And that, of course, was because Gwyn was wearing another sleeping-shift. Another short, flimsy, entirely inappropriate sleeping-shift, which blatantly hinted at everything beneath. And why in the gods’ names had she dressed in this, rather than in multiple complicated layers of pantaloons and petticoats? What was shethinking?
But as the orc’s eyes kept looking,lingering, their mockery slowly faded. And instead, there was an odd, quiet stillness in them, a quick, curious convulsing in his corded throat.
“You dress for me?” his low voice asked. “Wish me to come?”
The scent of him was again swarming Gwyn’s lungs, all rich and musky and green — and it took far, far too much effort to shove herself away again. To stagger beyond the reach of that warm hand, that damned delicious smell.
“No,” she snapped, tightly crossing her arms over her chest, valiantly fighting to ignore the appalling truth of her peaked nipples jutting against the fabric. “I wantanswersfrom you, orc. And that isall.”
The amusement had instantly returned to the orc’s eyes, his brows rising. Clearly waiting for her to continue, so Gwyn squared her shoulders, and dragged in breath. “Where did you get the chasteberry plant,” she said. “How did you keep it alive in a climate that’s so unsuited for it. And how thehell” — her eyes narrowed — “did you know I wanted one.”
The orc’s brows ticked higher, while something Gwyn couldn’t read moved across his eyes. And when he smiled again, it looked a little too practiced, a little too easy, almost as if were a mask he’d assumed at will.
“Ach, any wise woman should wish for this,” he replied. “And orcs have long learnt the ways of the earth, ach?”
But it wasn’t really an answer, and Gwyn felt her eyes narrowing further, searching the sharp lines of his face. “Do you mean to sayyougrew and cared for it?” she demanded. “And surely you don’t mean me to believe that you honestly thinkanywoman would welcome such a gift?”
His smile twitched a little higher, quick and casual, and it distantly occurred to Gwyn that he had an unfairly appealing smile — and also, that it was again hiding something. Hinting, surely, that he knew more than he was letting on. And since it wasn’t like orcs could just publicly saunter about, collecting information from random townspeople and passersby, that had to mean…
“Youhavebeen spying on me,” Gwyn said, slow, but certain. “Maybe eventargetingme. Haven’t you? For how long?Why?”
The orc’s eyes blinked, once, his head cocked sideways, the casual smile still pasted on his face — and then he stepped forward, swift and graceful. “Your kinswoman took my kind into her bed,” he said coolly. “Why no you, also?”
Gods, not that again, and Gwyn couldn’t help a reflexive grimace, a hard shake of her head. “You don’t get to pin this on my Great-Aunt, asshole,” she countered. “Sure, she liked plants, but she likely wouldn’t have known chasteberry from pipeweed. How the hell did you knowIwould?”
The orc blinked again, his head still tilted, and for the briefest of instants, that might have been almost appreciation in his dark eyes. “Little house nowreekof herbs,” he said lightly. “Smell a full league away, ach?”
Gwyn’s arms tightened over her chest, and she jerked another sharp shake of her head. “Oh, so now you’re claiming that you could identify all the herbs currently in my house with smell alone?” she demanded. “And what, then you determined that chasteberry was missing, so you decided to magically procure one from your secret stash at Orc Mountain, and give it to me? All in hopes of weaselling your sneaky way into mybed?!”
The amusement had flicked back across the orc’s eyes, while a more genuine-looking smile curled at his lips. “This seems good account, woman,” he murmured. “Now we mate, or no?”
Gwyn was struck momentarily speechless, her mouth uselessly opening and closing — this orc didn’t truly think she wasbuyinghis rubbish?! — and he took advantage of the opportunity to come another step closer. His glittering eyes again flicking up and down Gwyn’s scantily-clad form, while his clawed hand dropped to casually stroke at the front of histrousers.
“The — thehell, orc,” Gwyn sputtered, but oh gods, he wasstill doing it. That easy, audacious hand gripping tighter against the fabric, slowly stroking up and down. Showing her the truly shocking length of him, reaching fully to his trousers’waist. And she could even see it pulsing,flexing, as if eagerly twitching into his fingers’ touch…
The whispers of one particular client had been relentlessly rising in Gwyn’s head —His prick was that of a god, she’d said — and Gwyn belatedly forced her eyes back up to the orc’s face. Which still bore that sharp-toothed grin, devious and smug and hungry, as his other hand came up to rake through his shaggy black hair. His head tilting slightly backward, his eyes half-lidded, the movement sensuous and graceful. Showing off his glistening bare chest, the hard ripples of his abdomen, the shifting muscle in that long fluid arm…
Wait. The orc was actually —flauntinghimself to her. Doing this onpurpose. Trying to distract Gwyn from her questions, very important questions, but now he was shaking out his hair, showing her the long line of his corded neck, the elegant taper of his pointed ears…
“You like,” his low voice murmured, his hooded eyes far too knowing on hers. “Wish for more, ach?”
Gwyn twitched all over, and her mouth snapped open to protest — but curse her, no words would seem to come out. And in return, the orc actuallylaughed, all swaggering obnoxious insolence, as his other hand dropped to join the first on his trousers, unloosing the tie at his waist with an easy flick of his claw…
And then, slow, deliberate, arrogant, those clawed hands slid down inside the trousers, and smoothly guided them downwards. Until the fabric sagged low on the sharp muscled cut of his hips, and showed Gwyn…everything.
She was blatantly staring, but there seemed no possible way to stop, because — well —damn. Those women hadn’t been lying. He was — he was —
“You are — disrobed,” she somehow squeaked, her voice high-pitched and very far away. “In myhouse.”
The orc’s grin was surely genuine now, likely because Gwyn still couldn’t stop staring, her gaze and her thoughts seemingly attached — arrested — on this orc’s audacious bare prick. Long, grey, smooth, swollen, jutting out straight toward her. Wanting her.Claimingher.
The bollocks below it were just as impressive, thick and hairy and bulging, and as Gwyn stared, one of the orc’s hands — now somehow minus the claws?! — came down to caress their heavy weights. Rolling them between familiar fingers, brazenly displaying them for her, while his other hand circled around the base of his hard grey length, and slowly slid upwards.
Gwyn gulped aloud, and the orc gave a low, breathy chuckle as he did it again, and again. Playing with himself in her kitchen, like an utterly debauchedheathen. And while it occurred to Gwyn that she should surely shout at him, or perhaps lunge for her crossbow — she somehow found that she didn’t, in fact, want him to stop. Especially not now, not with that thick bead of white already pooling at his blunt tip…
“You like,” he said again, hoarse, husky, as that hand pumped up again, and again. Doing it as smoothly and fluidly as he did everything else, as if bringing himself off in a strange woman’s kitchen was an art form, or a dance, and not the shockingly grievous imposition that it actually was.
Or was it, because Gwyn’s tongue had brushed against her lips, and her thoughts had somehow become twisted, disjointed, vague. Lingering less on the fact that an orc was doing such things in her kitchen, and more on the heat pooling in her own belly, the tight snap of tension in the musky-smelling air. On the way the orc’s lithe, self-assured gracefulness had seemed to stutter, hitching on his suddenly harsh-sounding breaths…
