Page 24 of Claimed By the Wild Orc
I told myself to pull back, to break this spell before I drowned in it. But I didn’t move. Couldn’t. My eyes locked on his, and for a moment, the world shrank to the fire between us: the soft crackle of flames, the heat rolling through my body like a fever.
He shifted closer, so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my lips. My heart stopped.
Was he going to kiss me?
I wanted him to. The thought terrified me, but I couldn’t deny it. I wanted to taste him again, wanted the solid, unyielding strength of him pressed to me like before—only without the anger, without the fight.
My lips parted, just slightly, an invitation I didn’t dare voice.
But then…
I felt unsure, wavering.
And he stopped, as if sensing my hesitation.
He was in control again.
Teasing, but restrained.
When?
His gaze burned into mine, his mouth a whisper from my skin, and a faint, maddening smile touched the corner of his lips.
“Not yet,” he murmured, voice deep and steady, like he wasn’t even breathing hard while I was coming apart. “You’ll come to me. And when you do, you won’t want me to stop.”
The words set my skin on fire.
And then he let go.
Just like that, the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving me trembling in its absence. He leaned back, cool and calm as though he hadn’t just unraveled every shred of my composure.
I swallowed hard, my breath shallow, my body taut with frustration and something darker, something needful. “You’re insufferable,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Playing mind games with me so that when I come, I won’t have even a shred of resistance left?”
He only gave a low hum, like the sound of a predator amused by its prey.
And my own words burned into my soul, heightening my need, for the thought of truly losing myself to him was becoming more and more intoxicating.
But still, he held back, becauseIwas uncertain, and perhaps I prolonged this maddening dance because it was the only power I had over him.
He wasgivingit to me.
GORRAN
Holding back was harder than any battle I’d ever fought.
I’d lived my life taking what I wanted. My strength had always been enough to claim anything—food, coin, blood, freedom. But Mira? She was different. She wasn’t something to be claimed in a moment of impulse. She was a fire I wanted to burn slow and deep, until there was nothing left of her fear but ash.
Every time she laughed under her breath, every time her sharp tongue cut me, I wanted her more. And when she softened, even just for a heartbeat—when her hands brushed mine, or when her lips parted like they might invite me closer—it almost undid me.
She was beautiful. Hers wasn’t the delicate, fragile beauty of painted human girls, but something raw, alive. The way her brown hair tumbled in messy waves, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the defiance in her eyes. She looked at me like I was danger—and gods, I was—but she hadn’t yet realized how much I wanted to be her shelter, too.
She was mine. Not by her choice, not yet. But she would be.
There was something sublime in this restraint. The waiting. The knowing. I could almost taste the moment when she would give in—not because I demanded it, but because she wanted it, because she would understand what it meant to be with me.
I could be fearsome, yes. That was why it was important to me that shenotfear me.
I had done terrible things. Things that would make her flee in an instant if she learned of them.
