Page 108 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

“I’m not pretending,” I said. “I haven’t been pretending since the moment you moved that message pad back and smiled like you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Neither have I,” he said.

“I’m still hurt you read without asking,” I said. The honesty felt important. “But I understand why you did it, and I accept it.”

“That’s fair.” His hands came up slowly, giving me time to pull away. His palms cupped my face. “I’ll do better. In everything.”

“I know you will.” And I did know. Because he’d listened when I told him it mattered. Because he’d apologized without deflecting. Because everything about the way he touched me—careful and asking permission—proved he meant it.

“I’ve been falling since we met,” he said quietly. “I’m still finding the right words to say it.”

The confession undid me. All the hurt and uncertainty and fear dissolved into something warmer.

I pulled him down and kissed him.

His mouth opened, and one hand slid into my hair while the other pressed against my lower back, pulling me closer.

This wasn’t like the other kisses. Those had been careful, tentative, testing.

This felt like drowning. This was every cookie I’d baked at midnight. Each coffee he’d made before I arrived. The labels in the supply room and the times I’d reorganized a drawer and he’d left it alone after. Weeks of circling each other compressed into this moment where we finally stopped pretending we weren’t exactly where we wanted to be.

My fingers twisted in his hair, tugging the tie loose so his hair fell around his shoulders.

He turned and walked me backward until my shoulders hit the wall beside the door, his body pressing against mine.

“Willa,” he breathed against my mouth.

“Don’t stop,” I said. “I need you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

TRAIG

Her mouth was on mine, and nothing else existed.

I kissed her like I’d been starving for it. Like the nearly three weeks of waiting and watching and wanting had been compressed into this single moment where she was finally, actually mine.

My hands found her waist, pulling her closer. Then her hair, threading through the tight curls. The curve of her jaw, tilting her face up so I could kiss her deeper.

Her fingers worked at my buttons, fumbling, urgent. One came free. Then another. She made a frustrated sound when the third wouldn’t cooperate and yanked harder.

A button pinged off the wall.

My shirt hung open now, and her hands slid across my chest and abdomen, exploring. Every place she touched burned. I pressed closer, pinning her against the wall with my weight, and she made a small satisfied sound that drove straight to my cock.

This was too much, too fast. We needed to slow down. Talk about what had happened with the notebook. Make sure she actually wanted this and wasn’t just⁠—

I pulled back, leaning my forehead against hers.

“I shouldn’t have read it,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just⁠—”

Her hand covered my mouth.

“Stop apologizing and touch me.”

The words landed somewhere below my belly, holding me in place.

She dragged my hand up from her waist to her breast, pressing my palm against her through her shirt. “I want your hands on me. I want you to stop thinking and just feel us.”