Page 105 of Halfling
He’d always answered her questions honestly before, and she knew he would again. So she had to be brave for her halfling, when the time came. She’d have to fight for him.
Her first battle came that night, and she was determined to win it with gentleness and care.
They’d made camp much later than usual, dusk threatening as a hasty firepit was dug. Though Orek usually laid out the furs, Sorcha did it herself that night as he saw to the fire, not giving him the option to push her away. She made up one large nest of furs and blankets, relieved when he saw it and said nothing.
Although, as the night grew dark and cold, she wished he’d saysomething.
They ate in silence, Orek’s gaze shuttered and sullen. She could feel the mass of his thoughts whirling around his head, a thunderstorm that crackled with potential energy.
She’d waited all day and evening for him to say something, but as she watched him retreat further behind that dark cloud of his thoughts, she knew it was time to draw him out. Back to her.
Sorcha placed a sleepy Darrah in his basket before coming around the fire to stand in front of her halfling. He sat rigid, a bowstring drawn taut, gaze stubbornly fixed on the fire.
She started with his hair.
Taking up his wooden comb, she worked the day’s plait from his glossy mane. Her fingers gently soothed his scalp as she ran the comb through his hair until it shone, then kneaded at the knots of muscle in his neck.
He loosened just a little under her hands, but it was enough. All she needed was a little.
She leaned over him to press her cheek to his. “Boots off. Then sit in the blankets for me,” she whispered, though it was no less of a command.
Orek expelled a shuddering sigh, chest and shoulders sagging.
His movements were slow, careful, but he did as she asked, pulling off his boots before lowering himself into the nest of furs. His gaze, gone golden in the firelight, flicked up to hers, and she gave him a pleased smile, hoping her love for him showed.
He’d been battered by his past today, old wounds drawn to the surface. Now didn’t feel right to add her own needs and desires to his turmoil, and she worried if she told him now how she felt, he wouldn’t believe her. That she said it out of pity.
When truly, she loved him so fiercely, she hadn’t even found words for it yet.
She’d never been in love before, and after all the epic stories of her parents, the noble knight and fiery horsewoman, she’d never thought it would be so…easy. But it was. Loving him came easily. Not all of a sudden or in a fiery burn the poets sang about. Theirs was a gentle build, and that’s what she suspected he needed then. Gentleness.
She knew a life with him wouldn’t be easy. A mate of another kind would always draw curiosity, even hostility—and even day-to-day life would have its challenges. Loving someone didn’t mean there weren’t times you wanted to occasionally smother them with a pillow.
Loving him was easy. Love, their love, would be a choice every day.
And she chose him.
So she gave him what she thought he needed then. She took care of him.
His coat and jerkin were first to go, then his linen shirt. She unbuckled his belt and pulled it off, followed by his braies.
Naked, he gazed up at her, curiosity peeking through his neutral expression. And she didn’t miss the blatant interest when her own braies joined his.
Orek eased onto his back as she crawled over him. Straddling his middle, she smiled down at him as her hands ran over swathes of warm green flesh.
Sorcha repeated her strategy, beginning at his head.
She pressed gentle kisses to his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, to his cheeks. Each corner of his mouth got a kiss, and his lower lip a teasing nip. His breath fanned over her brow as she kissed his chin, his neck, the hollow of his throat.
She worked her way down his body, and none of him was spared. She kissed over the groove between his pectorals, unable to resist taking a long draw of his scent. She laved his flat nipples with her tongue, making a muscle in his leg jump.
As the campfire crackled and the stars danced, Sorcha kissed her halfling everywhere. His hands with their scarred knuckles and blunt fingertips. His chest, where she felt the stirrings of the purr she so loved deep inside. His ribs, crisscrossed with scars, down to his rippling abdomen that clenched with every fluttering touch.
A rumbling purr stuttered to life when she kissed the flat plane just above his straining cock. She looked up to find him watching her, eyes hot and hooded. And he wasthere,with her, his face tight with pleasure now rather than grief.
Perfect.
She smiled before finally taking his cock in her hand and guiding it to her mouth.
