Page 6 of My Orc Pen Pal (Mated to the Monster: Season 3)

Ro

You know what was weird?

Going all of Sunday without getting an email from Akhmim.

I mean… I probably deserved it. I let the guy eat me out—not once, but like… whew . Actually, after that first time on the couch, I lost count of how many times I came Saturday night. And to my surprise, he never pressured me to get him off.

Even in the shower, even when he was touching me so reverently and gently washing my hair, he didn’t object to me stroking his cock, but he seemed to be holding himself in check. At the time, I was all about the two of us going all the way, and I mean, I was intrigued when I heard about the whole Orcs Give Insta-Os thing.

Which, now that I think of it, kinda sounds like a breakfast cereal.

Insta-Os! Start Your Day Off Right !

And yeah, I had started Sunday off right, with yet another mind-altering orgasm. But then came all that weird caveman shit.

Claim me? Mate ?

What the hell? This wasn’t the Stone Ages. He didn’t get to just claim me as his Mate because of a few glowy eyes and something weird going on in his chest. That wasn’t how the real world worked.

Maybe it’s how he works.

That didn’t matter! It wasn’t how I worked!

Yeah, but you’ve been friends with him since the new year .

I mean, that was true. I did know him… I just didn’t know about his weird Neanderthal tendencies.

Still…

I missed him. I missed his emails. He didn’t email all of Sunday, which is a day when we’d normally be sending messages back and forth all afternoon. And I didn’t email him, because…well, I guess I was pouting.

Super mature, I know.

But he made me come a dozen times, then said I was going to marry him, and I kicked him out! I dunno what to think!

Monday morning I rolled over and checked my phone, but still nothing. I took myself to the flower shop for my usual Monday morning treat, but even the bouquet of sunflowers and daisies failed to cheer me up.

“Whoa,” muttered Memnon when he saw me come through the door. Over his shoulder he called, “ Dkaar , your friend needs a hug.”

Maya came bustling out to, yep, hug me, but I was focused on her Mate’s words. He’d called her dkaar . Wasn’t that what Akhmim had called me? I needed to ask her—or maybe Nikki—if their Mate’s eyes occasionally glowed, and what it meant.

Only not now. Akhmim wasn’t my Mate. He was just my pen pal.

A pen pal you have three dates with .

Yeah. Whenever that was going to happen.

I managed to get out of the shop without explaining myself—thanking them for the truly cheerful arrangement—and focused on my kids for the rest of the day.

Still no email.

I ate takeout for dinner and watched a romcom, whose cozy vibes were not helped by the fact I kept checking my phone hopefully.

No email Tuesday morning either. The day was more hectic, and Benjamin surprised me by acting out a few times in ways I didn’t expect. I made some notes in his folder, wondering if I should contact his mother.

It was Tuesday night when my phone finally lit up with a notification that had me catching my breath. With my heart slamming against my chest, I opened my email .

Dear Rosemary,

I tried my hardest to give you time apart and not bother you. I hope it was sufficient, but I’ve missed you. Horribly. I would like to cash in on the first of the dates you owe me. Would tomorrow evening work? I promise not to keep you up too late, or to make you feel uncomfortable. May I come over after you’re done with work?

Yours,

Akhmim

The ending made me pause.

When we first began to correspond, he would sign his emails with ‘sincerely’. About two months ago, he switched to ‘yours’. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, because it was a normal way to end a letter.

Yours .

But now that I knew what I knew about him, I had to wonder. Was he “mine”?

Was I his?

Shaking my head, I replied.

Akhmim,

That would be great. How about 5:30? I trust you not to push me.

What did you do today ?

I hesitated over the closing phrase. Usually I’d write, Love, Rosemary . But… love ? I thought about what Benjamin asked me on Friday, and I winced. I didn’t believe in true love, did I?

You just told Akhmim that you trusted him .

I did. I do . Swallowing my sudden confusion, I just signed my name and hit send.

The rest of the evening felt more normal. Sure, I ate leftovers, but my heart calmed, knowing I could email Akhmim whenever I wanted to.

On Wednesday, even Benjamin’s shenanigans couldn’t quell my excitement, and after I wrote a note to his mom requesting a meeting next week, I hurried home.

The nervous, OMG I’m going on a date part of me thought I should probably change and blow-dry my hair, but the rest of me reminded me that he’d seen all of me already—hell, he’d washed my hair!—and if he wasn’t interested in me in teacher leggings and a messy bun, then he really didn’t know the real me.

I wasn’t sure where we were going, but I was ready when my phone dinged at five thirty, and the doorbell rang immediately after. I pulled open the door to see Akhmim standing there, a big box by his feet and two bags of takeout in his arms.

And you know what? When I breathed in, I had the sudden sense of surety that everything would be okay .

“Hi,” he said with a soft smile, and I had to resist the urge to throw myself into his arms for a hug, because of what happened last time .

“What’s all this?” I bent to take the box, but he handed me the bags and lifted it himself, then followed me into the kitchen. “I thought we were going on a date,” I asked over my shoulder.

“I decided if I only get three tries at this, I want to make sure I get your focused, undivided attention. Would you rather eat first, or play?”

Straightening from where I’d been investigating the to-go containers, I turned to eye the box he was rummaging in. “Well, Pastabilities makes the best cheesy garlic bread on the island, and it looks like you got a triple order, so I’m down for dinner. But I’ll admit I’m curious as hell what you’ve got there.”

Grinning like a magician, Akhmim pulled out two brand-new pottery wheels and a giant lump of clay. “Arts and crafts time. Remember how you told me about that pottery class you took a few years back? I’d like to learn.”

I burst out laughing, suddenly glad I hadn’t changed or showered. We were about to get dirty! With that in mind, I suggested we eat first, although it’s possible we both rushed through the delicious food.

Not once during the conversation did Akhmim reference what we’d shared Saturday night, or what happened Sunday morning. I had to admit that surprised me. There were no lewd winks, no veiled references to what he’d done for me. I’d never met a guy who would so selflessly pleasure a woman and then not expect praise—or reciprocity.

“How about next time, you let me buy dinner?” I asked as we cleaned up. “I feel bad, taking advantage of you?— ”

Akhmim touched my forearm, just briefly. Just enough to send shivers down my sides and shut me up. “It’s okay, Rosemary,” he said with a small grin. “I can afford it, and… I like providing. For you.” Was it my imagination, or was he flushing as he glanced away?

I cleared my throat. “Well. Okay then. Um. Thank you. Dinner was really good.”

He brightened. “And you have leftovers in your fridge for tomorrow!”

“Oh yeah?” I teased. “Our second date isn’t tomorrow?”

Akhmim’s eyes—with green flecks at the center that weren’t there when I’d first met him—were serious when he turned back to me. “I don’t want to waste all my dates at once. I was hoping the next one would be over the weekend. If you’re free during the day?”

“Saturday,” I agreed with a nod. “I have grocery shopping in the morning—I go off-island to buy in bulk—but I’m free all afternoon.”

“Perfect.” He sprung for the potter’s wheels. “Now for the fun stuff!”

I might have objected to him considering pottery more fun than dinner with me, but I had to admit, after fifteen minutes of trying to get the wheels set up, when I almost peed myself from laughing so hard at his impressions of the imaginary quality-control woman at the factory, I was having the time of my life.

And it continued.

As I showed him how to shape the clay, as I teased him about his lopsided pot, as he insisted his clay wasn’t clay-y enough, he kept me laughing. I was amazed because although his emails had been amusing, I’d never realized what an amazing sense of humor and timing he had. By the time I was ready to show him how to remove the pots from the wheels, he only had to send me a look, and I’d dissolve into giggles.

We had our own inside jokes now, and wasn’t that interesting?

As we worked, I would occasionally brush against him—his arm, his hand, his shoulder—just to see what he would do. Akhmim never took it as an invitation, never took it farther.

He was respecting my wishes, which was… Well, it wasn’t remarkable , because really, that’s not that high of a bar, right? But I noted it and appreciated it.

By the time we were done, and I was setting our pots on my kitchen windowsill to dry, we were both covered in wet clay.

“Next time we do this, I’m not getting dressed up,” I heard him mutter. When I turned, he was glaring down at his jeans, and I had to chuckle again.

“At least we haven’t started throwing wet clay at each other. I student-taught in a large high school where the kids did that in art class, and it was a nightmare.”

I saw his brow twitch as he scraped a claw against a piece of clay on his forearm. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is when it’s a bunch of hopped-up-on-hormones teenagers. But even then…” This last part was said in a murmur as I crossed back to him, my still-wet hands held at my sides so I wouldn’t give him any warning. “They never did…this.”

Akhmim opened his mouth, likely to ask what , but I surprised him by lifting my hand and planting it in the middle of his face. My fingers curled over one brow, and when I pulled away, the gray handprint was startling against his green skin.

He gaped at me, and I nodded in satisfaction.

“Now,” I commanded, “you have to say”—I lowered my voice to as close to a growl as I could manage—'Meat’s back on the menu, boys!’”

Akhmim’s astonishment lasted another heartbeat before he burst into laughter. “ Lord of the Rings ! So you have seen it? I knew you couldn’t only watch those fluffy romcoms.”

“Please,” I managed flippantly, as if seeing the way delight had flashed across his expression hadn’t rocked me, hadn’t made me want to make him feel that way again and again. “Aragorn, son of Arathorn? Legolas? Boromir? All of them are hotties, of course I’ve seen it.” Quite a few times, but I wasn’t going to tell him I usually fast-forwarded to that one scene with the doors at Helm’s Deep. “And now…” I cocked my head and smirked. “I’m seeing the appeal of the orcs.”

“Uruk-hai,” he quickly corrected. “Don’t lump us in with those monsters.”

Since this was said teasingly, my own laughter escaped. “I knew you were a fantasy nerd.”

“Hello? I’m an orc in I.T. ! Of course I’m a fantasy nerd! ”

The rest of the evening was passed in the same teasing sort of way. Like we were friends . Like we knew each other well. Like he hadn’t had his tongue and fingers so far in my pussy, I could still feel him at times.

Occasionally, I’d remember the way he’d felt, and I’d get a surge of desire so strong I’d have to press my thighs together. And when that happened, I noticed his nostrils flare, and he’d look away, as if he knew what I was thinking.

But not once did he suggest we pick up where we’d left off.

A part of me wished he would.

That’s not the point of these dates .

Right. He had three dates to convince me…what? That he was husband material? That we should be more than just a hook up? That we were Mates ?

I stayed up too late, laughing with Akhmim and sharing stories. When he finally declared it was time to leave, so I could rest for work, he asked if he could leave the pottery wheels here. Apparently, he’d purchased them just for tonight and had no place to store them in the apartment he shared with three other orc males.

“I guess money isn’t an issue, huh?” I teased.

He deadpanned, “No, but space is. Eastshore needs more rentals.”

That issue had been at the center of last year’s mayoral race, and Sakkara was making some changes, judging by the new construction down near the marina. But those condos wouldn’t be ready any time soon, so I nodded and walked Akhmim to the door.

He paused and turned to me, his mouth opened, but he hesitated. Had he been about to ask me for a kiss?

I took a breath and offered an olive branch. “Can I have a hug, Akhmim?”

His expression softened, and it wasn’t until he exhaled that I realized he’d been carrying tension in his shoulders. “I’d like that, dkaar .”

As his warmth and strength enveloped me, I wondered at that word again. Dkaar . I needed to find out what it meant.

Because here and now? Surrounded by Akhmim and his strength? I felt…at peace. Safe. Happy.