Page 14 of Saved By the Mountain Man Orc
Something shifts in his expression. Hope, maybe, mixed with wariness. "You're sure? About staying?"
Instead of answering with words, I lean down and kiss him, slow and thorough and full of promise. When I pull back, his pupils are dilated, and his breathing has quickened.
"I've never been more sure of anything," I whisper against his lips.
The smile that spreads across his face transforms him completely. Gone is the careful control, the constant vigilance. For just a moment, he looks like a man who's been given everything he ever wanted.
"The scar on my shoulder," he says, hand covering mine where it rests on the mark. "Bear. I was fifteen, thought I knew better than the hunting laws my father taught me."
"What happened?"
"Nearly got myself killed. My brother Garruk had to save me." His thumb traces circles on my skin. "Learned respect that day. For the mountain, and for the things that call it home."
I press another kiss to the scar, and he shudders beneath me.
"This one?" I touch a thin line along his ribs.
"Knife fight with a human who thought our territory was his for the taking." His voice hardens. "He was wrong."
"Did you kill him?"
"No." He looks almost surprised by my directness. "Sent him running, though. Some lessons stick better when you live to remember them. And it helps keep the myth of Orc Mountain alive. It’s better for us if humans stay away."
“Not all humans,” I say, planting a light kiss on his lips.
“Not all humans,” he concedes.
We spend the morning like that—me mapping his body with kisses and questions, him telling me stories that paint a picture of a life lived between worlds. Dangerous, lonely, but rich with the kind of experiences that forge unbreakable strength.
When hunger finally drives us from bed, Drak makes breakfast. Venison sausage, wild mushrooms, and more of his soothing tea. He watches me eat before taking a single bite of food himself, though I know he must be starving. The simple thoughtfulness of it makes my chest tight with emotion.
My orc is so generous and caring.
"It’s perfect," I tell him, and mean it. Not just the food, buteverythingabout being with him.
After breakfast, he shows me around the property, from the root cellar where he stores preserved foods to the workshop where he crafts furniture and tools to the small garden plot where he grows herbs and vegetables in the brief mountain growing season.
Everything is built to last, designed with the kind of attention to detail that speaks to genuine care. This isn't just a place to survive, it's ahome.
"I could help," I say, watching him check the late-season herbs. "With the garden and the preserving. I'm good with my hands."
He looks at me with such intensity I feel it like a physical touch. "You want to help?"
"I want to belong here," I say simply. "With you."
He's across the garden in two strides, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around until I'm dizzy with laughter. When he sets me down, his eyes are bright with something that might be tears.
"I never thought..." he starts, then stops, shaking his head.
"What?"
"I never thought I'd have this. Someone who wanted to stay. To build something with me."
I reach up to cup his face in my hands, feeling the slight roughness of his skin, the careful way he leans into my touch.
"You have me now," I tell him. "For as long as you want me."
"Forever," he says without hesitation. "I want you forever."
