Page 37 of The Orc's Captive Bride
She made a sound—half gasp, half moan—and it shattered something in him.
He’d spent years controlling his Beast. Decades learning to suppress every primal instinct, every emotional response. Lasseran had trained him well, but nothing had prepared him for this.
For her.
His mouth moved against hers with a hunger that should have terrified him. Teeth and tongue and barely leashed violencetransformed into passion. She tasted like courage and curiosity and things he had no right to want.
Her hands found his shoulders. His neck. The edge of his jaw.
More, his Beast demanded.Claim her. She belongs to us.
The thought jolted him back to reality.
No.
He wrenched himself away, putting three feet of distance between them like she’d suddenly caught fire.
“No.” His voice came out as a harsh growl. “No, we cannot.”
She lay there, breathing hard, her lips swollen from his kiss and her eyes wide with confusion. And hurt.
“Did I… was that not…”
“You need to sleep.” He forced himself to look away. “You are exhausted and not thinking clearly.”
Liar.
She’d been thinking perfectly clearly, and so had he. That was the problem.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”
Each word was a knife between his ribs.
“Sleep, Dr. Monroe.”
The formality was a deliberate reminder of the roles they were supposed to play.
Guard and prisoner. Orc and human. Monster and beauty.
“Thank you,” she said, so quietly he almost missed it. “For bringing me back. For everything.”
He gave a quick, sharp nod and walked to the door on legs that felt like lead. His Beast howled at him to go back and finish what they’d started. He only made it to the threshold through sheer force of will.
“Where are you going?” she said softly, and the question stopped him cold.
“To stand guard.” He kept his voice flat and emotionless. “You are my responsibility. I will ensure your safety.”
“You don’t have to stand outside the door all night.”
“I do.”
He left before she could argue and his resolve could crumble.
The hallway was empty and silent except for his own harsh breathing. He leaned against the wall opposite her door, then slowly slid down to a sitting position. It was not the correct stance for a guard, but the cold stone floor was a welcome shock to his overheated system.
What have I done?
He could still taste her. Still feel the silk of her hair against his fingers. Still hear that breathy sound she’d made when he’d kissed her like a starving man confronted with a feast. That was twice now. The first time could have been written off as a mistake, but there was no excuse for the second time.
