Page 22 of Wed to the Orc Captive

“We can just do this,” I blurted out, and he stilled. I felt his head lean back, to look at me, I guess, and I schooled my expression, said, “We can just…we can do the part. Where you’re inside me. We don’t have to…the rest. Right now.”

“Why are you saying this?” His voice wasn’t angry. I couldn’t tell if it was confusion, or amusement, but it wasn’t anger, so I pressed through, let myself preserve some tiny piece of my own dignity.

“You’re ready, aren’t you? I am too. Let’s just…it’s late.” I swallowed. My pulse hammered at my throat. I opened my eyes, found the merest, deeper shadow moving in that shadow.

“Why are you in a rush about this?” he rumbled, not a laugh. “It is an odd way, to be eager.” I could almost hear his lips press together, in thought, and how much had I stared at him, that I was seeing expressions in my head? “Are you saying this because you’re trying to please me?”

“I am pleasing myself,” I scraped out, a shuddering breath. “Please.”

He pressed, “You know there are more things to enjoy than just⁠—"

“Please.”

He stopped. He was too quiet.

I had to cover again. I gushed, “Why mess with what’s working?”

He was quiet, and then I felt his touch skim along my jaw, my cheek. And he murmured, his voice edged with something that in the dark I couldn’t judge sweet or bitter, only that the rhythms of his accent rolled through me: “How are you so shy and still so bold?”

I didn’t answer. His hand left my leg, and even with trying to brace myself, trying to ready for the pain that would come again, I felt relief pass over me.

“A compromise,” he said. I tensed— “You let me kiss you.”

My mind stuttered. “You…what?”

“Kiss.” His lips grazed my neck, by my ear. “You humans have heard of it?”

“Yes, we…” There was no winning that argument. “...humans kiss.”

“Do you?” he murmured. His teeth nipped at my ear, and I almost jumped out of my skin. He laughed again. “...then kiss me.”

Blood was rushing to my head, and this was a reasonable expectation, there was no reason I should have thought orcs only thought about the main act, when the drunks at the pub where I’d beg Father to come home and the sweaty-palmed boys outside the church both equally wanted their mouths on mine. I shouldn’t have assumed that giving him one part of me meant he wouldn’t slowly take every other piece of me I had.

I pulled back, steadied myself. “Fine,” I said, that false courage trembling in a vibrato that wasn’t mine. “Fine, yes, I’ll kiss you.” My eyes had just adjusted enough to find his silhouette, the barest sheen of moonlight against his shoulders, his hair. I put my hand on his shoulder— smooth, warm skin— for balance, and what if his mouth was the wrong place to start; what if I was supposed to kiss his nose or something or his cheek what if⁠—

I collided with his mouth, warm lips, pressed, pulled back. “There.” The moment hung.

When he spoke, there was mock censure in his voice. “You live up to your reputation for aggression,” he said. “Even your kisses are like you’re trying to punch with your lips.”

“I’m not⁠—"

“Are you afraid I’m going to get too lost in your caress and forget to make love? That’s not how this works.”

“No! It isn’t…” the words were a tangle and I couldn’t press them through.

“Wife,” he murmured. “I’m not one of your rabid humans. You’re going to have to accept that I’m a little slower at this than you. I’ll have to lean on your understanding.” He cupped my chin in his hand. “Can I show you?”

“...yes ,” I whispered.

He shifted alongside me in the dark. “Let’s see if you can enjoy the finer things, barbarian,” he muttered, and with a slowness that felt agonizing, he nuzzled the sensitive curve of my neck, and brought his lips to my skin.

I don’t know why I thought it would be rougher, that he’d crush and bruise and bite and break. His mouth was warm, and soft, and relentless, on my collarbone, the softness of my shoulder, as my heart threatened to run too fast, like I’d eaten digitalis, till like the hearts of the poisoned, it would stop. His lips brushed my temple, the bridge of my nose, till they lingered, tasting, at the corner of my mouth.

“Remember to breathe,” he murmured, and his lips met mine.

There was so much about him I’d thought was supposed to be hard. He looked hard. Muscles, brow, jaw. He looked like an extension of the blades he wielded. He looked like you’d cut yourself stroking his hair. Now, as his lips moved over mine, the touch was soft, like I was something worth being gentle with. Like I was something he could tease open with a song.

I didn’t want to be someone who fell apart at the first sign of gentleness, who came crawling at the first open hand so I could be struck. I was not a creature to be coaxed. When my breath caught, and he chuckled, I fisted my hands against the bedroll. But staying still…if I resisted, did I gain myself anything? This bitter pride I held to, maybe I could convince myself I was unmoved. Maybe I could even convince him. But denying this man would not bring me closer to safety, or freedom, or make him more inclined to defend me from the brutes we met in this forest. If my goal was getting out of this with my sanity, how much of that could I save by defiance versus by giving him what he’d want? I moved my lips against his, like kissing a cheek.