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Crossing my arms, heat prickles over my skin. I blow a strand of hair off my face as he takes one more long inhale, then spins and stomps toward the fire. I splash my face with the water, rub my hands together and try to clear my head.
I’ve known a few orcs since they arrived on Earth and the wars and battles settled with them here in the northwest. Most were indifferent toward me, although I admit, they are not big on boats for whatever reason. Still, I can’t say I was all that interested in them either.
I accepted them. Felt like they got a raw, hairy deal in the whole snatched up by aliens, tortured, altered, enslaved…but there is this triumph on the end. There was some good on the planet. When they finally found a way to rise up, there were members of the alien race that helped them. Helped them fight, then helped them come home.
I only know what I’ve read, I’ve never confirmed anything with an orc directly, but this one, this Oran, he’s different. Something happened to him. Something worse than the others I think. He’s larger, sure, but darker and more…I don’t know. Separate maybe?
I shake my head as the sound of him clanking tools on the fire grate and the smell of the barbecued meat distract me from the tingling in my lady bits and the way I keep wondering if what I’ve heard about orcs is true.
Double tongues and double dicks. Or something like that.
“It’s ready.” Oran is back, standing with the hot meat and bread in his hands as he steps to the edge of the pit and jumps.
“Shit!” I stumble backwards as the ground shakes at his landing. His shoulders and head are taller than the depth of the pit and being this close, it’s as close as I’ve come to fear in a long time.
“Sit.” He points toward the water bucket, then kicks it over, spilling the rest of the water onto the dirt. “Here.” He drops to his knees, then leans back against the wall, staring at me, waiting for me to comply. “Now, here, sit.”
“Fine.” I consider digging in and refusing but what’s the point? I’m hungry as hell and from what I can tell, he’s not going to hurt me and getting closer to him can only help my escape opportunities.
Oran tears bites of meat and bread, feeding me each bite, refusing to allow me to do it myself. It’s erotic being fed. Also, there’s no chance of me tossing the food against the wall and stomping off.
There’s a low, almost rhythmic growl coming from his chest as he watches me eat. He takes a bit of his own in between but for the most part, we eat in silence but the air is crackling. There’s a taut energy here that’s becoming more impossible to deny.
“What do you like to do?” He says finally after I rub my stomach and groan. “In life. What do you like to do?”
I shrug a shoulder to my ear, clearing my throat. “Lately? I don’t know, just work. Fight the good fight. Try to keep the wolves at bay.”
“There are wolves that come where you live?” His voice deepens, Adam’s apple moving in his throat, and I notice the horrific, ragged scaring around his neck.
“No, it’s a metaphor.”
He nods, then shakes his head. “I don’t know metaphors. Are they like wolves?”
“Never mind.” I wave my hand. “It’s like saying, life is a series of battles and you’re just trying to keep them from getting worse.”
He nods, the last of the meat and bread held to my lips.
“No, I’m stuffed.”
“You have…” He lowers the food onto the dirt, then brings his hand to my cheek. “Red skin. Warmth. Do you have sickness? From the food?” His words turn angry, scowling at the last bites on the ground.
My skin turns to fire under the rough rasp of his fingertips. He could snap my neck in a split second, but his touch is soft, paternal almost, and that flutter in my belly explodes in a supernova all the way from my head to my toes.
Without thought, I reach out and touch the circular scars on his forearm. They are sleek and thin, not ragged like the other ones around his neck and a few other places on his body. But, as I settle my fingers on one and start to trace, he jerks his arm back, shoving himself to his feet in one swift motion, making me gasp as his fingers abandon my cheek.
“No touch.” He growls and to my surprise, my eyes burn. Renegade tears threaten to form as his tusks dig into his upper lip.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing back the tears. The lust I felt pops like a bubble between us, leaving me cold and confused. “I thought…”
“You thought what?” He rumbles and I look down to see the long, thick outline of his cock trapped down the leg of his leather pants and even through the thick hide, I see it pulsing.
My mouth turns dry as my palms sweat, my arousal rising because there’s no unseeing a dick like that. It’s probably as long as my arm and as thick as well. I shiver at the idea of something like that pushing inside me, then just as fast as the shiver comes, it’s replaced by scorching heat down my chest.
“I thought maybe, you liked me,” I whisper, half playing into the moment in my favor, half hoping he might say yes.
“I do not like being touched. It…causes discomfort.”
I reach out for his hand. He draws back but I gather my courage and slip my fingers around two of his. “But, you touched me. And, I liked it…”
