Page 31 of Charming the Orc's Mate

We collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of sweaty limbs, both panting heavily. Torain’s tongue laved over the spot he’d bitten, soothing the ache. I could feel our heartbeats gradually slowing, falling into sync.

After a long moment, Torain propped himself up on one elbow. His fingers ghosted over the mark he’d left. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I shook my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. “I’m perfect.” I stretched, cataloging the various aches. “Though we should probably start unpacking.”

Torain’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Tomorrow.” He rolled us so I sprawled across his chest. “We’ve got a new bed to break in properly first.”

I traced idle patterns on his skin. “Multiple times?”

“Multiple times.” He caught my wandering hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. “In multiple positions.”

“Hmm.” I pretended to consider. “That does sound more fun than organizing kitchen supplies.”

“More fun than color-coding your closet?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You take that back,” I said, mock scandalized. I swatted his chest. “Nothing’s more fun than color-coding.”

“Challenge accepted.” He flipped us again, pinning me beneath him. “Let me show you exactly how wrong you are about that.”

As his mouth claimed mine once more, I had to admit—some things were definitely worth disrupting my carefully ordered plans for.

Tomorrow could wait. Right now, all I needed was this. Him. Us.

Home.

EPILOGUE

TORAIN

The carved wooden sign along the back wall refused to hang straight no matter how many times I adjusted it. Scowling, I nudged the left side up a fraction of an inch. The morning sun caught the gold leaf inlay, making “Sombra Mountain Artisans” shine against the polished wood.

Not perfect, but not bad.

I surveyed the small storefront once more, stomach flipping. Sunlight poured through the front window, lighting up the dining set like some lost relic at the end of a trying quest. I’d spent weeks getting the details right—the way the grain flowed through each piece, the balance of traditional clan patterns with elements that would appeal to human customers. Custom shelving units lined the walls and displayed work from other clan artisans, carefully arranged to catch the light.

The bell above the door chimed. Carissa’s scent—cinnamon and vanilla—wrapped around me before I turned. She balanced a drink carrier from Bean Me Up in one hand and a box of Poppy’s pastries in the other.

“You’re early.” I grinned as she set everything on the counter. “Soft opening’s not for another hour.”

“Please. Like I’d trust you to arrange everything properly without supervision.” She pecked my cheek, then immediately began adjusting a display I’d spent twenty minutes perfecting. “This one’s crooked.”

I wrapped my arms around her waist, nuzzling the claiming mark on her neck. “Sure you’re not just making excuses to get me alone before everyone shows up?”

“That was one time.” She elbowed me playfully. “And we agreed never to do…thaton the clock again.”

“Three times.” I nipped her ear, remembering how she’d writhed against the stockroom shelves, biting her lip to stay quiet as I filled her. The way she’d bent over the counter after hours, her skirt hiked up while I drove into her from behind. And fuck, the sight of her spread across my workbench, hair wild and tits bouncing with each thrust while she begged me to fuck her deeper. “But who’s counting?”

“Not you, obviously.” But she melted against me anyway, and her scent thickened with distractingly sweet arousal. “Anything I can help with?”

“I’m almost ready.” I glanced out the front window. The location near the town square hadn’t been cheap, but it gave me the visibility and foot traffic. I ran through the checklist in my head one last time—showroom straightened, website updated to work in the current century, flyers and social media posts advertising the location. Everything was in place for the clan’s next big venture.

Carissa excused herself to freshen up before everyone arrived, though not a hair had escaped her perfect twist. Pure Carissa—using a nonexistent imperfection as an excuse to calm her nerves. At least she hadn’t been up until dawn stress-baking like during the bookstore’s reopening following Tate’s attack.

I watched her disappear into the back, admiring how her pencil skirt hugged her curves. Even after mating, the sight ofher still hit me like the first time. The sway of her hips had me considering following her, inching that skirt higher until?—

The bell chimed startled me from my thoughts. Osen’s massive frame filled the doorway, Miranda trailing close behind. My brother’s eyes swept the space approvingly, but Miranda’s usual bright energy seemed dimmed. She offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“About time you let me in here. No more excuses about it not being tidy or fit for visitors.” Osen moved between displays, nodding with approval. “Though I see you put my commission in the back corner.”

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