Page 73 of Her Orc Healer

I finally opened my eyes to find him watching me. No mask. No restraint. Just… Kazrek. Wrecked and raw and mine.

My throat was dry, but I found the words anyway. “You didn’t let go.”

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Never."

Chapter 20

Iwoketothefeelof his mouth on my skin.

Warm lips, slow and steady, brushing across the swell of my breast.

My eyes opened halfway, the room still dusky with early light. His body was half-curled around mine, his hand resting low on my stomach, thumb drawing idle circles. I felt him shift again—his mouth trailing higher, closing over my nipple with quiet purpose.

I gasped, soft and sharp, and his eyes lifted to mine.

“Morning,” I breathed.

His mouth released me with a soft sound. He pressed his forehead against my chest and exhaled. “Morning,” he said, rough with sleep.

We’d fallen asleep like this, tangled together in the dark—his breath on my neck, my hand resting over the old scar beneath his ribs. No words, not after. Just quiet. Steady. A stillness I hadn’t known I needed until I was wrapped in it.

Now, waking to him like this—no masks, no retreat—I felt something loosen in my chest. Like I’d finally stopped bracing for the moment he’d pull away.

It was disorienting, in its own quiet way. To want. To be wanted. To feel safe enough to stay soft in the aftermath.

I shifted, just enough for our legs to tangle, for my hip to brush the hard line of him beneath the blankets. His hand flexed slightly on my stomach, and then—

His fingers moved lower, slipping between my thighs without hesitation. I was already slick, the soreness between my thighs a slow, pulsing reminder of the night before—of how fully he’d taken me, how completely I’d let him. He kissed the center of my chest again, the soft spot between my ribs, while his fingers worked me open with slow, certain care.

My breath hitched, but my hips didn’t move. My hands stayed fisted in the blanket, knuckles tight. I wanted him, wanted this, wanted more, but some old instinct still held me back, like I needed permission to let go.

His fingers slowed. “You never stop thinking, do you?" he murmured.

I exhaled, shaky. “Hard habit to break.”

He huffed a breath against my skin. Close to a laugh. Then—silence, except for the rhythm of his touch and my own ragged breaths.

My grip on the blanket eased. My hips tilted into his hand.

He gave a low sound of approval and kissed me again, lower this time, slower. I let my eyes fall closed. Let the thoughts go quiet. Let the pleasure rise.

Lethimin.

Then—three knocks against the door.

I startled, breath catching.

Kazrek didn’t. He moved his free hand to cover my mouth gently, eyes still locked with mine.

“I'm not done yet,” he said softly.

His fingers kept their pace, precise and unrelenting. And with my mouth sealed beneath his broad palm, I came—trembling, breathless, muffled and undone. The sound that escaped me was more laughter than moan, helpless and joy-wrecked. I curled into him, pulse pounding against his wrist.

When the last wave passed, he kissed my temple. Just once.

Then, from the other side of the door: “If you’re both still alive in there,” came Vorgrim’s gravelly voice, “Selior’s downstairs.”

Kazrek let out a long breath, low and rough. He lifted his head and called back, his voice calm but edged with warning. “Give us a minute.”