Page 44 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc
I blink, outrage replacing arousal in an instant. "I do not!"
A smirk plays at the corner of his mouth.
“You do,” he insists as his hand pins me right in place, refusing to allow me to wriggle myself away in my indignation. “Like a cave troll. But it's alright. It's oddly charming, like sleeping next to an airport or race car track. It's that loud.”
I scoff, propping myself up on one elbow to glare at him properly. His dark hair is tousled from sleep, he has a pillow crease under one eye, and his massive chest is bare above the sheet that barely covers his hips.
He looks good enough to give good girls bad ideas. And I’m not that good of a girl to begin with.
This version of him, teasing, unguarded, makes something in my chest tighten almost painfully.
I want to ask what last night meant to him, if this changes things, if there's even a "this" to change. But the words stick in my throat, too big and too scary to voice yet.
Instead, I roll my eyes and slap his chest lightly. My palm tingles at the contact with warm skin over solid muscle.
"You're lucky I'm letting that slide," I inform him, trying to keep my voice serious despite the smile threatening to break through. "If I snore, then you? You sleep like a rock. I could have gotten up, moved to another state, and you wouldn't have noticed."
His expression shifts, amber eyes suddenly intense as they lock with mine. "Princess, I would have woken up the moment your skin left mine."
The air between us grows heavy with unspoken things. His large hand finds my leg beneath the sheet, trailing up to my hip, then mywaist. His touch leaves fire in its wake, goosebumps rising across my skin. I lean down, unable to resist, and press my lips to his. His growing arousal presses against my stomach, and heat pools between my thighs in response.
Just as his hand slides up to cup my breast, my stomach releases a loud, embarrassing growl.
Gerralt stops, then laughs out loud, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. It's a beautiful sound, one I've never heard. He sits up, taking me with him, sheet falling away to reveal every glorious inch of him.
"Hungry?" he asks, one eyebrow raised.
"Starving," I admit, heat rising to my cheeks.
"Good. Stay put. I'll make you something."
I watch in stunned silence as he stands, giving me a spectacular view of his perfect, muscular ass, grabs his pants off the floor, pulls them on, then heads toward the door.
After he disappears into the hallway, I flop back onto the bed, pressing my hands to my flaming cheeks. Last night wasn't some heated dream. It really happened. Gerralt and I crossed that line, and my entire world shifted. In fact, it feels brighter somehow, more vibrant.
The sound of cabinet doors opening in the kitchen pulls me from my thoughts. I grab Gerralt's t-shirt from where it landed on the hardwood floor last night and pull it over my head. It smells like him, and it hangs off me like a tent all the way to my knees, but I love the feel of it against my skin.
When I pad barefoot into the kitchen, Gerralt is already in full chef mode. He's opened the fridge and pantry, assessing what I have on hand, his massive frame dwarfing the space.
"Can I help?" I ask, taking a seat at the counter.
He grunts, pulling eggs, bacon, and cheese from the refrigerator. "Coffee maker?"
I point to the cabinet where I keep the grounds, and he nods, moving with surprising grace for someone so large. Then begins preparing what appears to be a breakfast fit for an entire football team.
Seriously. The amount of food he’s preparing leaves me wide-eyed and wordless.
Soon the kitchen fills with the mouthwatering scent of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee. My stomach growls again, louder this time, and Gerralt shoots me an amused glance over his shoulder before a warm mug appears right in front of me.
"I didn’t picture you for a cook." I can't keep the awe out of my voice as I watch him expertly flip eggs in the pan. I take a sip of coffee and groan in satisfaction. Perfect.
"Orcs have tremendous appetites," he explains, his focus on the stovetop. "We love food. Good food. Lots of it."
I chuckle at this and nod. With the size of most orcs, it’s not surprising they eat a lot.
I'm transfixed by the sight of his hands, the same powerful hands that rebuilt the kitchen all around us, now carefully transferring eggs to plates with a gentleness that makes my heart flutter. His movements are precise and practiced, nothing wasted.
A soft meow draws my attention downward. Marigold weaves between Gerralt's legs, her tail straight up in the air like an exclamation point.
