One thing I’d learned in my travels with the Lost Clan is that you don’t lock eyes with an orc unless you plan to follow through. And when Kof eased closer to me, I didn’t drop his gaze. He was ridiculously huge, bigger than any human man, and when he loomed close, his massive frame blotted out any sense of the snow cave. He filled my awareness. Green skin, scars, tusks and all.
No more denying it. I wanted him.
And he wanted…something…from me, too. Voice low and gravelly, he said, “Sound carries in the caves. When the shaman mounts Archie, or Archie mounts him…I can hear them.”
He was so close. I nodded for him to keep talking.
“It’s nothing like the sounds the men make when the whores visit.”
My heart pounded in my throat now. I had to try twice to form a word. “Why not?”
“It sounds….” Another step closer. His body radiated more heat than the fire. “It sounds more intense. And it sounds like both of them take pleasure. Like they crave one another. And like no matter how often one takes of the other, their hunger is never satisfied for good. Only sharpened.”
It had been so long since I’d felt that way, it seemed like another lifetime.
He towered over me now, but stopped advancing just short of touching me. Waiting for me to bridge that gap. I peeled off my tunic, stepping forward—
Only to be stopped by a big, green hand, fingers splayed over my chest. “What is that?” Kof demanded.
I followed his one-eyed gaze. It had landed on the darkening fingerprints that circled my upper arm, a souvenir of my last conversation with Pilgrim. My tattoos camouflaged the prints, but once you looked for them, the shape emerged. The captain had marked me with ink…and Pilgrim with bruises.
Kof took me by the arm, firmly but gently, and turned me—not to twist and threaten, but to get a better look at the bruising. It was a rosy purple now, but it would shift to some very dramatic yellow-edged greens later.
“Pilgrim did this to you?” Kof asked.
I could hardly deny it. “Usually, he’s more careful not to leave a mark. But this hunting trip was the farthest I’ve been from him since he bought my damn pledge. He had to make sure I wouldn’t run.”
Kof stared at the marks, aghast. I pulled my arm from his unresisting hand and squared myself up to face him again. “Forget about that. I’ve accepted it. That’s how it is.” At least,until I finished Pilgrim. “Right now, I don’t need you to worry about me. I just need you to—”
I closed the distance between us and pressed myself up against him. Even through his light leather armor, I could feel his hard muscle.
And his aroused cock, straining against my belly, easily as big around as my bruised arm.
Stars help me, I wanted it.
Emboldened by his lust, I reached up and cupped his jaw, two-handed, to draw his lips down to mine. He seemed spooked, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of things, but he trusted me enough to let me guide our mouths together.
It was nothing like kissing a man.
Never mind that my face was bracketed by a stout pair of tusks—Kof tasted like the caves. Like warm stone and the faint sulfur tang of the damp air, rich with the scent of moss and the promise of ancient secrets.
Kof was the one to break the kiss and pull back—but only to shed his armor. I watched, heart pounding, as the buckles came apart, and the strappy leather fell open. Yes, his skin was green, especially so in the bright white light of the snow cave. I was used to green by now. It was the muscular shape of him that made my breath catch. And as for that green skin, well, it bore the marks of his life—scars crisscrossing his chest, a long, jagged line down his left arm. And, of course, the scarred socket where his right eye should have been, an ominous dark hollow that added to his fierce look.
But the eye that remained held such unexpected kindness.
His movements were gentle. He handled his armor with care, setting each piece aside with a calm deliberation. When he finally stood bare-chested before me, he didn’t posture or preen. He just let me look my fill.
And I did. I drank him in, my pulse pounding as my gaze traced the lines of his body. I wanted him, despite myself. Despite the situation, despite the fact that he was an orc.
Despite the fact that I never thought I’d allow myself to want anyone again.
Finally, he reached out, slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was rooted to the spot.
My breath hitched as his huge hand cupped my cheek. His touch was strong, but gentle. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, a soft, slow caress that sent shivers down my spine. I looked up at him, into that one good eye, and saw something I never thought I’d find. Not lust, not hunger, but...tenderness. It was a look that said he saw me, not just as a warm body, or a bit of strange, or a possession, but as a man.
And that, more than anything, was what undid me.
16
