Page 74 of Halfling
As she plaited his hair into a loose braid for sleep, Sorcha stoleanother look at that blush still coloring his chiseled face. The urge to kiss that blush, taste its color on her tongue, pulled at her belly, as if a tether had cinched itself around her and him.
No, Sorcha didn’t want to be just an exploration to him. If she had him, she wanted it all, to whatever end.
Some of the horses she’d trained came skittish, and it took time to earn their trust. A soft touch, patience, caring. She could give those same things to this male, couldwaitand watch.
When he gracefully stood and turned to give her a soft smile, eyes crinkling at the corners and that dimple popping in his cheek, she knew with surety that if he gave her a sign, some inclination that his feelings may match her own, she’d take her chance.
Because Sorcha wasn’t a stupid woman.
But she felt a little stupid for him.
She couldn’t help reaching out to touch the small gold loop in his ear. He held perfectly still, watching her as she said, “You should have so many of these that every animal in the forest hears you coming with all the jangling.”
18
Fates, she’d be the death of him.
Heart thumping in his chest, guilt riding him hard—but not harder than his lust—Orek watched raptly as Sorcha bent over her pack, rummaging through it for…something. She’d said words he assumed were a question a few moments back but he hadn’t truly heard.
He made a noncommittal grunt, just to be safe.
Little claws splayed on and kneaded his cheek, reminding him that he’d had food in his hand meant for Darrah when he’d gone still to watch this lush, maddening female. With a mumbled apology, he handed over the dried carrot to the impatient kit, who munched happily right in his ear. He barely heard over the rush of his blood.
“Are you sure you haven’t seen it?” Sorcha asked, her shoulder disappearing into her deep pack. “I could’ve sworn I’d packed it on top.”
“No,” he managed, nearly choking when she got on her knees and bent over her pack, presenting him with the perfect curves of her backside in the glowing firelight.
Pressing his hand over his mouth, Orek stifled his groan.
He ached for her in a way that was more painful than his side still knitting itself back together, like a hole had been carved through his chest the exact shape and size of Sorcha.
For two days it’d been like this—Sorcha minding her own business, Orek finding ways to make everything she did an erotic display. Bending over to tend the fire in front of him, deep shadows playing enticingly between her full breasts. Leaning over him to feed or scratch Darrah, those plush breasts pressed into his arm and chest. Asking him something and tilting her head back, gaze expectantly falling to his mouth awaiting an answer. All innocent, he was sure. And yet…
Oblivious as he believed her to be about the effect she had on him, he could’ve sworn some of her smiles and glances had grown…interested? He thought he’d seen her looking at him the way orcesses would at a male they wanted to bed, eyes gone sultry and half-mast, brows arched just so. But that was ridiculous—had to be a trick of the light.
His foolish heart and hopeful cock didn’t want to believe it, though. He saw those glances and teasing smiles andwanted.His arms ached to draw her close and hold her tight to him, fuse them together and align all the lines of their bodies. And his cock, fates his cock—he hadn’t had it this bad since he was a randy youth, alone in the forest with too much time to himself and wishing that an orcess would look his way.
The unfulfilled bond rode him hard, had him seeing things that weren’t there if only to keep hope alive.
When Sorcha began wiggling, trying to reach the very bowels of her pack, Orek made himself look away. He’d spill in his braies if he didn’t.
Grimacing, he hastily stood from his spot near the fire and said, “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Sorcha grumbled an acknowledgement from inside her pack. “If you find a lone green sock, I claim it.”
Placing Darrah in the little basket Cara and Anghus’s children insisted they have for his bed, Orek marched himself into the forest. His cock throbbed angrily in the waist of his braies, an iron bar that tented the fabric so obscenely, it made it into the forest before he did.
Straggling as far from camp as he dared, Orek slapped one palm against a tree for balance and dug the other into his braies. With a hiss he pulled his cock free, the cool night air practically steaming from the scorching heat of his engorged length.
In a rough, brutal fist, he tugged his cock, sparing a moment only to thumb the slit and collect the beads of spend. The slap of flesh was loud in the darkness, a frenzied sound that matched the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. He bared his fangs at the night, at the fates who’d given him such a perfect female he couldn’t claim, and took no mercy on himself.
His calluses scraped against the sensitive underside, dragging a moan from his lips. Sorcha had calluses, but he knew,knewher hands would be much softer than his. Would they be just as rough, though? Would she take him and flutter touches over him, work him gently but steadily like she had when combing his hair?
Orek swallowed thickly, imagining those hands with their long, lithe fingers delicately tracing him, learning his shape with soft touches, even as he scraped and tugged and beat at himself.
The memory of that perfect backside, full and ready for hands to sink into and knead, made him choke. Her sly little half-grin accompanied by an arched brow, had him keening like an animal. And that hum she made sometimes, a warm sound that came from deep in her chest, ended it all.
What would that hum feel like against his cock?
