Page 100 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“I what? No, speak up. I need to hear this.”

“I…” he waited, and I turned my head away, towards that brilliant torch. “I can’t think when I’m looking at you.”

“What? I’m too pretty?”

“Yes, yes, you asshole! You’re too pretty!”

His laugh rang against the walls, open, free. “I’m closing my eyes,” he said.

My heart was racing. “You said that before.”

“I mean it this time. I promise.” His breath chuffed against my neck. “You’re nice to look at, but I can make you stop thinking later.” He lowered himself onto the bed beside me, white teeth flashing, dark lashes shuttered as the torchlight played over his skin. “Am I allowed to touch you? Is that ‘fair?’”

I couldn’t remember what my point had been, tried to think. “...I think so. Yes.”

“Tell me if something feels wrong, then.” He found my shoulder, my hip. “May I kiss you again?”

I was breathless. “Yes,” I said. “A thousand times, yes.”

It was both foreign and right, getting to touch, to rest and wonder over each other's skin, whispered negotiations and smothered gasps. I'd forgotten how large he felt when he entered me, the pleasant totality of that stretch, the slowness of coming together, ginger and gentle, and then the force as the speed of his breathing caught up with mine. And he did kiss me. His mouth was against mine as I cried out, as the tension inside me shattered into heat and light and the walls lit around us, glowing symbols travelling up the rock. And his face was buried in my neck when he gave himself to me.

We lay in the rippling light, panting, both of us.

“That…was good,” I got out. “S’nice.”

He rolled his head to rest against mine. “A good start. Yeah.” His chest rose and fell.

“You liked it too.”

He nodded. “Yes, barbarian, that was me liking it very much.”

I was nodding. It felt like I’d melted, like I was a pool of butter with all the sharp bits taken away. “...I’m going to have to learn Orcish.”

He chuckled again, the sound echoing in that tight space, refracting with the light off those walls. “That’s what you’re thinking about now?”

“I just realized we get to be together. And your mother was right, if we have a child…”

His hand on my thigh stilled.

Had I said the wrong thing? “You did want one, didn’t you?” I whispered. “A child?”

He was quiet, and I felt my hopes squeeze into something tight and small. “...I’ve thought about it,” he said, husky. “I’d like to be the father I was denied. …and they would be beautiful. Once they weren’t babies. All babies are ugly⁠—"

“They are not!”

“Yes, they are, they’re all cheese-covered and swollen and smashed-faced⁠—"

“No, you listen here, I apprenticed with a midwife⁠—"

“So you should know this⁠—"

“No! Because sometimes they’re breech and they’re not smashed-faced at all and they’re just pretty⁠—"

“Annora, I’m fine with them being ugly.”

“—and even when they’re ugly they’re still cute⁠—"

“I never said they weren’t cute, I said ugly⁠—"