Page 33 of Loved By the Orc
She winks slyly. “But you have the whites basket, handsome. I have the darks.” She proceeds to hang my own clothing on the line.
I narrow my eyes at her. I will show her that I can be an equal-partner mate. “Challenge accepted.”
I take a white human bra—relieved that our females skip the bizarre contraptions for the stretchy band instead—and remember the rules of hanging socks toe-first. Not that this piece has a toe but… I guess the ends are a bottom. Either end will do and then I don’t have to handle the cups that fondle the old woman’s breasts. So, I clip them onto the outer line by the ends, the cups poking outward into the air like missiles.
Negan is busy holding back a giggle because I avoid touching anything but the ends where a metal clasp resides. I’m distracted, already thinking ahead and worrying about hanging the old woman’s panties. The garments that touch her… parts.
“Our females don’t wear these,” I mention casually, eyeing my masterpiece of three bras attached to the line.
She snorts. “Shalia, Hisa, and I used to prance around wearing Aunt Jo’s and Aunt Hannah’s. Nothing filled them back then. We became wiser as we got older and really needed them, we just used a compression band for exercise and went without for the rest of the time. Now, how are you going to hang the panties?”
“Not sure yet,” I mutter, staring at the bras still.
“By the crotch, normally.” Her voice holds a hint of laughter.
“No way, female. Not touching them there unless they’re yours.”
Biting the bullet, I close my eyes and reach for one, the thin fabric delicate between my rough fingers. I hang it from the end of the waist, then share a pin with the next edge so there’s a row of panties, neat as can be.
“Not bad.” I smirk.
“You did good, orc,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “Shall we go get dinner started?”
“Mmm,” I agree, dropping my hand to caress the sweet peach of her ass.
She winks and then bends over to pick up the empty baskets. My throat goes dry. Goddess, a rush of blood hits my cock, hardening it at the image of Negan backside up.
Doggy-style.
“Son-of-a-biernak!” The expletive falls from my mouth and she grins, letting me know her ass in the air was on purpose.
“You’ll drive me crazy,” I mutter.
“All I can think about is humping the muscles of your thigh like a dog in heat,” she admits.
Goddess, what an image that gives me.
I drop the laundry baskets back inside the washroom and we head into the kitchen to wash the produce and meat we’ve picked up.
We joke and nudge each other out of the way as we chop and prepare. She doesn’t mind how clumsy I am at cutting vegetables.
“’Tis women’s work in my clan,” I grumble.
“You’ll learn,” she teases.
“Are you good at everything you do?”
“Aye.” She waggles her eyebrows.
“You’re torturing me.”
“It’s been a wonderful day,” Negan says. “I hope tomorrow will be just as wonderful.”
“It will be, sweet.”
She looks up at the sky. “’Tis going to rain soon. Mayhap you should sleep inside—”
I scoff. “Perfect time for the enemy to hit, eh? When the rain hits and I’m coddled in your warm bed.”
