nut cookie dough onto a greased sheet.
We worked in sync, passing ingredients, trading off at the ovens, bumping into each other with soft mutters of“excuse me,”that sent tiny electric shivers down my spine. Something between us had changed since the night before. It wasn’t just that we’d kissed. Or danced. Or that he’d given me some amazing orgasms inside this very kitchen.
It was the way we moved around each other now. The way our silence had stopped being awkward and started feeling comforting.
I wasn’t ready to jump headfirst into anything yet. My heart still wore old bruises, some I barely understood myself. But I could see myself getting there. Withhim.
I glanced over at Sel. He’d tied his dark hair back, and a streak of flour painted his face where he’d rubbed it earlier. I itched to reach out and wipe it away.
Instead, I swallowed. “You’ve got something…” I gestured vaguely toward my own face.
He blinked and wiped at the wrong cheek.
“Nope, the other side.”
He tried again. Still missed.
I laughed, stepping closer. “Here, hold still.”
Sel bent forward, and I reached up and brushed the flour from his cheek. His skin was warm, the brief touch doing something funny to my insides. When I pulled back, he caughtmy wrist and held it firmly enough to remind me how solid he was.
His gaze was so open. So full.
“Thanks.” He let go, the loss of contact oddly disappointing.
I turned back to my cooking, my face overheating. “Yeah. No problem.”
I’d barely gone back to mixing when he stepped over to stand beside me, watching me with a curious little tilt of his head.
“You ever used too much florn powder before?” he asked, a little too casually. I welcomed the shift.
I glanced down at the big bowl in front of me. “This is my first time working with it. Why?”
He leaned in, sniffed the air, and raised his brows. “Because that dough looks like it might try to eatyou.”
I stared at it. Crap. It was puffing up fast and frothing at the edges.
“Oh no,” I groaned. “Tell me I didn’t do something wrong.”
“I mean…” Sel’s voice tickled with laughter. “I could lie. But the way it’s bubbling like a bog? Too much florn powder. It’s my fault. I should’ve mentioned that before you started that recipe.”
“It looks possessed. I just—ugh, I must’ve doubled the powder without realizing.” I’d been too focused on staying upright, not screwing up, keeping my insides inside. Of course I lost track. Of course the dough went feral. I tried to rescue it, stirring faster, but that only seemed to make things worse. “Okay, yep. It’s foaming. This is foam. I made foam cookies.”
“You invented something new,” Sel said, grinning. “Call it an orcling puff. Tourists will buy them as fast as we can make them.”
