Page 79 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Maybe I want to be.”
She leaned down and gently pressed her lips to his. It was an offering. A promise.
I see you. Not the weapon Lasseran made. But you.
Khorrek froze. She could feel the tension in his body, the war between what he’d been taught and what he wanted.
Then he pulled away.
“I’ll hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m broken. Damaged. I don’t know how to be anything but what he made me.”
She cupped his face, gently stroking her thumb across his scar.
“Then learn. You’re already different than you were at the stone circle. Already questioning. Fighting against the conditioning.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It’s a start.”
She kissed him again, and this time, he surrendered. His hands came up, gentle despite their size. One cupped the back of her head, and his damaged hand settled lightly on her waist.
The kiss deepened and her heart hammered against her ribs. Her skin felt too tight.
I’ve never done this.
Academic life hadn’t left much room for romance and the few times she’d come close, she’d always ended up overthinking it and spoiling the moment. She’d decided sex wasn’t for her, and had filed it away with other things she didn’t understand—modern art, the appeal of reality television, why anyone would voluntarily eat cilantro.
But this. This was different.
Khorrek’s mouth turned demanding. His tusks pressed against her cheeks, but his hands trembled with his attempt to restrain himself. As if he were terrified of breaking her, of losing control.
She pulled back slightly, and looked into his eyes.
“I want this. Want you.”
“Thea—”
“Don’t argue. Don’t think. Just… be with me. Please.”
She watched him break. Saw the moment the conditioning lost its grip, and he chose her over thirty-five years of obedience.
“All right.”
Relief flooded through her.
She took his good hand and led him to the bed. Her hands shook as she climbed onto the mattress and pulled him with her.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
But Khorrek touched her with aching gentleness, as if she were infinitely precious.
He kissed her again, slower this time, as his good hand traced her side over the thin fabric of her nightgown, mapping her body with careful reverence.
“Tell me if I hurt you.”
