Page 34 of Orc Me, Maybe

“Complicated?”

“Unprofessional.”

I trace the shell of her ear, grinning when she shivers. “You’re temporary staff.”

“And you’re my boss.”

“And you’re stalling.”

Her retort dissolves into a gasp as I lift her onto the desk. Maps and safety protocols scatter. The lamp tilts, throwing shadows across her parted lips. Somewhere beyond the cabin, cicadas scream in the pines. Closer, Julie’s fingers tangle in my shirt, pulling me into the kind of chaos no liability waiver covers.

Her mouth moves like she’s still forming arguments, but I swallow every half-formed protest. The desk creaks under our combined weight, her legs locking around my hips as she yanks me closer. Her fingernails scrape the shaved sides of my scalp—human-sharp, not claw-sharp, but it still makes my breath hitch.

“Temporary staff,” she gasps when I bite the hinge of her jaw. Her hips arch off the wooden surface, sending a staplerclattering to the floorboards. “Means this… ah… expires in six weeks.”

I laugh against her collarbone, fumbling with the tiny pearl buttons on her blouse. “You keeping a timer?”

“Section seven, subsection B of my contract.” She tugs my shirt free from my waistband, palms skating over scar tissue from old clan markings. “No fraternization with… megalomaniacal… orc CEOs…”

“Megalomaniacal?” My tusk grazes her earlobe as I speak. She shudders, all that meticulous posture dissolving. “I built a goddamn equestrian center because Lily mentioned liking ponies once.”

Julie’s laugh turns into a moan as I find the zipper on her skirt. “You’re… distracting me from inventory spreadsheets.”

“Spreadsheets.” I nip her bottom lip, grinning when she fists my hair. “That why your pulse is racing? Or the fact I’m the first person who didn’t treat you like a coffee fetcher?”

She stills, breath hot against my cheek. Her eyes flick to the safety manual splayed open beside us, pages crumpling under her elbow. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Not arguing.” I slide my hand up her thigh, watching her pupils blow wide. “But you’re still here.”

Her retort dies when I kiss the hollow behind her ear. She tastes like ink and the spearmint gum I've seen her blow bubbles with when she thinks no one's watching. The lamp tips further, casting amber light across the emergency evacuation plan now wedged under her shoulder blade.

Her pearl buttons pop off one by one, pinging against the steamer trunk in the corner. Julie’s breath hitches as my claws snag her lace-edged bra. “That’s—ah—Third Tailor’s blouse you’re mangling.”

“Bill me.” The fabric splits with a noise that makes her thighs clamp around my waist.

She claws at my belt buckle, all business even now. “Section twelve of the?—”

I bite down on the protest, her back arching off the desk as the bra gives way. Her skin glows whiskey-gold in the lamplight, moles mapping constellations across her collarbones. She smells like panic and arousal, that vanilla cream smeared where my tusks graze her sternum.

Her skirt zipper jams halfway. Julie’s laugh comes out strangled. “Not so easy when you’re not tearing through fabric like a?—”

I press two fingers against her clit through damp cotton. Her head thuds back against an orientation packet. “Finish that sentence, Miss.”

Her hips stutter. “Bastard.”

The zipper yields. I hook my thumbs in her underwear, dragging them down her legs as she kicks off ballet flats. Her ankle knocks over a coffee mug. “Predictable human underthings.”

“Predictable orc impatience.” She reaches for my cock, all defiance until her fingers wrap around the girth. Her gasp tastes like victory. “Gods. OSHA should regulate this.”

I sink into her slowly, watching her lips part around a silent curse. Her legs lock behind my back, calf muscles trembling. The desk groans as I set rhythm—deliberate, punishing.

“Still worried about—nngh—liability waivers?” My words slur against her throat as I dive into her deeper.

Her nails carve half-moons into my shoulders. “You’re… crushing… the emergency protocols.”

“Are you asking me to stop?” I ask, driving into her harder and harder.

“You better not!” she snaps back, hips bucking up to meet me.

---