Page 19 of One Night with Her Untamed Orc (Toothsome Monster Romance #6)
Emma
W hen I pull into Tarik’s cabin—just as hard to find from the road as it was from the water—I swear I see a Bigfoot running through the forest.
It’s Tarik.
Shirtless, huge, sexy Tarik, sprinting through the woods with something in his arms. I give him a few minutes to finish whatever he’s doing before I open my car door. Also, I need to stop laughing and start breathing. I can’t believe I thought he was Bigfoot.
On the way here, Mary asked, “Are you sure about this? I’m just…leaving you here by yourself on an island with an orc who can’t even eat ice cream?”
“Aw, I’m touched. You really do love me. Of course, I was teasing him, that’s all. And I’m not basing my desires and wants on his ability to eat anything.”
“But you,” she says, pointedly.
“But me,” I say, nodding in agreement .
Thinking about being eaten, sucked, licked by Tarik has me squirming in my seat. Slowly, I grab my overnight bag (yes, I came prepared, hoping) and meander up the stone path to his cabin.
It’s only been two weeks, but it feels like it’s been ages.
The ache in my chest every time I think of Tarik digs a little deeper, making me both miss him more and question what I’m doing.
Peeking out over the hill down to the water, I see he’s reinforced the trail after our trek in the downpour.
The path is lined with stones now, and framed by green frilly-leaved plants. Ferns, maybe?
Before I can reach the large red door, he’s there. All achingly hard muscles, still breathing hard after his forest sprints, and looking sternly at me. Like he’s studying me for the final exam. Like, the orc wants to jump me like I’m his prey. Gladly.
“Welcome back.” He steps back, allowing me into his cabin. His hidden sanctuary, away from the hustle and bustle of the world. A bit like his own modern cave.
“I’m happy to be here. How are the pumpkins?
How are the eels?” The door shuts behind me, and the air shifts between us.
His breathing is loud, and it takes all my self-control not to jump him here.
“Is Poros here?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him.
I’m taken aback by the fierce look on his face .
“Good. Swimming free. No, you tortured me with that ice cream,” his voice is gravelly and low. Not accusatory, but more admittance of guilt. I spin on my heel to face him directly, chin up with defiance.
“Good.”
He looks at me with confusion in his eyes. “Good?”
I nod. “I want you to know that I want you. I’ve thought of you every day since I left. Before I met you, eels were my entire life. Now I’m caught between them and you, wanting to spend all my time and energy on you, with you.”
Tarik takes a step closer to me. “I can’t get you out of my head. My bed smells like you. You haunt my dreams. You looked so confident and happy at your talk, I don’t want to take that away from you. Even though you’re my fated mate. I love you. I always will.”
There’s a moment when the eel comes out of the water—only ever for less than a minute—but they all have the same response.
There’s a franticness to their movements, but then their gills expand wide, searching for any water to flow over them.
And then, there’s just a few seconds: they freeze—their strong bodies, their gills, their mouths.
At the risk of anthropomorphizing, I always picture it as their realization that this is the end.
The moment of no return. The light at the end of the eel-equivalent tunnel .
This is what I feel. My mouth is open, but there are no words, no movement of air in or out of my lungs. But it isn’t hopelessness, just pure astonishment. A transformational bloom of hope inside me. That this is real.
Luckily for me, like the eel “rescued” by the scientist setting it back into its home habitat to live and thrive more, I’m rescued by Tarik.
His mouth presses against mine, wasting no time in reviving me with the sexiest kiss.
From my lips, he kisses along my cheek to my ear, letting his tusk scrape gently across my face.
He whispers words of beauty and longing to me, jumpstarting my heart.
I wrap my arms around his neck, let him pull me up and into him, carry me away, to wherever he wants. We’re almost at the foot of the stairs to his loft bedroom when my phone rings. It’s the ringtone for work. I groan. “I have to get it.”
With a grunt, he sets me down gently, and I run over to my bag. The phone call is short. I never caught my breath from kissing; hopefully it sounds like I was running to catch the call and not making out with my giant half-naked orc.
But the call devastates me. Takes all the joy out of this moment, out of this day.
Sitting on his wood floor, I let tears fall.
I hear him snort and mumble under his breath, hear his footfalls come close to me.
Feel his legs and arms wrap around me from behind, supporting me.
But still I cry. Not a wailing sob. Just silent, unstoppable tears .
“Tell me who called. I will hunt them down and make them pay.” I shake my head, smiling into my snot.
“No, it’s not their fault. I thought—I thought my presentation would secure funding for my next three years of work. But it’s been canceled. No more eel research. I’m out of a job.” My voice breaks on the last word. Now, cue the wailing.
Tarik holds me until I settle, until I’m dehydrated and my blouse is soaked and smeared with the make-up Mary put on me. “I’m sorry to ruin this. To waste your time. To ruin your trail.”
Tarik’s heavy hands spin me around to face him.
I refuse to look into his concerned eyes.
I can’t; I’m just a delusional failure who thought this work made me valuable.
But I’m just a piece of flotsam on the sea.
“Look at me, Emma.” His voice is commanding and gentle at the same time.
I shake my head at him. With a sigh, he lifts my chin with his finger, holding my face up, pinning me with his eyes.
“You haven’t ruined anything. Nor have you wasted anything!
Every second with you is a treasure. I love your laugh, your bullheadedness, the way you care for nature, the sounds you make in my arms. You will find another job.
Someone who cares about the welfare of eels as much as you do.
But, I am happy. Because now I don’t have to let you go.
I can be the beast who keeps you trapped here in the wilderness with me.
Barefoot, full to the brim with my cum and pleasure, and happy. ”
“For acting half-feral, speaking in three-syllable sentences and non-sequiturs, you are poetic and dirty.”
“You make it impossible to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. You make me more honest, more myself, than anyone else ever. You’re my mate. Emma, will you stay with me?”
More tears. But this time, tears of disbelief and love. “Yes. I will be your mate. I will stay with you.”