Page 99 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

This wasn’t fake for either of us. Maybe it never had been.

I didn’t sleep. I held her while the moon moved across the sky and dawn crept closer, bringing with it whatever judgment the scribe would deliver.

But right now, with Willa breathing softly in my arms and her notebook full of my name, I let myself believe this was real. That I’d chosen her, and she’d chosen me. That against all logic, we’d stumbled into something neither of us had been looking for.

Something that looked a lot like bonding.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WILLA

Iwoke up with my face pressed into Traig’s chest, sprawled across his body while he lay on his back, his arms loosely around me.

I’d thrown my leg over his thigh and draped my arm across his chest.

While he wore only a loincloth.

I’d noted it last night, the thin garment secured around his waist, scooping between his legs. It hadn’t hidden much.

I’d read about orc anatomy in one of Laina’s medical texts during a lunch break. The clinical language hadn’t prepared me for the reality of sleeping next to seven feet of warm, barely-clothed orc who was, proportionally speaking, built like every fevered chapter of monster romance I’d ever read.

And now I’d wrapped myself around him in sleep.

His heart beat steadily under my cheek. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm.

We were tangled together like we’d been sleeping this way for years instead of one night.

I needed to pull away. Create distance before he woke up and realized I’d used him as a body pillow.

Except his fingers flexed on my back. He was already awake.

My pulse shifted into overdrive.

I lifted my head, my curls falling forward to curtain my face.

His midnight eyes were open, watching me. How long had he been lying there? Five minutes? An hour?

“Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

The sound of it did things to my insides that I couldn’t think about right now.

“Morning.” I should move. Definitely should move. “How long have you been awake?”

“A while.”

“And you just laid there?”

His thumb traced a small circle against my spine. “I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked comfortable.”

Comfortable. That was one word for it.

Every place we touched sent heat racing through my body.

“The scribe,” I said, my voice coming out scratchy.

“Is in the living room.”

“We should get up.”