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“Yes, orc?” I ask. “Do you have something to say?” I squeeze my arms tighter.
His sigh is heartfelt and deep down, I’m pretty sure he knows what’s coming. Shalia’s coming, force of nature, female who will love him so hard his lovely head will spin.
And then, to my surprise, he drops one hand to clasp mine to his waist. My belly dips low, so low. Inside I melt.
When we get to Aunt Rosemary’s house we dismount, walking our sore muscles a bit around the yard.
“Coming inside?” I ask.
She always leaves the key under the rocking chair for me.
“Nay. I’ll head back to Solaya and arrive before nightfall.”
I purse my lips. “Why don’t you relax for a night? Stay for dinner, you can leave first thing in the morn.”
“Nay, wench. It’s best I get back while there’s still daylight.”
Dammit. A whole house to ourselves and the stubborn male won’t even give me two minutes to entice him.
“Fine,” I snap. “I can take care of myself.”
Why I toss that out there is beyond me.
“Shally.”
Just like that, the brooding, muscle-bound orc is in my face, blocking my path, shadowing the sun. I can smell the salt on his skin, so much greener than mine. He doesn’t look at all human. Not with the tusks—which I’m missing.
Hisa doesn’t look human.
I’m the only one that looks human, and I hate it. My mother is lovely and my father dotes on her. But to be mixed? I’m not a lovely human and I’m not a gorgeous orc. I’m a sort of weird, hybrid-looking, in-between.
But when Bakog looks at me with that intense gaze that narrows on me like I’m his entire focus? I can feel his soul. And I know he feels me.
“I know you can take care of yourself. But I need to take care of you. I need you to be careful. To listen to me.” The pain in his voice, the broken look in his eyes—I find myself nodding.
Giving in way to easily. Again.
“I’ll be back in six weeks to pick you up. Stay safe for me.”
“I will,” I whisper.
And then the unthinkable happens. I’m staring into his eyes, making promises I know I’ll keep, making him happy even when he doesn’t reciprocate—when his head blocks the sun. In the next second, he leans down toward me, his big hand sliding beneath the tail of my braid to cup the back of my neck. I can feel the callus on his thumb rub along my jaw and the warmth of his sweat-slicked chest.
Rising up on my toes, I shove my hands into his thick, dark hair, expertly twisted into a million-zillion braids just for this trip, making myself more level with him.
But he doesn’t need height because he’s good with bending over and locking his lips to mine.
I catch my breath. So many sensations swirling through my belly. This is Bakog, the man of my heart, the person who I’ve followed around endlessly. The person that has always carefully kept me an arm’s length away.
Kissing me.
His tongue sweeps past my lips as he tastes me, dueling with mine, his mouth claiming me, his hand locking my head, whimpering need escaping from me.
With every stroke of his tongue, flames zest through my body.
My first kiss is everything I thought it would be—and more. Because it’s Bakog. Bakog, the love of my life, the keeper of my heart. It’s hot and sweet and all-consuming.
And then, I’m dazed as he gently pushes me away.
