Rosa’s heart quivered — was John making ajoke? — and she felt herself laugh again, grinning up at his deceptively blank face. “Ineedto see this meal, John. You need to let me write this recipe out, and take it to your kitchen.Please.”
She was only half-teasing, but John’s mouth twitched up again, drawing Rosa’s eyes to the inexplicably compelling sight. “Mayhap,” he said, “should you copy out the whole of this book into common-tongue, I shall then take it to the kitchen.”
Oh. And suddenly he wasn’t joking at all, not really — because he trulycouldn’tread this book, is what he meant. And he didn’t want to admit it, he was perhaps ashamed to admit it — especially when there was an entire shelf of books in this language, here in his own library. And there was another rush of understanding, or maybe even commiseration, deep in Rosa’s belly.
“Well, do you have any vellum, or paper, and a quill and ink I can use?” she asked, glancing around the room. “And if you have any thread and wax, and a curved needle, I could fix this binding while I’m at it.”
John had again gone unnervingly still, blinking at Rosa’s face — but then he gave a quick, jerky nod. “I shall find these, and bring them,” he said. “Is there aught else you should need?”
Aught else. His eyes had briefly swept over his little collection, lingering on several similarly worn bindings, and then on a neat stack of folios that likely ought to have been bound at one point, but weren’t. And then, faint but unmistakable, he shot a dark, frustrated glance at that whole shelf of books he couldn’t read. No doubt taunting him day after day, long-lost hidden truths of his own ancestors, sitting there forgotten and forlorn, waiting in vain to be discovered again.
“Well,” Rosa said slowly, “if you had some lead, for ruling, that would be helpful. And a sharp knife, for pricking and trimming. And if you want any new bindings, you’ll want properly sized boards for the covers, and possibly leather to wrap them with, too.”
Even as the words came out her mouth, she realized that they were no doubt a grave mistake, committing her to days of work, if not entire weeks, and for what? So this orc could have a few more books to read? This awful, selfish orc, who’d been unspeakably rude and cruel to her, and who was currently supposed to be proving to her why she should stay? And failing miserably in the task, clearly, because somehow Rosa was the one accommodatinghim, yet again?!
But perhaps John had followed that, his shoulders rising and falling as his eyes settled on hers. Speaking of determination, of resolve, of regret…
His big body jerked toward Rosa’s, his hands settling strong against her waist. And in a swift heave of movement, he lifted her up and deposited her on the nearby wooden table, her legs dangling off the side.
“What are you —” Rosa began, but then the words spasmed in her throat, because John had sunk to his knees on the floor in front of her, and was currentlyspreading her knees apart.
The world stuttered to stillness, Rosa’s entire body caught, her heart pummelling against her chest — and before her, John’s kneeling form hesitated, his black eyes blinking up at her, his hands halfway up her thighs, where he’d already been sliding up her tunic.Histunic.
“I seek to prove to you why you should stay,” he said, slowly, as though Rosa were a particularly dense child. “This is what you wish for from me, is it not?”
What she wished for. And sitting here, spread-eagled on a library table with anorckneeling between her legs, Rosa could almost taste the sudden surge of longing, smooth and desperate and shockingly powerful. What she wished for, from him.
As if to prove his point, John lowered his lashes, looked up at her through hooded eyes — and then hegrowled. The sound deep, threatening, frightening, rising in his throat as he bared his sharp white teeth toward her…
Rosa gasped, loud and betraying, her spread-apart legs stuttering against his strong hands. And in reply, flickering behind those half-lidded eyes, there was triumph, maybe even mockery — but also bitterness. Bleakness. This is what you wish for, from me.
Rosa swallowed hard, and her shaky hand skittered toward his, holding it against her thigh. “It’s not all I wish for,” she heard herself say, her voice thick. “I also wish” — she cast a helpless look at the shelves all around — “to learn more about your library. Your culture. Your home.And, I want you to teach me Aelakesh.”
The last came out in a rush, her pronunciation badly mangled, but John had clearly followed, his brows drawing close together. “Why.”
The answer lurched without hesitation, without even the slightest guile. “Ilovelearning, John. And I especially love studying languages, and discovering how they work. And yours is sointriguing. It would be such anhonourto learn more about it. Real scholarsdreamof rare opportunities like this.”
There was a distinctly disbelieving look in John’s eyes, and too late Rosa glanced away, and bit her lip. Good gods, she shouldn’t be betraying so much to this orc, she wasn’t even supposed tocare. She was supposed to be here for research, she was supposed to want to learn his language so that she could better find those damned atrocities, save her damned future, and become a dammed scholar. And what if John mocked her again, what if he said, I would never teach such a foolish, useless human my own tongue…
But the look in his eyes wasn’t critical, or mocking. Only steady, considering, and Rosa twitched at the heady, jolting feel of his big hands moving again. Sliding gentle and inexorable up her thighs, sliding up her tunic as he went, further and further and further —
Rosa choked, but he didn’t stop. Not until his warm, purposeful hands had stroked all the way to her waist, revealingeverythingbeneath. All her most secret, most shameful places, bared and spread apart, on a level with his blinking, watching eyes.
Rosa’s face felt painfully hot, and flushed even hotter when she felt her wet body clenching, gripping at nothing, the humiliating sound actually audible in the hushed stillness. And even worse still — she cast a fearful, mortified glance downwards — when that thick, telltale whiteness again began seeping from inside her, pooling on the solid wood below.
Fuck. Far too late, Rosa sought to shut her legs, to shield herself from those too-close eyes — but John’s hands on her thighs were much too strong, and his glance up at her face was hard, perhaps even disapproving. And as Rosa stared, trapped, frozen, he slowly, carefully leaned his dark head forward, slipped out his long black tongue, and —lickedher.
Rosa yelped, scrabbling at him, shoving him away — even as the foreign, unfamiliar sensation of what he’d just done seemed to linger, reverberating, lighting up every nerve under her skin. He’dlickedher,Johnhad done that shockingly delicious thing, and she couldn’t think, could only shiver, breathe, stare at the rising confusion in his blinking eyes —
“What vexes you, woman,” he said, as that sinuous black tongue flicked out, ohhell, to brush at his lips. “Is this not what you wish for?”
Rosa had to gulp for air, for reason, even as her stunned, shameful body had begun pulsing again, clenching at him, dripping out more of that mortifying white. Betraying her with brutal, deadly immediacy, while John only dropped his eyes to look at it, his gaze clinical, dispassionate.
“You wish for this,” he said again, and this time his hand slipped downwards, the pad of his thumb tracing against Rosa’s dripping, swollen heat with an ease that felt almost proprietary. Sparking even more shocks of impossible pleasure up her spine, her entire body wriggling on the table before him.
“So why,” he continued, frowning up at her face again, “do you protest? No falsehoods, woman.”
Rosa was still shivering with pleasure, her mouth opening and closing, the words bubbling up on their own accord. “I’ve just never,” she managed, “no man’s ever, I mean —”
