Page 70 of Her Orc Healer

Green skin, marked with darker tattoos that traced the curve of his shoulders and the hard lines of his chest. Scars, too—old ones, earned and worn without shame. His body was massive, carved from war and labor and time, and yet there was nothing brutal in the way he moved now.

He lowered himself back over me, bracing on one forearm, his free hand sliding down the length of my thigh, hitching my dress higher with every slow pass of his fingers. I felt like I was burning from the inside out—skin flushed, blood pounding.

“Rowena,” he said again, but this time it wasn’t a warning.

It was a plea.

I dragged my hands up his sides, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the heat of him. He groaned when my fingers curled into the back of his neck and pulled him down again. We kissed like the last tether had snapped, like we’d been holding back a flood that could no longer be dammed.

His hand slipped beneath my skirts, rough fingertips skimming up my thigh, over the bare line of my hip. I gasped against his mouth and arched into his hand, shameless in the way I chased his touch.

Kazrek didn’t hesitate.

His fingers found me, and he groaned into my neck like he’d been starving for the feel of me. I buried my face against his shoulder.

“So wet,” he muttered, reverent and half-wrecked. “You’ve been wanting this.”

I nodded, breathless. “Yes. Seven—yes.”

He kissed down my neck, trailing heat along my skin. My hands scrabbled to unfasten the laces at the front of my dress, fumbling in my haste. Kazrek growled low in his throat, then sat up just enough to help me, his hands moving with barely checked urgency. The dress slipped away, pooled beside the bed, and then I was bare beneath him.

His eyes drank me in, wide and dark, his breath coming fast.

“You’re…” he shook his head, as if the words wouldn’t come. Then, softer, “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

The words landed hard. Not rushed or reckless. Not some fevered promise whispered in the dark. But deliberate. Certain. I had spent so long shrinking, compressing myself into something small and manageable. I had made myself into usefulness and endurance. But here, now, beneath him—I felt wanted. Not tolerated. Not needed.Wanted.

And not in spite of the things I thought I had to hide.

Because of them.

Because I was sharp, and tired, and stubborn.

Because I hadn’t broken.

Because he saw me, even in the dark.

Kazrek didn’t touch me right away. Instead, he leaned back, his weight shifting as he sat back on his heels between my legs. His palms rested heavy on my thighs, and for a moment, he just… looked at me.

Really looked.

His eyes roamed over every inch of my bare skin—hungry, yes, but not in the way that made me feel consumed. In the way that made me feel seen. Like he was memorizing me. Like he couldn’t believe I was letting him have this. Letting him have me.

Heat flooded my cheeks, my chest, my stomach. Not from shame—but from the staggering intensity of it. Of being looked at like that.

I swallowed hard, resisting the instinct to fold inward, to hide myself. To shield the softest parts of me before he could change his mind. But Kazrek didn’t flinch. Didn’t smirk. His hands flexed, slow and warm against my thighs, and then he gently spread my legs wider, baring me completely.

A fresh flush rushed over my skin. I felt open. Exposed.

His eyes darkened, and a low sound rumbled in his chest—like a growl held just behind his teeth.

My breath came quicker, chest rising and falling as he dragged his hands slowly up the insides of my thighs, thumbs grazing skin that felt too tender to be touched. He didn’t move quickly. There was nothing frantic in the way he took me in—just heat. Intensity. That endless patience I had seen in him since the beginning, now turned toward me.

“You look like you were carved by Grulthar himself,” he said roughly, eyes never leaving mine.

I had no words for that. Only feeling.

Only need.