Page 7 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc (Silvermist Mates #3)

CHAPTER SEVEN

HANNAH

W arm. Too warm. I floated in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, my body heavy as stone. Everything ached—muscles I’d forgotten I had protested each breath. The scent of mountain rain and moss wrapped around me, mixed with wood smoke and something earthy.

Not my bed. Not my room.

Memory flickered through the fog. Purple light. Chanting. Digby’s fur beneath my fingers.

Digby.

My eyes flew open. Panic surged, then receded as quickly as it had come. A rough wooden ceiling stretched above me, illuminated by the soft glow of a dying fire. I lay beneath a heavy quilt on a bed that smelled of him. Of Galan.

“You’re awake. ”

I turned my head toward his voice, wincing as the movement sent a throb of pain through my temples. Galan sat in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His dark eyes bored into me with an intensity that might have been unnerving if I’d had the energy to care.

“Did I die?” My voice came out as a croak. “Because this feels like death.”

Relief washed over his face. “You’re not dead. Just stupid.”

“Charming.” I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my muscles trembled with the effort. Galan’s hand shot out, hovering near my shoulder without touching.

“Easy,” he said. “You’ve been out for hours.”

“Hours?” I blinked, trying to focus. The room spun slightly. “What time is it?”

“Near dawn.” He stood, looming over the bed. “You need to drink something. Stay put.”

As if I could go anywhere. My legs felt like overcooked noodles. I watched him duck through the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the frame.

Alone, I took stock of my surroundings. The bedroom was small but simply furnished with wooden furniture that looked handmade, and windows framing views of the forest. A fire crackled in a stone hearth through the doorway, casting dancing shadows on the walls .

Isolated, yes. Spartan, definitely. But undeniably a place someone had built with care.

The bed creaked as I shifted, trying to swing my legs over the edge. The room tilted alarmingly, and I clutched the quilt to steady myself. Bad idea. Moving could wait. The ritual had taken more from me than I’d expected.

But it had worked. Digby was free.

Galan returned, a steaming mug in his massive hands. He frowned when he saw me half-sitting, half-sprawled against the headboard.

“I said wait.” He crossed the room in three strides, setting the mug on a small table before reaching for me.

“I’m fine.” The protest died as my arms gave out. I pitched forward.

Galan caught me, one hand on my shoulder, the other at my waist. The heat of his palm burned against my skin. His touch lingered, steadying me as he eased me back against the pillows.

“Stubborn witch.” No bite to the words. If anything, he sounded... amused.

A blur of black and white fur leapt onto the bed, wedging itself between us with a warning chitter. Digby’s small body vibrated with protective fury as he positioned himself squarely between me and Galan.

“He’s been a menace since you passed out,” Galan said, his tone surprisingly fond for someone describing what must have been hours of badger harassment. “Wouldn’t let me near you without supervision.”

Digby chuffed in agreement, pressing his warm body against my side while keeping his beady eyes fixed on Galan.

“I wasn’t sure what to feed him,” Galan continued. “But the claw marks on my refrigerator made it clear the beast was hungry. Hope you don’t mind I gave him some beef meant for a stew.”

I stroked Digby’s fur, reveling in the familiar texture beneath my fingers. “Thank you for taking care of him. And me.” I took a sip of tea, the honey soothing my parched throat. “I didn’t expect the ritual to drain me so completely.”

“You looked like death when you collapsed.” He looked away, jaw tightening. “I couldn’t leave you out there.”

“You could have. Your duty was done.” I held Digby closer, feeling his small heart race against my palm. “Many would have.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, dark and intense. “I’m not most.”

No, he wasn’t. Most men didn’t help witches they claimed to hate. Most orcs didn’t share their territory, their food, their bed with outsiders. Most people didn’t look at me the way he was looking at me now, like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve but couldn’t stop trying to.

My gaze caught on a fresh scratch running along his forearm. Three parallel lines, red and angry against his green skin. Exactly the width of Digby’s claws.

“He got you.” I set my mug down and reached for his arm without thinking.

Galan hesitated, then extended his arm toward me. “Your protector has sharp claws. It’s nothing.”

I closed my fingers around his wrist, pulling him closer to examine the wound. The nurse in me assessed it automatically—not deep enough for stitches, but it had broken the skin. The woman in me noticed other things: the warmth of his skin, the surprising softness beneath calloused palms, the way his pulse jumped beneath my fingertips.

“It should be bandaged,” I murmured, unable to resist another swipe of my thumb.

“For a scratch?” He snorted, but made no move to reclaim his arm. “I’ve had worse from tree branches.”

I looked up to find his eyes fixed on where my fingers met his skin. Something hot and wild lurked in their depths. My lips parted, my own heartbeat quickening to match his.

Digby growled low in his throat, but I ignored him. I couldn’t look away from Galan’s face, from the way his breathing had changed, grown deeper, more deliberate.

“Hannah.” Just my name, but the way he said it—low and rough—sent heat spiraling through me. “What you did… You were—are…”

His free hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip. I should have pulled away. Should have remembered all the reasons this was a terrible idea—his hatred of witches, my focus on Digby, the temporary nature of my stay in Silvermist Falls.

But his skin burned beneath my fingertips, and the memory of our bodies tangled together during the ritual flashed through my mind with startling clarity. And those eyes, so dark, so watchful and hungry, held me trapped in the moment I didn’t want to end.

“Magnificent.” The syllables were barely a puff of air, but the word was written on every inch of his face.

The first brush of his lips against mine was gentle, almost hesitant. Testing. My eyes fluttered closed as I leaned into him, answering his unspoken question. Yes. This.

The ritual had drained me, but this—his mouth on mine, his heat surrounding me—brought me back to life. I pushed myself up, ignoring my body’s protests to get closer to him. His other hand came to my waist, steadying me as I shifted to my knees on the bed.

Digby made a distressed sound and leapt from the bed, but I barely registered his departure. All I could focus on was Galan—his taste, his scent, the way his hand slid from my cheek to my neck, thumb brushing my pulse point.

He surged forward, one knee on the bed as he claimed my mouth with newfound hunger. His tusks grazed my lips, adding to the ache building between my thighs. I pushed at his chest, creating just enough space between us to reach for the buttons of his shirt.

“Let me thank you,” I murmured, working the first button free. “Properly.”

He swallowed hard, the movement visible in his throat. “You don’t need to?—”

I silenced him with another kiss, softer this time. “I want to.”

Another button. Another kiss, this one tracing the edge of a tattoo that peeked above his collar. His breathing grew ragged as I worked my way down, savoring each new inch of revealed skin.

“What is this one?” I traced the black lines of what looked like a mountain range inked across his left pectoral.

“Clan territory,” he said, voice strained. “Given when I reached adulthood.”

I kissed the peaks and valleys, imagining the pride he must have felt receiving such a mark. Another button revealed more of his abdomen, the muscles taut beneath my exploring fingers.

“And this?” I traced a spiral pattern near his ribs.

“Successful hunt.” His hand settled in my hair, not guiding, just holding. “First deer I took down alone.”

When I reached his stomach, I felt his muscles jump beneath my touch. The final button gave way, and I pushed the fabric off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor .

I sat back on my heels to take him in. Green skin stretched over defined muscle, marked with more scars and tattoos that told stories I wanted to learn. I palmed his cock through his jeans, feeling him throb beneath my touch.

“Let me,” I whispered, meeting his eyes. “Please.”

Something flickered in his gaze—vulnerability, maybe, or uncertainty. But he nodded, his hands falling to his sides.

His breath hitched as I unbuttoned his pants, sliding the zipper down with agonizing slowness. I glanced up, watching his face as I hooked my fingers in his waistband and tugged. He lifted his hips, helping me slide the fabric down his thighs.

His cock sprang free, hard and thick against his stomach. I wrapped my fingers around him, marveling at how he filled my hand, at how his skin felt like velvet over steel.

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips jerking as I stroked him slowly.

I maintained eye contact as I lowered my head, letting my breath ghost over him. His pupils dilated, nearly swallowing the dark irises. When my lips closed around the head of his cock, he made a sound that was half-groan, half-growl.

“Your mouth,” he rasped. His hand came up to cup the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there as if he needed the connection. “So fucking hot.”

I hummed around him, taking him deeper. His taste filled my senses—earthy, masculine, addictive. I worked him with lips and tongue, alternating between teasing licks and deep, sucking pulls.

His breathing grew ragged, the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath my hands. I glanced up to find him watching me, his expression a mixture of awe and hunger that made my core flood with heat.

“I can’t—” His fingers tightened in my hair. “Hannah, I’m going to?—”

I doubled my efforts, taking him as deep as I could. His cock pulsed against my tongue, and then he was coming with a guttural groan that seemed torn from his very soul. I swallowed everything he gave me, working him through the aftershocks until he tugged gently at my hair.

I released him with a final lick, looking up to find him collapsed against the bed. His chest heaved with each breath, staring at me with something like wonder.

“Can I...” He hesitated, eyes darting to the junction of my thighs. “Can I taste you, too?”

The uncertainty in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn’t the confident orc who’d fucked me senseless during the ritual. This was something else—something vulnerable.

“Have you done that before?” I asked gently.

The tips of his ears turned a deep shade of red and his eyes slid away from mine. “No.”

A suspicion formed in my mind. He’d been so hesitant and… awed, at times. Easy to cast aside as ap propriate partner appreciation, or first time nerves, or… or… First time, first time nerves.

“Galan,” I said, searching his face, “have you done any of this before? With anyone?”

He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly finding the ceiling fascinating. “Didn’t have time for such distractions.”

“But the ritual—” My hand flew to my mouth. “That was your first time?”

His defensive growl confirmed it before his words did. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“But it should have been—” Guilt crashed through me. His first time had been during a magical ritual gone wrong, with a stranger, on the forest floor. No tenderness, no connection beyond the physical. Just magic-induced lust neither of us could control. “I stole that from you.”

“You didn’t steal anything, witch.” He caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “It was truth, not desire. Remember?”

My own words from that night echoed back to me. Truth, not desire. The magic had amplified what was already there—an attraction taking root from the second I saw him standing over me in the forest. It’d only stripped away all our pretenses and excuses.

“Still,” I said, twisting my fingers. “Your first time should have been?—”

“No.” His thumb brushed my lower lip. “I chose to cross that line. I wanted you then. I want you now. No magic. No ritual. Just us.”

The raw honesty in his voice silenced my protests. I studied his face, searching for signs of regret or resentment. Found none. Just that same intensity, that same hunger that had drawn me to him from the start.

“Besides,” he added, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I’m a quick learner.”

To prove his point, he lowered his head and captured my nipple through my shirt. The heat of his mouth seared through the thin fabric, drawing a gasp from my throat.

I chuckled low in my throat. His eyes darkened as I reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. My bra followed, leaving my breasts bare to his gaze. His breath caught audibly.

“Then yes,” I whispered, leaning back against the pillows. “You can taste me.”

He needed no further instruction. His lips closed around one nipple, tongue flicking experimentally. I arched into the contact, a moan escaping my throat. He grew bolder, alternating between gentle suction and teasing licks until I was squirming beneath him.

He moved down my body with agonizing slowness, placing open-mouthed kisses along my stomach, my hip bones. When he reached the waistband of my jeans, he looked up, seeking permission.

“Yes,” I breathed, lifting my hips to help him remove them .

My panties followed, leaving me completely exposed to his hungry gaze. He settled between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them wider apart. He looked up at me, uncertainty warring with desire.

I reached down, threading my fingers through his hair. “Start slow. Use your tongue. I’ll tell you what feels good.”

He nodded, then lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue against my clit was tentative, exploring. I gasped, my fingers tightening in his hair.

“Like this?” he murmured against my flesh, the vibration of his voice adding another layer of sensation.

“Yes,” I hissed, grinding against his mouth. “Right there. Harder.”

He growled and licked me harder. Deeper. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me open as he devoured me. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore. His tongue dipped inside me, tasting, teasing, testing to see what made me gasp. What made me shudder. What made me writhe.

When he slid a thick finger into me, curling it just right, my thighs shook. Fire raced through my veins, coiling low in my belly. A second finger joined the first, stretching me. Filling me. I rocked against him, chasing my release.

“Galan,” I panted, straining for it. So close. Almost there. “Just like that. Don’t stop. ”

He didn’t stop. He kept licking and thrusting and growling.

His eyes met mine, dark and feral with desire. The orgasm slammed into me, ripping through my core. I cried out, bucking against him. His grip on my thighs tightened, anchoring me as wave after wave of pleasure tore through me.

He worked me through the orgasm, not stopping until I tugged him away. He crawled up my body, pressing kisses to my stomach, between my breasts, along my neck. I tasted myself on his lips when he finally kissed me. Slow and lingering. Devouring.

He settled between my thighs, the weight of his hips deliciously heavy against me. The feel of him, hot and hard again, dragged a moan from my throat.

He paused, dark eyes seeking mine. “Like this?”

GALAN

The sight of Hannah spread beneath me, flushed and wanting, stole my breath. My cock throbbed where it pressed against her entrance. Part of me still couldn’t believe this was real—no magic, no ritual, just us. Just her.

The witch.

My witch.

Not proper. Not even a little bit orc. She was human—warm-blooded and soft. Delicate in ways my kind couldn’t afford to be. Too trusting. Too stubborn. Too full of questions and curiosity. Too many reasons why this was a horrible idea.

Too many reasons I couldn’t resist her.

“Please,” she whispered, rolling her hips. The movement dragged her slick heat along my length. “I need you inside me.”

I growled and pushed forward, watching her face as I sank into her tight cunt. She moaned, back arching. I nearly came right then, just from the feel of her surrounding me, squeezing me, drawing me in like we were made for each other.

“That’s it,” she breathed, hands sliding up my arms to grip my shoulders. “Goddess, you’re huge.”

The praise sent fire racing through my veins. I bottomed out with a groan, fighting the urge to thrust mindlessly into her perfect pussy. Her inner walls rippled around me, adjusting to my size.

I withdrew slowly, watching every flicker of emotion across her beautiful face. Eyes squeezed shut. Mouth open in a silent gasp. She felt like silk against my shaft, better than anything I could have imagined. Better than anything I deserved.

I slid home again, unable to resist the pull of her heat.

“Move,” she commanded, digging her nails into my skin. “Fuck me, Galan. ”

My name on her lips sent fire licking through my veins. I pulled back slowly, savoring the drag of her flesh around my cock, then snapped my hips forward. The impact drove a gasp from her throat. Again. Harder. Deeper. Each thrust pulled new sounds from her—whimpers, moans, breathless curses that made my blood sing.

“Like this?” I growled against her throat, setting a punishing rhythm. “This what you need, witch?”

“Yes,” she hissed, meeting me thrust for thrust. “Harder. Make me feel it tomorrow.”

Her words shot straight to my cock. I hooked her leg over my arm, opening her wider, driving deeper. The new angle had her crying out, clutching at my back.

“That’s it,” she panted. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

Her encouragement fueled my hunger. My tusks scraped her neck as I buried my face against her skin, inhaling her delicious scent. I wanted to consume her, mark her, claim her in ways I didn’t fully understand. Make her mine in every way possible.

She shoved at my shoulder, rolling us in one smooth movement until she straddled me. My hands found her waist as she sank back onto my cock, drawing groans from us both.

“Watch me,” she ordered, placing my hands on her breasts. “Watch how much I love riding your cock.”

She rose up slowly, then sank back down. My eyes locked on where we joined, mesmerized by the sight of her taking me. Her pussy gripped me like a vise, hot and slick and perfect.

“Hannah,” I choked out, thumbs brushing her nipples. “Fuck.”

“That’s it,” she breathed, picking up speed. “Talk to me. Tell me how it feels.”

“Like nothing I’ve ever felt,” I admitted, utterly transfixed in the moment. “Like I’m drowning in you.”

She threw her head back, hair cascading down her spine like liquid fire. I’d never seen anything so erotic—her perfect tits bouncing, her gorgeous face contorted in pleasure, her cunt stretched to take my cock. I pinched her nipples, earning a husky cry of approval. I would watch her forever if she let me.

In that moment, she was no mere witch. She was a goddess. My goddess. Wild and untamed, claiming me as her willing sacrifice. The urge to worship her overwhelmed me—to pledge myself to her, to protect her, to give her everything I had and everything I was.

“Hannah,” I breathed, the name a prayer on my tongue. “Hannah.”

Her eyes opened, meeting mine with startling intensity. Something passed between us, something deeper than physical pleasure. Her rhythm faltered as she leaned down to kiss me, her lips soft against mine.

“Touch me,” she murmured against my mouth. “Make me come on your cock.”

I slid my hand between us, finding the slick bud of her clit. Her whole body shuddered as I circled it with my thumb. She rode me harder, faster. She clung to my shoulders, forehead pressed to mine as she chased her release.

Slick heat bathed my cock as her rhythm grew frantic, her thighs trembling. I knew she was close, could feel it in the way her inner walls fluttered around me. I fought the instinct to roll us again, to pin her and drive into her until she screamed. Until she forgot anyone who came before me.

Until she belonged to me.

“Come for me,” I growled, catching her earlobe between my teeth. “Now, witch.”

Her body obeyed with a long, shuddering moan. Pleasure washed over her face, so fucking beautiful it hurt. Her pussy clenched around me, pulling me impossibly deeper. Ripping my own release from my throat with a roar.

I thrust into her, fucking us both through it until her body went limp and boneless.

She collapsed onto my chest, both of us panting heavily. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close as aftershocks rippled through us. The weight of her felt right. Perfect. Like she belonged there.

Mine, something deep inside me whispered.

The thought should have terrified me. Horrified me. Sent me running for the nearest blade to end the threat bewitching me into insanity.

Instead, a strange warmth spread through my chest, settling beneath my ribs like an ember taking root. My skin tingled where it touched hers, as if my body recognized something my mind refused to name. Something permanent. Unbreakable.

I buried my face in her hair and breathed her in, memorizing the way she felt in my arms, even as I told myself this was temporary. Just pleasure. Nothing more.

Not finding my fated mate in a creature I should hate.