Page 37 of Falling for the Orc All-Star

“I’m sorry, King. I... You know, I think I have my own issues. I’ve always wanted to look perfect. Like my friends. Like the models or the movie stars—”

His hand cups my cheek, his arm easily reaching across the table when he leans. “Why would you want to look like those pale, painted copies? You’re so much prettier. So much more real. So muchmore.”

I had a big explanation I was going to give, a sudden overflow of guilt about judging him for being handsome as some kind of backlash against the way society perceives women who look like me, about the way I perceive myself.

I find myself thinking that I can save it for later as my chair scoots towards his and both of his hands pull me in, fingers splayed over my cheeks and against my throat, his huge hands dominating me.

“I never saw perfection ‘til I saw you. And I mean that, even if you don’t believe me,” he whispers between our feverish kisses.

Don’t do this. Don’t go crazy. Too soon.

Want him. Need him.

Feels perfect with him—physically.

Whenever I spend time with him, another chink in the arrogant armor appears, and there’s so much sweetness and longing underneath.

I wonder if he’s worrying about staying “perfect,” not just for his career, or his fans, but for his parents. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid—and he’s not much older than one. What was I like when I was twenty-four?

I was pretty sure I had the world figured out, and I didn’t.

Hell, I’m still that way.

I fall into King’s arms, but he can’t stand. Doesn’t stop him from lifting me, draping my legs across his lap so I’m straddling him, our lips still fused. His hands are in my hair, on my back, and everywhere he touches feels like warmth. Safety. Desire.

It’s not just perfection, it’s a perfect surprise.

“Perfection isn’t what I want if it’s not you,” he breathes out between kisses that turn from nibbles to mauls. His tusks scrape along my cheek and my lower lip, and oh, God... I didn’t know that a little light scrape could make my eyes roll back.

He makes me doubt my medical training. I obviously missed something in anatomy, because I’m discovering new nerve endings every second.

“Do you... Do you want me?” King asks, mouth finding the sweet spot where my jawbone meets my throat.

“I do.”But.There are a hundred reasons not to, plenty of them racing to my lips, only to be bodyslammed to silence by a passionate kiss, the same way King would chuck someone down on the ice with a single brush of his giant shoulders. “I do,” I say again, sure that I’ll add on all my reasons why he can’t have me in just a second.

If only his voice didn’t sound so excited and incredulous, so awestruck and happy when he whispers, “You do?”

Now’s the time to deny it. To shut it down. Pump the brakes, say wait...

Annoyingly, the truth pops up at the wrong second.You try hard not to lie to yourself, Ingrid. It’s what lets you make peace with the life you have, the life you want. The truth is...

I like this person. Underneath my first impression of arrogance and all looks, no heart, is someone who is trying to care, trying to come to grips with imperfection and humanity, trying to get that he can be loved if he’s not just some icon, some all-star.

Would he still want me if he weren’t injured? Am I just part of his early midlife crisis?

“I do. I’m not sure you’d wantme, though. Not if you weren’t suddenly changing up your life and getting thrown curves like your injury and your career being on hold.”Or over.“When you’re better—”

“When I’m better, it’ll be because of you. My life will be better—and my leg will only be part of it. Part of me. All of me wants you—and these are the kinds of curves I want thrown at me for the rest of my life,” King rasps, hands molding down the extra rolls of padding that lead to my hips, sinking his hands into my ass to press me more firmly to him.

I don’t have answers to that for a moment, because I’m too busy being struck by the hugeness of the bulge I can feel against my thigh, and I suddenly worry that with all the extra Orc abilities, he can feel how soaking wet and hot I am for him.

The chair gives a warning creak. I don’t think it was meant to hold an Orc plus one. I slide from his lap, looking at his bereft expression.

“If you don’t believe me—I’ll wait, you know. And work on it. You’re another reason for me to get better—so that when I’m 100% healed, I can get down on this knee and—”

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” I hold up both hands, voice high enough to bring both dogs running from the living room where they were snoozing in a post-storm cuddle coma.

King stops, mouth sealed, eyes still doing that gosh darn melting, pleading look that I thought only puppies could give.