Page 43 of Halfling
Those same things pulled taut as she ran her fingertips over his skin, slick with salve. Her slow, deliberate touches went straight to his cock, giving him a hell of time hiding just how much he wished to have her touch himeverywhere.
His blush burned hotter, and he wondered if she could feel the heat of it.
But no, that curly head of hers was bent in concentration and oblivious to his sweet torment.
Orek gritted his teeth, grinding his fangs into his gums.
He’d rarely felt rage like what he’d unleashed on the slavers. It’d been like being outside himself, watching himself fight; he hadn’t been a mindless beast fighting off the slavers. No, he’d been a cold, vicious killer.
And he regretted none of it. Not when it kept Sorcha safe.
That’s all that mattered.
That, and that she wasn’t afraid of him.
She didn’t seem afraid when she finally stepped back to survey her work. She nodded her approval and wiped her hands on a rag.
“Just don’t overdo it,” she said.
When he huffed in amusement, she arched one of those devastating brows at him.
“I won’t,” he promised in good humor.
That cheeky grin was back, and Sorcha sauntered away to collect her dagger. The sway of her hips drew him in, the hypnotic rhythm making him forget he could release his tunic.
The tight feeling in his chest knotted, and he was rushed with a sensation not unlike that berserker rage from before. But this wasn’t anger or rage or even mere lust. Sweet and thick as syrup, the warmth spread through him soft as fingertips.Herfingertips.
For knowing her only a handful of days, Orek was already so very…fond of her.
He couldn’t even deride himself for feeling like a silly wolf pup following behind her, eager to see what their lessons would bring.
Orek was still shocked she’d made such a request, and until she’d brought it up this morning and gotten herself ready for it, he hadn’t quite believed she’d meant it.
But as she took a fighting stance, ready to begin, he was amazed all over again to find her serious.
They really shouldn’t linger, should have kept on their path and pushed to outrun anyone else following them, anyoneworse.Orek, though, was slowly starting to understand that he could deny her nothing.
He couldn’t help a small grin seeing her stance. Setting his hands on his hips, he closed the distance between them in a few long strides.
His nostrils flared when her pupils grew, and he didn’t think he imagined her inhale or slight flush as his shadow fell across her.
She blinked at him, mouth opening to ask another one of her questions, when he hooked a boot around her leg and with one flick sent her back onto her behind.
“Oof!”
She blinked up at him again, this time from the ground.
He kept the grin on his face, though his insides twisted with nerves when he reached down to offer her a hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’dplayed,and he hoped he hadn’t just ruined it.
“Stances like that are fine in duels. They’re stupid for fights,” he explained, hauling her up after she put her hand in his.
Wiping her backside of leaves, Sorcha chuckled. “Fair enough.”
“We’ll start with something more basic. Show me how you make a fist.”
Sorcha narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re making this up.”
Orek huffed. “I wouldn’t.”
