Page 25 of Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice #1)

Jordan

O zar went into the bedroom, then reappeared with his arms full of weapons.

Okay. That was unexpected.

“You’re going to teach me to fight ?” Not that I was opposed to the idea, but I had serious concerns about accidentally cutting him with a knife or slicing his pillows and furs with a sword.

“Yes.” He tossed a knife onto the table. It bounced twice before coming to a stop by my dessert plate.

“Rubber weapons?” I was astonished. Why would he have a bunch of rubber weapons in his apartment? Or anywhere, for that matter?

He grinned sheepishly. “I thought to bring them home for future children in my clan to use. They would learn much quicker if there was no fear of injury.”

It made sense. I picked up the rubber knife and stood, testing it with a few inexpert thrusts.

“Are there a lot of children in your clan?” I was envisioning Ozar teaching little orcs, tiny green toddlers with budding tusks tugging at his pants’ legs, and chubby babies squealing as he swung them in his arms.

His smile fell. “No. We have no children in our clan. But I hope that soon we will.”

No children? What had happened? I should have asked, but I didn’t want us to discuss what was clearly such a heavy subject on our first date.

Instead, I wondered what our children would look like.

Could we even have children together? Would they be a lighter green?

With smaller tusks? Shorter and less muscular?

“You should stand more like this.”

He’d come over as I’d been daydreaming and began positioning me, turning me so my right side was forward, the knife low. As he went to move my legs, I turned and stabbed him in the ass with my rubber knife.

It was a gorgeous ass, begging to be stabbed…or grabbed with both hands.

“Attacking an unarmed opponent.” He shook a finger at me, his eyes dancing with laughter. “Very dishonorable.”

“You’re almost twice my size. I’ve got to fight dirty, or I’ll never win,” I told him.

“You’re supposed to learn, not win.”

I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head at Ozar, thinking that he probably never learned anything without the desire to win lurking not so quietly in the background. He left my side, unbuckled the scabbard with the giant knife from his hip, and set it on the table.

“Do you always carry that?” I asked, wondering again if the blade was legal. It was a truly big knife, but then again, things had changed a lot with werewolves, demons, and other supernatural beings walking around the city streets.

“Of course. As well as my hand-axe.” He smirked.

I tilted my head, my eyes roaming all over his body. “ Where are you keeping this axe? And why do you have it? Do you need to chop firewood in the middle of Baltimore? Are there random trees that need felling?”

“This is my hand-axe.” He reached between his legs. “It is not just a weapon for close-range fighting, or a tool to cut trees. A hand-axe is sometimes a male body part meant for pleasure and breeding.”

Oh. Naughty innuendo. And how typical that a guy would refer to his cock as a weapon.

“So I’m bringing a knife to an axe-fight?” I waved the words away as soon as I saw his confused look. “Never mind.”

“I hope to use my hand-axe later,” he teased. Then he took off his shirt, tossing it on the table on top of his scabbard.

My brain completely derailed. The guy was fucking huge.

I’d known this from standing next to him and from leaning over him at my office, but seeing his naked arms, shoulders, and chest so close brought it all home to me.

Humans would need to dedicate a substantial percentage of their waking hours to attain this orc’s level of muscle mass.

Actually, humans would probably need pharmaceutical help to be this buff.

And they’d need to be severely dehydrated to look as cut and defined as the muscles Ozar was sporting.

The guy was just a giant wall of sculpted granite, and I couldn’t stop looking.

My eyes traced the expanse of green skin, the scar that cut a diagonal across his ribs, the sprinkling of ebony hair that veed into a line that vanished at the pants slung low on his hips.

“Should I take off my shirt?” I finally managed to ask.

“If you do, then we will be doing something other than a knife-fighting lesson.”

There was a hopeful note in his voice that made me grin. “Later,” I told him. “When you get your hand-axe out.”

He smirked, and I couldn’t help but eye the bulge that strained the fly of his pants. It grew under my scrutiny, and I knew if I didn’t steer this in a different direction, we were going to end up naked and in bed within the next ten minutes. Or less.

Did I want that? I did, but I barely knew this guy, and any time I’d rushed physical intimacy it seemed to drastically accelerate the end of a budding relationship. Not that my relationships where sex had been delayed fared any better.

“So, what do we do? Just start stabbing until someone begs for mercy?” I tried to twirl the knife around my fingers and ended up holding the blade. Good thing it was rubber.

I was kidding but Ozar seemed to seriously consider my suggestion.

“If you were trapped and had no other options, that approach might be good,” he commented. “An attack from a small human female might surprise enough to disable or kill if you planned your strike well.”

“Then—” Wait. What had he said? What had he called me? “Did…did you just call me a female ?”

He froze. His eyes widened. “Yes.” He drew the word out cautiously. “You are a female. A human female.”

I bristled. I might have snarled a little. “I am a woman . Not a female. Woman.”

He took a step back. “It is the same thing. A female bears young. I may not know much of human culture but there are males and females. There was a time when it was not uncommon for an orc to take a female human for a bride.”

“Stop saying that word.” It all came out through gritted teeth. I was ready to stab him, except the rubber knife I held wouldn’t do anything. Was this really how he saw women? Just females to breed and bear offspring?

Ozar held up his hands, dropping the rubber knife. His eyes grew even wider. “I am sorry, Jordan. I am very sorry. What am I saying wrong? Please tell me why you are so angry.”

Sanity edged out my fury. He didn’t know. He truly didn’t know. This wasn’t a red flag, it was at best a pale yellow one.

I sucked in a big breath and slowly blew it out. “The term ‘female’ is scientifically correct, but carries negative social connotations. It should be used for animals, not human women. When you call us, call me a female, it makes you sound like one of those incels.”

He frowned. “Incels?”

Ugh. How did I explain this? “Men who are involuntarily celibate. They think they are entitled to have any attractive young woman they want and are angry and bitter that they cannot have any woman they choose. They think that women owe them sex and fidelity because they are men. They are arrogant, controlling assholes who offer nothing to any relationship because they feel that men are superior to women and that they don’t need to do more than maybe provide minimal food, clothing, and shelter.

They feel that women should act as servants and sex slaves to them.

They call women females, because it degrades us, makes us on the level of an animal. ”

“I am not this incel male. I am an orc. The word we use in our language translates to ‘female’ in our English app. I did not know it would cause insult.”

Of course he didn’t. I was overreacting, jumping to the worst conclusion because in the past, I’d made excuses for a man’s bad behavior and ended up hurt. It wasn’t fair for me to think the worst of Ozar based on my past horrible dating choices.

“So…all human…women are to be called women. But others are females?” He asked, tilting his head in curiosity. “Demons, shifters, vampires, and elves are females?”

“No.” I wrinkled my nose in thought. “Any sentient beings should be referred to as men and women. Unless they are non-binary. That’s probably a lot to go into right now. Just remember that ‘male’ and ‘female’ are words only used for animals.”

He nodded. “I will remember.”

Damn it. I had totally ruined our sexy knife-fight vibe, but it was better to have this conversation now than later.

Our first fight. Or misunderstanding. Either way, I knew his insult was unintentional and desperately wanted to get back to where we were, so I stepped in to him, jabbed his chest with my rubber knife, then kissed the spot where I’d fake-wounded him.

“I am forgiven?” His voice rumbled low. Uncertain. Hopeful. Turned on.

It was as if I felt his emotions floating through me. This connection between us…I didn’t quite trust it yet, but it was like a heady drug taking over my body, my emotions, my very soul. There was danger ahead. This was a man who could break me. I’d be risking so much giving my heart to him.

But like a moth to a flame, I couldn’t help myself.

“You are forgiven.” I tilted my face up, closing my eyes and pursing my lips.

He didn’t hesitate, lowering his head to kiss me.

Once more, he began with a soft brush of his lips, those tusks smooth as cool ivory on my skin, then he pulled me to him, devouring my mouth, his tongue tangling with mine.

I felt heat rise through me as I ran my hands over his chest, skating them around his sides to the hard muscles of his back.

Then I stabbed him right where his kidneys should be.

“Dead!” I shouted, jumping back from him and raising my arms in triumph.

He laughed, the sound resonating from deep in his massive chest. “Clever fe…woman! Take every advantage in a fight. Although I would not be happy to know you used this tactic with someone other than me, I would be happy that you defeated your enemy and returned to me alive with his head as a trophy.”

This orc was not an incel. Not at all.

Ozar lunged at me, taking me by surprise. The rubber knife swiped diagonally from my right shoulder to my left boob before I could jump back.

“Keep fighting,” he commanded as he lunged again.

I swung my knife like a crazed woman, frantically retreating until I felt the wall at my back. He went to jab his knife into my stomach, and I dropped, hitting the floor hard and scrambling between the tree trunks of his legs. On the way out, I reached up and stabbed his ass.

“Good,” he roared, swinging around and bending low to slash again.

The movement put him off balance, so I kicked his knee, rolling away before realizing what I’d done.

“Oh God! I’m sorry.” I stood, holding my hands up. “Time out, time out! Did I hurt your knee?”

This wasn’t the sexy knife-play I’d envisioned. Something about Ozar’s size and skill had spiked my adrenaline and made me act as if I were really under attack.

He reached out, grabbed my wrist, and spun me around until my back was against his front, held there within the bands of his muscled arms.

“No, you did not hurt my knee, but you would have disabled an attacker.” He kissed my temple, then bent his head low to nibble gently on my neck.

“I love that you are fierce and clever. You would not hesitate to protect yourself and your family. You would fight side by side with your mate, protecting your offspring.”

I leaned against him, tilting my head to encourage him to continue with the kisses and bites.

Compared to him, I was fragile and weak.

I hadn’t expected him to compliment me like this, and I had no doubt that he truly did believe me fierce and clever, a warrior worthy of fighting by an orc’s side.

Regular gym attendance and an athletic youth meant I wasn’t built like the stereotypical nerdy dentist, but I didn’t consider myself particularly buff.

Stephanie was, but some of that came from her being a shifter.

Willa was more likely than any of us to fit into a human-warrior role since she made her living as a personal trainer, but me ?

“It’s more than muscles,” he murmured as he uncrossed his arms and slid his hands down my waist to my hips. “Fighting is about being smart, thinking quickly, and using your advantages.”

I laughed, standing on my tip toes to rub the top of my butt against his very obvious erection. “This is the only advantage I have.”

He chuckled. “You have more advantages than this.”

Spinning me around again, he put his hands on my shoulders, holding me arms’-length from him. I pouted at the distance.

“Try to reach my shoulders,” he commanded.

Right .

I put both arms forward like I was in a campy ’60s zombie movie. The best I could do was grab his biceps.

“You will always have a shorter reach than your opponent,” he told me. “So, you must reduce the distance. Your fighting needs to be close. Run forward quickly, before he has a chance to swing.”

“Like this?” I rushed him, stabbing at his torso.

“Yes,” he praised even as he blocked my swing with a rubber knife he’d quickly pulled from his waistband. “Get inside my reach and force me to be always acting in defense with no time for attack.”

I tried to do as he said.

“That’s good,” he encouraged, as my swing arced through the space where he’d stood half a second ago.

“I didn’t stab you, so it’s not good.” I tried again, still failing to hit him.

Sweat had made his muscles look like he’d oiled himself up for some weight-lifting contest. I was equally sweaty, but not as glamorous.

My hair had partially come loose from the scrunchie I bundled it up in when we started to fight, making what was supposed to be a messy bun just plain messy.

My clothes felt like they were glued to my chest and back.

I probably should have taken my shirt off.

In fact, taking my shirt off sounded like a damn good idea right now.

Time to put an end to this knife fight and get out the hand-axe.

I changed tactics, diving into his chest. It was like throwing myself against a boulder. He didn’t budge but did wrap an arm around my waist to steady me. I took advantage of my position and stabbed him repeatedly in the back.

“There. You’re dead. I killed you.”

He tightened his grip, lowering his arm so I could feel the hard length of him against my stomach. “It would take more than a few knife wounds to kill me.”

No doubt, as evidenced by that scar across his ribs.

I stabbed him a few more times. “Have you bled out yet?”

“Still alive.” Dropping his rubber knife, he reached up with his other hand, wrapped his fingers around the nape of my neck, and leaned down to kiss me.