Page 33 of My Orc Package Deal

So maybe when I’d pressed her against that door, she hadn’t hated it, she hadn’t fought it. She’d wanted it?

I braced my palm against the tile of the shower and slid my palm along the ridges of my cock, cursing at how good it felt.

The memory of her lips—soft but demanding, the way she’d whimpered when I’d bitten down just enough—had my cock throbbing in my grip. My thumb swiped over the slick head, spreading the bead of pre-cum, and I hissed at the jolt of pleasure. Fuck. She’d tasted like the chai tea she’d had at the meeting, and sunshine and freedom and perfection, and my Kteer snarled in my chest, furious that I’d let her walk away.

My strokes turned rough, desperate. The water sluiced over my knuckles, warmer now that I’d cranked the temperature back up, but it did nothing to cool the fire in my veins. I braced my other hand higher on the tile, my claws scraping against the grout as I imagined her hands in my hair, her nails digging into my scalp as she found her pleasure.

She wanted me. The thought was a growl in my mind. She’d rocked against my thigh, her breath hitching, her body begging⁠—

A broken sound tore from my throat. My hips jerked, my cock swelling painfully as I remembered the way her tongue had stroked mine, the way her thighs had clenched around my leg. The scent of her arousal had been thick in the air, sweet and musky, and my Kteer had roared with the need to claim her, to bury myself inside her until she screamed my name.

But then she’d pulled away.

My rhythm faltered, shame twisting in my gut. I was no better than a rutting beast, taking what I wanted without thought⁠—

No. My grip tightened, my strokes turning punishing. She’d kissed me first. She’d wanted me. The way her fingers had curled into my shoulders, the way the sweet scent of her arousal had spiked when I’d growled against her mouth⁠—

A low, guttural noise ripped from me as my balls drew up, my cock pulsing violently in my fist. My vision whited out for a heartbeat, pleasure crashing over me in a brutal wave. With a muffled groan, I came hard, my cum splattering against the tile in thick, pale green streaks, the spicy scent of it mixing with the steam.

My knees nearly buckled as the last spasms wrung me out, my forehead pressing against the wall as I panted. The water rinsed away the evidence, but the ache in my chest remained.

I was screwed, wasn’t I? Couldn’t keep myself straight.

Well… My lips curled ironically as I reached for a towel. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d been confused by a female.

Usually, jerking off in the shower after a long day at work would put me right to sleep, but not tonight. My Kteer hadn’t been satisfied, not when it wanted to claim the female in the next room, and my heart was still pounding strongly against my ribs. I was too antsy to sleep and found myself pacing the bedroom in pajama pants slung low across my hips.

I needed…well, I knew what I needed, but I was going to have to find a substitute. I considered going to the sunroom and picking up one of my guitars, but my hands weren’t steady enough to do anything justice tonight. Not when they were itching to caress something besides strings.

Maybe eating something would distract me.

Padding barefoot into the kitchen, I considered the options. Leftover pizza would be fine, but the boys would probably want to eat it for lunch tomorrow. I’d make myself an omelet.

Kesha was in the small room she shared with Milo—not asleep. I’m not sure how I knew, I could just feel her in there. Last weekend, Milo had asked me why his mother didn’t just move into my bedroom, and I hadn’t been able to tell him: Because I don’t know if she wants to.

I still wasn’t sure.

As silently as possible, I pulled out eggs, pepperoni, an onion, and the remains of a bell pepper. While the pan was heating, I chopped everything, then whisked them into the melted butter. Soon enough I had a golden omelet that I ate right out of the pan.

I was washing my dishes and trying to decide if my Kteer had calmed enough to let me sleep, when the damn thing began to vibrate in my chest like a single plucked string. I froze, trying to figure out the problem⁠—

And realized I could smell Kesha: cocoa butter, orange blossom, silk, and her arousal.

I whirled around, slinging dishwater everywhere, and sure enough, she was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain. I mean, she looked fucking delicious, in a set of short-sleeved pink silk pajamas, her hair swept under a matching bonnet. But her expression was uncertain.

“Hi,” I blurted. “Want an omelet? I can make another one.”

Her expression shifted to something gentler, and her lips curled. “No, but thanks. I just…couldn’t sleep,” she said as she moved toward the counter. “You too?”

“Yeah, same.” When she climbed onto the stool, I nodded to the pile of mail I hadn’t sorted earlier. “Sorry about that, I’ll⁠—”

“No worries.”

When Kesha began to flip through the pile, sorting into important and junk mail as I stood there dripping water on the tile, I realized she was right; I hadn’t needed to sort the mail, because she was perfectly capable of doing it.

Thoughtfully, I turned to drop the sponge back into the sink, then propped my hip against the counter.

Kesha knew what mail was junk. She knew where I stored the extra aluminum foil. She knew how I preferred to load the dishwasher and tried to match it, although it had resulted in some good-natured debates about tines-up or tines-down.