Page 44 of Till Orc Do Us Part
Silence.
I round on him, breath sharp. “You can’t just—you can’tdothis.”
His eyes darken. “Do what?”
“Look at me like that.” My voice cracks. “Like you—like this is some game you’re winning.”
“I do not play games, Rowan.”
“Bullshit,” I snap. “You walk in here, act like you care—leave sketches behind like they won’t matter?—”
I break off, throat tight.
He steps closer, voice low. “They do matter.”
And gods—I can’t stand it.
I move without thinking.
One step. Two.
Then I grab the front of his shirt, yank him down, and kiss him.
Hard.
Quick and hungry, half fury, half need.
His mouth is warm. Solid. He answers—slow, deliberate—a dark tide rolling in beneath the fire of my frustration.
For a heartbeat, the world shudders. Nothing but this—heat and breath and the iron taste of wanting what I should not.
He pulls back.
Not harsh. Not rushed.
Deliberate.
Controlled.
His gaze holds mine, unreadable.
I stand there, breathless, fingers still curled in fabric gone taut beneath my grip.
He lifts one hand, brushes a strand of damp hair from my cheek with aching gentleness.
Then he turns.
Walks out without another word.
The door closes softly behind him.
And I’m left standing in the wreckage.
Heart hammering.
Mouth burning.
Furious.
