Page 9 of One Night with Her Untamed Orc (Toothsome Monster Romance #6)
Emma
T arik leaves quick kisses along my shoulder and neck, up to my ear.
Then he inhales deeply. “You are a treasure. There’s food downstairs when you’re ready.
” And with that, he leaves the bathroom, French doors still open.
I try to find the words to ask if he wants me to reciprocate—I want to reciprocate—but he’s gone before my brain engages.
The rain continues to pound the earth all around this cabin, but I’m safe from it under the porch awning.
The bathwater feels cold. Tarik has already proven he’s gruff, blunt, and quiet, but I don’t know what to make of his leaving so abruptly.
He wanted my consent, but did he not want pleasure from me?
Sinking down into the water, the dreamy haze of happiness of the past few minutes is washed away with embarrassment and the sting of rejection.
When I finally get out of the bath and towel off, I linger.
Not really in a hurry to see him just yet.
My stomach growls again; I sigh at the needs of my body.
There’s a big black terry-cloth robe hanging against the wall beside the door in the bathroom.
The robe is soft, fluffy, warm. I help myself to it, loving the way it feels on my skin.
Inhaling deeply once I’ve tied it around me, it smells like Tarik—pine, salt, and cinnamon.
Makes the need between my thighs grow. I try not to feel greedy for wanting more.
Avoiding looking at the bed, I make my way down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs, I can smell soup on the stove. Again, with my dumb grumbling stomach. The cold lentil stew out of a pouch I had this morning didn’t take me very far.
There’s a fire in the stone hearth opposite the kitchen.
Tarik is seated nearby in a padded leather chair that looks out over the forest and the sea.
It’s an amazing view—or would be if it weren’t washed out by the sheets of water coming down.
The sight is devastating. I still don’t know how I’ll get my work done.
I watch his eyes dart to me, then back to his book. There’s a vining plant on the cover. “What are you reading?” I ask.
“Wild gardening. There’s roasted pumpkin soup on the stove. Pumpernickel bread on the cutting board,” he says without looking at me again. I nod and pad into the kitchen to get my bowl.
“Is this homemade bread?” I can’t help the incredulity in my voice.
I clear my throat. The loaf is the perfect dark brown color that pumpernickel has, with a thick crust. I slice a piece for myself and slather it in the butter from the little blue pottery crock next to the cutting board.
When was the last time I had homemade bread ?
“Yes,” is all the answer I get. Of course, reclusive, grumpy orcs who sit around reading shirtless make artisan bread. How silly of me to think otherwise. He probably churned his own butter.
“This is amazing.” I ladle the fragrant orange soup into my bowl.
There’s a small dish of toasted pumpkin seed kernels to sprinkle on top.
Hardcore pumpkin aesthetic, I think. The grunt that emanates from him could be assent, dissent, or gas.
Hard to say. Sighing, I pad back and sit across from him in a matching chair, secretly amused that the reclusive orc has matching chairs.
I tuck my feet under me and dig in. It’s funny how quiet it is—apart from the rain.
I don’t mind the silence. It’s nice to sit here with another person; I could almost imagine this being our normal.
Even though he called me his “fated mate,” the way he left so quickly has me spiraling.
It’s hard to imagine that he wants someone sitting in this chair, sharing the fire with him, sharing his bed with him.
The sadness coursing through me seems in direct contradiction to my delicious orgasm of just a little while ago.
I’m almost done eating when Tarik finally speaks, jolting me out of my mopey thoughts. “Your stuff is in the other room drying.”
“What?” My voice squeaks. I can feel my eyes widen. “You stacked it outside. I watched you.”
“Yes. I brought them up while you were finishing your bath. ”
Bowl down, I run into the other part of the house, feet slapping along the wooden plank floor. There, in the hall, is all my gear. My jaw drops to the floor. How? They were so wet and muddy! But they’ve been wiped clean. I need to open them up and inspect them for water damage.
But first!
Oomph! I lunge onto Tarik, hugging him, wiping my tears against his cheek. “Thank you! I thought for sure it was all lost! I—I don’t know what to say.” I keep my arms tight around him, unable to stop.
Eventually, delicately, a hand rests on my back, gives me a gentle pat, then is still. I smile to myself. We stay like that, me squeezing all the gratitude I can into this hug.
“Get off. I don’t need you to make it up to me.” I lean back, still sitting on his lap, and eye him suspiciously. My heart thrums with need and desire.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are very abrupt?” One eyebrow raised, I give him my best detective face.
“Yes. Often. I don’t like people.”
“Mm. What do you like?”
The question catches him off guard. I can see it in his dark eyes as they shift back and forth. “I am not sure if anyone has ever asked what I liked before. It’s always, ’Why can’t you be like your brother?’ or ‘Why do you have to be so rude?’”
We sit like that, his words heavy in the air between us.
I run my fingers through the hair on his chest (still shirtless) and think and wait.
My heart aches for him. His words resonate with me.
My parents asked why I couldn’t be like other girls and like dolls instead of salamanders and frogs.
My professors rolled their eyes when I had yet another question in class.
One biology professor limited the number of questions I was allowed to ask in a day.
Tarik clears his throat. I brace, thinking he’s going to really kick me out of his lap. Instead, he opens his mouth and says, “I—I like plants. The forest. The sea, but not being in it. Just looking at it. I like calm and quiet.”
“That’s beautiful. I’m glad I asked, and that you trusted me to tell me.
” A pause for a moment as we listen to the thunder outside crack.
Once it’s done and I’ve relaxed a smidge, I say, “Well, I hope you don’t think me too forward as I sit here in your robe on your lap.
But I like you.” And with that, I adjust my legs so they dangle over the side of his chair, my entire body draped across him, and rest my head against his chest.
The rain outside is mesmerizing. I see his hand hover in the air over me. Gently, I grab his hand and press it against my thigh. There. That’s where it should be .
We sit like that for a long time, watching the rain sheet down the windows, drowning out all the world.
Until there’s a knock on the door.