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“Amara.” My voice is low and hoarse.
I don’t know if she can hear me.
I don’t care if she can. I want to continue saying her name for the rest of my life. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her hear me. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her see me.
Is this the kind of orc I am? The kind of orc who always has to have exactly what he wants? The kind of orc who needs to make the woman he wants his?
Because that is what I want to do right now. I want to take Amara and make her mine. I want to leave my mark all over her and make sure she never forgets my name.
The urge to have Amara any way I want her is so strong that it almost overwhelms me, threatening to bring me to my knees.
Maybe this is the kind of orc I am. An orc who is powerful enough to have whatever he wants. An orc who is powerful enough to make any woman his, orc or human.
Am I the kind of orc who takes and takes and takes? The kind of orc that demands a life of pleasure and victory? Am I a warrior? Of women and battle?
The more I think about it, the more I realize that this could be exactly who I am.
I might not remember any moments from my life before waking up with Amara staring at me. But I do think I am starting to remember the most important things. I am remembering who I am.
And it is all because of Amara.
It is hard to imagine how I existed before I met her. Because while I may be rediscovering myself, my discovery is only in relation to her and how she makes me feel.
“Amara?” Her name slips from my lips, low and slow and sweet. The night air might have cooled down a lot, but my skin is hot and taut and tight, and it is almost unbearable.
We are staring at one another, and I realize then that I have placed my hands on her waist. The movement was unconscious, and I start to stroke her skin with my thumbs.
“What are you doing?” she asks me. And the truth is, I don’t really know what I’m doing.
I don’t answer her. Because I can’t. I think that I am incapable of speech right now.
Instead, I lean in and inhale her scent.
She smells fresh and bright, but also heady and tart, like the herbs that she constantly works with.
I can also smell her musk, and I pull my hands away from her body as I lick my lips.All I want,I think to myself desperately,is to take Amara right here and now.
I can’t keep my hands away from her body for too long, and this time I place my hands lower on her hips.
Her body is still slightly wet, and when I look down, the droplets of water that haven’t dried shine, pearlescent against her skin.
It is a fight to control myself. And the fact that Amara hasn’t pulled away yet, hasn’t run away from me yet, is not helping.
Every instinct in my body, however unfamiliar, screams at me to have Amara. To take her. To claim her. To make her mine.
The only thing stopping me is something in my chest. Something that asks me if taking Amara is the right thing to do.
The voice in my head isn’t mine, but it feels familiar as if it has occupied space in my head before.I think that once you cross this line, you won’t be able to return to the beginning. Be careful of what you do.
“Kian?” Her voice saying my name sends a jolt through my body. “Kian, what are you doing? Is something wrong?”
Her voice is low and breathy, and the words she says are lilting and beautiful. They are driving me over the edge of something unknowable.
“Stop talking.” My hands tighten around her hips. My voice is hoarse and loud, and I am not unaware that the words sound like a groan.
“Why?” When I look at her, her eyes are wide, and I nearly pull away because she looks almost frightened. But then she presses herself against me. I think the movement is unconscious on her part, but then she freezes as a low rumbling resonates from my chest.
“Because.” My voice is ragged. “Your voice is going to send me over the edge.”
