Page 13 of Shackled to the Orc

The shock of it growing in response to my need fills me with shame, overpowering my lust, and I clear my throat, staring only at his neck as I work my hands into the knots. A few minutes later, when I sneak another peek, to my relief, his cock has softened again.

I use my fist, grinding my knuckle into a stubborn knot, slowly releasing his tension, then move my hands up his broad jaw and to his temples, pressing in above his eyes. He stays completely still, trusting me. I wonder how long it has been since anyone else has touched him without violence. “Is that better?”

He doesn’t answer for a second. Then his eyes flash open, and I see something I wasn’t expecting, this quick surge of guilt. “Yes.” He sits up and pulls himself out of the tub, grabbing a thick towel from underneath where there is a pile folded neatly by the claw feet, and dries himself as I look away. He undoes the stopper at the bottom of the tub, and the warm water drains out in a torrent through a tube leading into the ground.

Then he hangs the towel on the back of the door and opens the trunk by the fire, taking out a pair of light white, flowy pants that he must sleep in, pulling them on, and I wish they were darker, because they don’t leave much to the imagination. I feel like an intruder in his world as he grabs the biggest fur blanket from the bed, putting it on the smooth, clean stone floor, the only speck of dirt a horsehair from the blanket that was wrapped around me.

“You will sleep in the bed,” he orders.

I should say yes. It’s a relief, because there was this relentless tension, waiting for the moment when he would tell me to get naked in his bed and spread my legs.

I cross my arms. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. You’ve got a bad knee, a cut arm, and you’re bruised all over.”

He snorts. “I’ve slept on worse.”

I get it. You’re the big, bad orc warrior. Only, you’re not invincible.

“Well, I’m not going to sleep in the bed if you’re on the floor.” I raise my eyebrows at him. “I’m sure there’s got to be another bed in this compound. Must be gladiators coming and going, right?”

He lunges. In a blur, he lifts me in the air as if I am nothing, my world spinning. I scream in shock, and he carries me to the bed, pushing me down. I struggle, but he effortlessly holds me down with one hand, tucking me into the tight white sheet with the other. He keeps his grip on my shoulder, holding me in place, his face so close to mine I can feel his hot breath against my face. His gaze pierces through me, twin emeralds that seem to stare straight through my soul. I am affected to the core. His sheer power, his deep, musky scent, his rugged features that make my skin prickle with an intoxicating mixture of fear and anticipation. My breath comes ragged, but he stands up, giving me a hard look that tells me not to try and leave the bed. Then he goes to the table, wolfs down the food faster than I can believe is possible, and goes into the bathroom, all while I sit, frozen, processing what just happened.

I force down the annoying feelings of heat, that dark tendril of craving, focusing on my anger. What kind of way is that to end an argument? Instead of coming up with a reason I can’t just take another bed, far away from this boorish brute, he throws me into bed?

A minute later, he comes out and blows the lamp out, the only light from the dying fire and the moonlight seeping through the window. With a grunt, he lowers his huge form to the ground on the fur blanket which will serve as his thin bed. Even in the flickering light, his eyes gleam. I glare at him, hoping his night vision is good enough he can see how pissed I am.

I’m in a bed so big you could fit four of me easily, and I grab one of the huge pillows and throw it at him, not because I care if he gets a damn headache with his head on the stone, but because it feels like a tiny victory after he made me take the bed. He catches it easily, shaking his head with annoyance before resting back against it. He grabs one of the oversized towels from under the clawfoot tub, pulling it over his body, and closes his eyes.

Bastard.

How the hell can he just lie down and sleep? When he just threw me around like a doll, throwing me into bed and ignoring my screams? My cheeks flush red with impotent fury, and I grab the blankets tight.

To my shock, within minutes, the room echoes with his booming exhalations as he snores louder than the sawmill east of the town. Then his breathing stops for long moments, until he makes a choked sound, and starts snoring again.

“Hey,” I whisper, and his eyes slowly blink awake. He’s a light sleeper, just as I thought. “Your broken jaw. It’s obstructing your breathing. Put another pillow behind your head to elevate it. You’ll sleep better.” I grab a second pillow and toss it to him, half expecting him to throw it back.

He simply watches me, not speaking, for seconds that feel like eternity. “And here I thought you were mad at me.” There’s this gleam in his eye that tells me he is toying with me, and I grit my teeth, remembering how easily he flung me into the bed.

“You sound like a wild boar digesting a boulder. I just want to sleep,” I grumble, and for a second, I think he smiles, before positioning the pillow behind his head and closing his eyes once again. Within a minute, his breathing has slowed, regular and even.

It’s only then that the homesickness hits me. My mom will have heard the news. My best friend Zephyr will be with her, comforting her. They’ll be in the living room—no, they’d want to be strong in front of Thomas. They will be in the bedroom, holding each other, and she’ll be blaming herself for not convincing me to stay home.

It was my own fault, but I would do it again in a second. The only thing I would change is not being blinded by the beauty of those floating blue lotuses in the moonlight, ensnaring my vision and leading me straight into the trap.

I look over at the primal, fiercely handsome orc, and I feel both drawn and repelled by him, terrified by what he is capable of, yet knowing that the only way out…

Is to harness his might.

Why did he choose me?

And if I drive him so mad…

Why does he resist his primal urges?

8

KHAN

My eyes blink open before the sun has risen, as they always do, but this time everything is different.

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