Page 72 of Halfling
“What won’t he forget?” Sorcha asked.
Orek looked down at her, his mind not able to work past the soft warmth of her hand on his arm. Her small touch joined the others in the trove of his memories, kept in pride of place beside the sight and feel of his finger tracing her satiny cheek. His belly clenched just thinking of it.
“I promised to help him and his family should they ever need it. It’s the least I could do.”
“Mm,” she hummed in agreement. “They’ve been very kind to us.” But from the considering gleam of her eyes, Orek didn’t think that’s all she meant to say.
“What?” he asked.
A smile, slow and shattering, spread across her face, making those freckles he so loved to trace dance. “You’re a good man.”
Orek gritted his fangs and looked away.
He didn’t feel like a good male, not with her standing so close. It’d be nothing to pull her against him, fit her to him so tightly she’d never be free of him. A good male wouldn’t stroke his cock to someone under his protection. A good male would have quashed the carnal, possessive thoughts that heated his dreams and haunted his days.
A good male wouldn’t dream of throwing her over his shoulder and hiding deep in the forest, where no one would find them, to hoard her all to himself and build a den just for them, where he’d keep her warm and content and naked always. A good male would bring her back to her family and leave her be.
That possessive beast inside him curled its lip at the thought.
No, Orek wasn’t a good male. He was selfish, covetous.
But if she wanted to think it, if it kept her looking at him like he was a male worth a damn, who was he to deny her.
That night, with the packs packed and all their gear laid out for the morning, Sorcha and Orek each indulged in a bath. They helped Cara fill up the copper hipbath, and Sorcha made sure to scrub thoroughly, not knowing how long it’d need to last her—and to make sure she got every last bit of itchy wheat off her skin.
In the soft night, warm and drowsy from her bath, Sorcha had found herself offering to comb out Orek’s long mane of dark hair. What possessed her, she didn’t know. Only that her hands itched to touch him before they returned to the forest and things were…different.
What possessed him to agree, she didn’t know, either.
Sorcha kept her mind quiet with the soothing strokes of the wooden comb through Orek’s mane. She worked the snarls and knots gently with her fingers, brushing until his hair gleamed in the low lantern light.
Sat in front of her, he was tall enough that with her standing, his head was the perfect height to brush out. She took her time, enjoying every lock slipping across her fingers like silk. She brushed for longer than needed, even after all the knots had been worked loose.
When his hair was soft and pliable, she added her fingers to the comb, delighting in the slight natural wave to it. Unable to resist, she worked her nails gently against his head and neck, down to his shoulders.
He shuddered, arching his back. She didn’t think he knew thedeep, rumbling purr he made as she scratched his scalp. When she eased up on the pressure, his head followed her fingers, seeking touch.
It was easy to indulge, to get lost in the soft rasp of his hair and fill her senses with him. His warm smell of male and musk was heavy in the stall, saturating the hay and furs. His shoulders seemed to span from one side to the other, taking up almost the whole space even though he sat. His thick arms were held loosely at his sides, wide wrists balanced on his knees. Those knuckles of his were all brutal, blunt edges, but she liked the shape of them.
Sorcha abandoned the comb to card both hands through his hair, massaging circles into his temples and working the muscles at the base of his skull. Another rumbling purr burst from his chest, making some of the animals whicker.
The purr cut off suddenly, swallowed down with a huffing cough.
His shoulders went tense, the blades sharp as he held himself rigid.
Sorcha bit her cheek but didn’t stop her exploration, too curious to back down now. He said nothing, and so she took every small touch she could, learning a little more with every pass of her fingers.
Something warm and affectionate curled in her belly. That thrum of desire had become almost constant as he’d recovered, the sight of him around the farm, sleeping so close beside him—but even it came second to the growing softness she felt for this male.
I have it bad,she admitted to herself.So bad.
Perhaps the worst she’d ever had it.
He didn’t help matters by being…everything he was. At every turn, she found something new to like or admire. If only he’d make this harder, but no, it was easy, far too easy to grow evermore attached to him.
And what will that do?she had to wonder. Of course she’d care for him as a companion and friend. She hated to see him hurt, and if he ever needed her help in such a way again, she wouldn’t hesitate to give it—not just because she fell asleep at night to thoughts of those strong green hands of his.
All this could just lead to heartache, and she wasn’t sure she could bear such a thing in her life right then.
