Page 42 of Single Pucking Orc

The house was the concession. Not the rest of it. The rest of it had been a foregone conclusion since the truck, since the payphone, since the second week after he moved in, honestly. She had spent four years and a lot of time and a genuinely unreasonable amount of money making this house hers. The paint she’d chosen, the good couch she’d saved for. The drawer where the keys went, and the hook where the keys went if she couldn’t be bothered with the drawer. Making a life where nothing arrived unexpectedly, and nobody disturbed her peace.

She let him in because Charlie was asleep in his house with a Deb-approved sitter. It was a practical reason and she leaned on it hard, because she didn’t want to look at the other one.

Rule one broke in the hallway, with her back against the wall she’d painted a color called Stillwater, and his hands framing her jaw. She stopped counting the rules because every thought went out of her head

Rule two broke in the doorway to her bedroom. He stopped, with his mouth at her throat and one enormous hand curved under her butt, holding her weight like it was nothing, and said, plainly, “Tell me if this is a no.”

“It’s not a no.”

“Say the other one, then.”

“It’s a yes.” Her voice came out unsteadily, which she resented. “Rognar. It’s a yes, would you⁠—”

He laughed, which wasn’t at all what she’d planned for. He laughed, low and delighted, into the curve of her neck. Not laughing at her, but at the ridiculous fact of the two of them stalled in a bedroom doorway.

She had never in her life been to bed with anyone who laughed. Sex had always been a serious business, a slightly grim negotiation conducted in the dark by two people pretending very hard. Nobody had ever once found it funny. Nobody had been so plainly and warmly glad to be exactly where he was. She froze against him, both hands still in his shirt, and something turned over in her chest that had no business turning over in a doorway.

He must have felt it, because he stopped at once.

“Okay?” He pulled back to look at her, and there was nothing fake in his face, only a real and immediate attention. “We can stop. We don’t have to⁠—”

“No. It’s fine.” She had to swallow. “Keep… Do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“The—” She couldn’t say laugh because it was mortifying, like the most exposing possible thing to ask for. “Just. Don’t stop being like that.”

He looked at her for one more second, and she could see he understood. He had the grace not to say a word about it. Then he carried her through the doorway, and she stopped counting rules entirely.

Rule three she never got back to.

Rule four she’d already broken on the front path and just hadn’t admitted it yet.

Her bed was against the far wall, calm and serene and unshared until tonight. She’d never had anyone in this room. His hands weren’t quite as steady when he laid her down. He stood over her and she looked up at him, and he made a sound in the back of his throat like he was in pain.

“Nora.” His voice was soft and low and a little astonished. “I don’t⁠—”

“It’s fine.” She sat up, took hold of the hem of her dress, and pulled it off over her head. She had a lacy bra on beneath it because she’d been aware, when she chose it, that it would be seen tonight. He made that low sound again. Then he dropped to his knees beside the bed and she was up against his mouth with her hands in his hair before she knew it.

“I didn’t know,” she managed.

“I’m full of surprises.” He spoke against her skin. “You have to tell me if anything’s⁠—”

He was trying so hard to be careful, and she couldn’t bear it, and she pulled his hair to get his mouth back on her because she wanted to enjoy herself so badly that she felt like crying. She’d spent her whole sex life not enjoying herself.

“Are you going to stop talking now?” she said.

“I’m not going to stop.” He bit her gently, over her bra, and she pushed his head down so he’d do it again. “But I will if you want. You can trust me with that.”

He worked her out of her bra with one hand and his mouth, and put her back against the mattress. He kissed her breasts and her ribs and the insides of her thighs, which she hadn't expected to do anything for her, and she was panting and wild and moving restlessly by the time he got to the edge of her underwear.

He looked up at her, his hair loose and his eyes hot.

“Can I?”

She nodded, because it would come out as a gasp if she tried to speak, and she didn't want to waste words. He peeled the underwear down and off, and she was bare in front of him for the first time. She expected the pause, the appraisal, and she tried to pretend it didn't matter.

It didn't come. He made that low noise in his throat again and then he put his mouth on her, and his first touch was so hot and soft and firm that she came apart for him at once, without meaning to, with her hands in his hair, and him not letting up for a second.