Page 6 of Alpha-hole Orc

“Is that so?” He pushes off from the table and prowls towards me, his designer loafers thumping on the floor. Viktoor crowds into my space, enveloping me in his woodsy scent—pine needles, rain, and something primal that makes me ache.

I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Yes, it is.”

Our eyes lock, and the air between us crackles with tension. Viktoor’s lips curl into a slow, predatory smile. “I suppose the only way to know for sure is to see if it works in practice.”

“Are you challenging me?” I demand.

He bends down until his lips brush my ear, his breath hot on my skin. “Perhaps. But I think you’ll rise to the occasion, Bria Jones.”

A shiver races down my spine at the sound of my name on his lips. Viktoor straightens, the warmth of his body lingering.

“Friday night. Dinner. We’ll discuss this further.” He grabs my phone from the table, quickly thumbing something in, then turns the screen back my way. It’s his name, address and phone number. Cocky bastard!

Before I can make a move, Viktoor presses the green phone icon next to his name on my cell phone screen. I hear a faint vibration and he pulls his own cell out of his expensive suit jacket. He presses a few keys, then winks at me, waving the device. “Saved.”

With that parting shot, Viktoor strides out of the room, leaving me trembling in his wake. What have I gotten myself into?

* * *

My heart pounds as I step out of the elevator and into the penthouse foyer. My palms are slick with sweat, and a knot of nervousness and anticipation twists in my belly.

Viktoor opens the door, and the sight of him makes my breath hitch. His emerald skin glows in the soft lighting, high cheekbones sculpted to perfection. A mischievous smirk plays on his full lips, sharp canines glinting between them, and his golden eyes gleam with predatory heat.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

“Bria.” My name is a low rumble in his chest. He steps aside, a graceful sweep of his muscled arm inviting me in. “Welcome.”

The penthouse is like something out of a magazine, sleek lines and minimalist decor offset by strategically placed refined art. My gaze skims over it all, dismissing the opulence to settle on Viktoor.

He’s dressed casually in low-slung denims and a linen button-down, opened enough to give me a peek of his sculpted torso. A smothering of black hair covers his muscular pecs.

My mouth waters, and I clench my thighs. I want to explore every inch of that body with my hands and mouth.

Viktoor steps close, crowding me against the wall. He braces his hands on either side of my head, the hard planes of his body barely brushing mine. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, smell the musky scent of his cologne mixed with a faint tang that’s all him.

“Are you ready?” His voice is a husky caress against my ear.

Ready for what? My mind spins with the possibilities, and I’m growing hot and wet between my legs. I lick my lips and nod.

A low, masculine chuckle. “Good.” His eyes gleam.

Our gazes meet and cling, golden eyes staring into brown. Viktoor’s lips curl into a knowing smirk, and heat spreads through my body. We don’t need words to communicate our hunger for each other. It’s there in the tension simmering in the small space between us, in the rapid rise and fall of my chest, in the flaring of his nostrils as he scents my arousal.

He takes my hand and tugs me down the hall into an expansive room. A beautiful table is set for two, laden with covered silver dishes and lit by dozens of candles that cast a warm, flickering glow over everything.

But all I can focus on is the orc beside me. The possessive grip of his fingers twined with mine. The predatory grace with which he moves, every muscle shifting under emerald skin. And the thick ridge clearly outlined against the front of his jeans.

My mouth goes dry. We haven’t even made it through dinner yet, but I’m already dessert. All for Viktoor to devour as he pleases.

“Shall we?” He pulls out my chair and waits for me to sit before taking his own seat. Our knees touch under the table, and sparks of electricity race up my thigh.

I lean forward, well aware that the neckline of my dress gives him a glimpse of my cleavage.

A low growl rumbles in his broad chest. And I clench my hands in my lap to avoid throwing myself across the table at him.

“Patience, little one.” His tone holds a note of strain, betraying his calm appeance. Viktoor wants this as badly as I do. “We have all night, and I intend to savor every moment. Every inch of you.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and I squirm in my seat. His words evoke images that make me ache with need, my panties growing damp.

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