Page 7 of Saved By the Mountain Man Orc (The Men of Orc Mountain #1)

Jasmine

I wake to golden sunlight streaming through the cabin windows and the steady rhythm of Drak's breathing beneath my ear.

My body aches from being stretched around his massive frame. My lips feel swollen from his kisses. There are marks on my throat where his tusks grazed my skin—not painful, just present. Evidence of what we shared.

I've never felt so thoroughly satiated in my life. Or so claimed.

And I don't want it to end.

I stretch carefully, testing the soreness in my muscles. My ankle barely twinges. Whatever herbal remedy he used is working better than any painkiller I've ever tried.

Drak stirs beneath me, his arm tightening around my waist. In sleep, the harsh planes of his face soften, making him look less like the dangerous predator he can be and more like the gentle protector he's been with me.

"Morning," he rumbles, voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning." I press a kiss to his chest, tasting salt and warmth.

His hand slides up my spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "I love waking to this view.”

Heat pools low in my belly at the possessive note in his voice. "What do you see?”

"I see what’s mine," he says simply.

The words should probably scare me. Instead, they make me feel grounded in a way I never have before.

I prop myself up on his chest to look at him properly. In the morning light, his skin has an almost luminescent quality—deep green with undertones of gold. The scars that map his body tell stories I want to learn, battles I want to understand.

"Tell me about your scars," I say, tracing a particularly prominent line across his shoulder.

His muscles tense beneath my touch. "Some things are better left buried."

"Not with me." I meet his golden eyes steadily. "If I'm staying, I want to know who you are. All of you."

Something shifts in his expression. Hope, maybe, mixed with wariness. "You're sure? About staying?"

Instead of answering with words, I lean down and kiss him, slow and thorough and full of promise. When I pull back, his pupils are dilated, and his breathing has quickened.

"I've never been more sure of anything," I whisper against his lips.

The smile that spreads across his face transforms him completely. Gone is the careful control, the constant vigilance. For just a moment, he looks like a man who's been given everything he ever wanted.

"The scar on my shoulder," he says, hand covering mine where it rests on the mark. "Bear. I was fifteen, thought I knew better than the hunting laws my father taught me."

"What happened?"

"Nearly got myself killed. My brother Garruk had to save me." His thumb traces circles on my skin. "Learned respect that day. For the mountain, and for the things that call it home."

I press another kiss to the scar, and he shudders beneath me.

"This one?" I touch a thin line along his ribs.

"Knife fight with a human who thought our territory was his for the taking." His voice hardens. "He was wrong."

"Did you kill him?"

"No." He looks almost surprised by my directness. "Sent him running, though. Some lessons stick better when you live to remember them. And it helps keep the myth of Orc Mountain alive. It’s better for us if humans stay away."

“Not all humans,” I say, planting a light kiss on his lips.

“Not all humans,” he concedes.

We spend the morning like that—me mapping his body with kisses and questions, him telling me stories that paint a picture of a life lived between worlds. Dangerous, lonely, but rich with the kind of experiences that forge unbreakable strength.

When hunger finally drives us from bed, Drak makes breakfast. Venison sausage, wild mushrooms, and more of his soothing tea. He watches me eat before taking a single bite of food himself, though I know he must be starving. The simple thoughtfulness of it makes my chest tight with emotion.

My orc is so generous and caring.

"It’s perfect," I tell him, and mean it. Not just the food, but everything about being with him.

After breakfast, he shows me around the property, from the root cellar where he stores preserved foods to the workshop where he crafts furniture and tools to the small garden plot where he grows herbs and vegetables in the brief mountain growing season.

Everything is built to last, designed with the kind of attention to detail that speaks to genuine care. This isn't just a place to survive, it's a home.

"I could help," I say, watching him check the late-season herbs. "With the garden and the preserving. I'm good with my hands."

He looks at me with such intensity I feel it like a physical touch. "You want to help?"

"I want to belong here," I say simply. "With you."

He's across the garden in two strides, lifting me off my feet and spinning me around until I'm dizzy with laughter. When he sets me down, his eyes are bright with something that might be tears.

"I never thought..." he starts, then stops, shaking his head.

"What?"

"I never thought I'd have this. Someone who wanted to stay. To build something with me."

I reach up to cup his face in my hands, feeling the slight roughness of his skin, the careful way he leans into my touch.

"You have me now," I tell him. "For as long as you want me."

"Forever," he says without hesitation. "I want you forever."

That evening, as we sit by the fire sharing stories and planning improvements to the cabin, Drak grows quiet. There's tension in his shoulders that wasn't there before, and his eyes keep flicking toward the windows.

"What is it?" I ask.

He's silent for a long moment. “My brothers. They'll come looking eventually. Check on me."

"Will they..." I swallow hard. "Will they hurt me?"

"No." The answer is immediate and absolute. "I won't let them. But they'll have questions. About what this means, what you know."

"What does it mean?" I ask. "To them, I mean."

Drak stares into the fire, flames reflecting in his golden eyes. "Change. Risk. Everything we've built staying hidden could be threatened by one human who knows too much."

"But not by one human who belongs," I say quietly.

He looks at me sharply. "What do you mean?"

"If I'm yours—really yours—then I'm not a threat. I'm family."

The hope that flickers across his face is almost painful to watch.

"It's not that simple," he says. "There are laws. Traditions."

"Then we'll figure it out." I move to sit beside him, taking his massive hand in both of mine. "Together."

He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.

"They'll want to meet you," he says. "Soon."

"Good." I smile at his surprised expression. "I want to meet them too. I want to know the people who are important to you."

"You're not afraid?"

I consider that seriously. "A little," I admit. "But not of them. Of disappointing you. Of not being what they expect."

"You're everything I never knew I needed," he says fiercely. "You're perfect exactly as you are."

The conviction in his voice wraps around me like armor.

Later that night, as we lie tangled together in the furs, I think about the life I’ll leave behind. The deadlines and city noise and constant feeling that I was searching for something just out of reach.

I found it.

Or maybe it found me.

Either way, I'm exactly where I belong.