Page 44 of Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice #1)

Ozar

I stared down at a tray full of water-insects.

They were covered in some sort of spicy-smelling orange powder and had arrived at our table with small plastic cups of hot yellowish liquid.

Jordan and I were dining outdoors at a river-side establishment.

The temperature had dropped, and all the humans were wearing several layers of clothing even with the pillar-shaped heaters scattered throughout dining area.

The chill wasn’t dampening anyone’s enthusiasm.

Conversation and frequent laughter filled the air as a band tested their amplification system in the corner.

The sun had almost vanished from the sky, but boats still came in to dock, disgorging their passengers to enjoy an evening of food and drink.

The drink was good. I wasn’t so sure about the food, though.

Glancing around, I noticed that most of the humans had also ordered the water-insects which Jordan had said were pretty much the official food of the state.

“Let me show you how to eat these.” Jordan grabbed one of the insects from the tray and held it up by the largest set of legs. “Start with the claws. You want to crack the joint here, then twist and gently pull apart.”

She demonstrated and the claw separated from the insect’s body, pulling a thick wad of white flesh with it. Picking up one of the creatures, I mimicked her movements and snapped the claw off without the white flesh.

“Is mine empty?” I scowled, thinking that the restaurant was ripping us off, selling us carapaces without meat.

“No, you just have to be gentler. Crack the shell, but don’t break the claw all the way off. Then gently twist and pull. If the meat doesn’t come out, then you’ll just get it when you open up the body.”

This had to be the strangest meal I’d ever had. Humans had many foods in common with us, and we weren’t opposed to eating large insect-like creatures, but we would never go to this much trouble for such a small amount of food.

“Here.”

Jordan dipped the white flesh in the yellow liquid and shoved it toward my mouth. I was in love, so I didn’t hesitate to eat it.

She watched expectantly, hopefully, as I chewed and swallowed.

“Butter?” I’d only spread the stuff on bread and hadn’t recognized it in the melted form.

“Some people don’t bother with the butter,” she explained.

“And others like to butter, then add extra Old Bay Seasoning. Personally, I think that’s too much Old Bay, that it overwhelms the flavor of the crab, but that’s pretty close to a heretical sentiment here in Maryland.

The Maryland natives believe you can never have too much Old Bay. ”

“It’s very good,” I reluctantly admitted. The flesh was mild and sweet and tender with a rich peppery spice and a faint brackish, salty tang. It tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten in my life. I wished I could bring these home to my clan to show them that the flavor was worth the effort.

Half an hour later, I wasn’t sure that the flavor was truly worth the effort.

The next time Jordan wanted us to go out for crabs, I would need to remember to eat a full dinner beforehand because I would starve if I needed to fulfill my evening caloric needs with these water-insects.

Those tiny little legs were absolutely not worth bothering with.

It was a struggle to release what amounted to a splinter-sized piece of meat.

The body was a bit more satisfying in terms of sustenance.

Jordan advised me not to eat the gray bits that she called lungs and let me know that many people enjoyed eating the mustards, which were basically the innards of the creature.

Jordan carefully scraped them aside, but I’d always been taught not to waste any edible part of an animal—to do so would be a disrespect to the creature who’d lost its life so you might survive—so I ate the mustards.

And I liked them almost as much as the flesh.

As we took the last two crabs from the tray, my stomach growled, and I wondered if we might stop off for something more filling after we left here. Before I could voice my request, our server was back with yet another tray of the water-insects.

Jordan quit a few crabs into our second tray, sipping her beer and nibbling on the balls of fried bread that the server had also brought us.

“Hush puppies,” she’d called them, explaining that the story behind the name was that you could throw them to a barking dog who would be silent as they ate the bread.

I didn’t know much about dogs, but from what Bwat said about the ones at the shelter, canines would be silent if given just about any item of food.

As we ate, we talked. She spoke more about her childhood home and her family, telling me that while she missed them, she enjoyed living in Baltimore. She loved the rivers, the Bay, being close to the ocean and the mountains. And she loved that the weather wasn’t as harsh as back in Buffalo.

I told her about the mountain caves near our clan’s home, about how we purchased and used fae magic lanterns and other spells and had indoor plumbing and heating systems similar to what the humans had here.

After polishing off a third tray of crabs on my own, I sat back, my hunger finally satisfied.

Our dining area looked as if a brutal insect battle had occurred.

The brown paper that covered the tabletop was damp and torn in spots and littered with clumps of the orange spice.

Broken bits of shell, stray leg segments, and smears of mustard covered the surface.

Wadded paper towels and buckets full of dissected crab parts flanked the empty bottles of beer.

Our server didn’t seem at all disturbed by the scene. She efficiently scooped everything into a large, black plastic bag and cheerfully asked us if we’d saved room for dessert.

Jordan laughed, eyeing me. “Ice cream?” she asked.

I grinned, then turned to the server. “What do you suggest?”

“I’ll be right back.” She toted the plastic bag off and returned a few moments later carrying a tray with samples of all the dessert offerings.

“Ooh, Smith Island Cake.” Jordan winced. “I’m not sure if I can eat more than a few bites, though.”

I sniffed, then frowned. “None of these smell like food. They smell like plastic.”

The server laughed. “Because they are. Trust me, the ones you’ll get to eat are real. We have these plastic replicas to show customers.”

“If they used real desserts as displays, they’d melt or have flies dive-bombing them, or look really stale a few hours into service,” Jordan explained. “Lots of restaurants do this.”

I nodded, bemused by the idea of fake food. This would never work back home since the aroma was so unappealing, but humans didn’t have our acute sense of smell, and they were very visual.

Visually , these selections were attractive. But none enticed me without being able to scent the combinations of sugar, flour, spice, milk, and fruit.

“I’ll take a slice of the Smith Island Cake.” Jordan glanced over at me. “And let’s get the warm bread pudding with caramel as well. We can share.”

“No ice cream?” I didn’t intend for that to sound so whiney, but I was truly sad over not having what had become my favorite treat.

Jordan’s smile brought adorable dimples to her cheeks. “I have ice cream at home in the freezer and will gladly serve you some. If you’re coming home with me, that is.”

I perked up at that. As much as I loved ice cream, the best part of that offer was that I would be taking Jordan to her lack-of-furs bed and spending the night bringing her pleasure and having her body against mine.

The server returned with Jordan’s selections. I inhaled deeply and knew that my mate had made an excellent choice.

“Smith Island Cake is a bit of a local legend, although you can now purchase it all over the country,” she explained as she pushed the plate to a spot between us and handed me a fork.

“In the early eighteen hundreds, women on Maryland’s Smith Island would bake this cake to celebrate the autumn oyster harvest.” She gestured out to the river, dark with lighted boats bobbing at the pier.

“If you haven’t realized, Maryland has a love affair with the water and the bounty the Chesapeake Bay brings.

The whole state is covered with creeks, streams, and rivers—all tributaries leading to the Bay and the ocean. ”

I nodded, thinking of how, back home, we were all about the mountains, the stone, the caves. While we did have streams, rivers, and lakes, my clan’s territory did not have anywhere near the number of waterways that this state did.

“The cake has always been distinctive for its multiple thin layers. Usually there are anywhere from eight to ten, each with icing in between. No one is exactly sure how the unusual number of layers originated, but I like to think that the women baking the cakes had a friendly rivalry over who could create the thinnest and the most layers.”

“I am not a skilled baker, but I cannot imagine creating layers this thin without them breaking,” I confessed.

“Me either. But I’m sure it’s a lot easier with our modern automation.

” She dug her fork in and scooped up a large piece.

“The original was yellow cake with a chocolate buttercream, but nowadays there are lots of flavors, and the chocolate icing is usually fudge so it remains stable at a warmer temperature. It’s the official state dessert.

And since Maryland is my adopted home, it’s my official favorite. ”

She extended the fork toward me, and I hesitated.

Courtship involved male orcs feeding the female they wished to marry, not the female feeding the male.

But humans had their own culture, and I’d noticed Jordan doing many things that would be a male orc’s wooing actions.

She occasionally purchased food for me. She planned some of our dates.

I’d been thrilled that she was physically demonstrative, initiating many of our sexual activities.

Jordan leaned forward, touching the fork and the cake to my lips. I opened my mouth and let her feed me, my hand-axe growing hard at the gesture. The cake was good, an explosion of sugary crumb and sweet chocolate, but that all faded into the background of my sudden fantasies.

Jordan pushing me back onto her furless bed. Her restraining me with those small, fragile, white hands. Her issuing demands. Her taking control of my body. I would lie there, helpless as she used me however she wanted.

It wasn’t the sort of fantasy that a Clan Guardian should have. It wasn’t the sort of fantasy that a male orc should have. But the idea of this slight human having her way with me almost had me ejaculating in my pants.

“And now for the bread pudding.” Jordan pushed aside the cake, putting down her fork and picking up a spoon. “This isn’t a particularly Maryland dessert or even one originating in the U.S. It dates back to the Middle Ages in England and was a good way to make use of stale bread.”

I stared at the gooey mess with horror. Stale? Stale bread?

“Oh, stop!” She laughed. “It’s soaked in custard which is eggs, sugar, and milk. You’re going to love it.”

Again, she fed me a spoonful. In spite of the stale bread, this dessert was much better than the sugary cake, but not nearly as appealing as Jordan’s delight in feeding me.

Unable to resist, I picked up a spoon of my own and fed her some of the bread pudding. Caramel clung to her lower lip from the bottom of the spoon. That, along with her noise of pleasure, so like the one she made when I tasted her body, nearly undid me.

I put down my spoon, swiped my thumb across her lower lip, and licked the sweet caramel. The faint taste of her mouth made it all the better.

Her eyes darkened, and her lips parted as she focused on my mouth. “I think I’ve had enough dessert.”

The breathless tone of her voice increased the sweet agony of my need. “Me, too.”

I barely remember the tussle over who should pay for dinner. I barely remember the Uber ride back to her house. Everything was a blur until I took her in my arms and gave all of myself to her.

Jordan was my mate. My love. She held my very soul in her hands. And I would be nothing without her. Nothing. As I lay in her furless bed, her head on my shoulder and her chest rising and falling under my arm, I knew that now was the time.

In a week, I would be leaving with the team for a series of what the demon owner had called away games.

It would be agonizing to be separated from Jordan for so long, but I’d made a commitment and felt as if I must see it through.

But before I left, I needed to let Jordan know my intentions.

I needed to tell her I wanted to make her my wife.