Page 70 of Orc'd At A Wedding
I'm standing in my doorway in an ancient sweatshirt with no bra and three-day-old mascara smudged under my eyes.
My neighbors can probably hear me making a sound that is half sob, half laugh against Olog's mouth.
Nothing else matters except the fact that he came back.
He came back, and he apologized, and he said he loves me.
Olog makes a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest and lifts me clean off the ground, one massive hand sliding under my thighs, the other braced firmly against my back.
I wrap my legs around his waist, which is logistically absurd given the size difference, but I manage it anyway, clinging to him like he might disappear if I let go.
He kicks my apartment door shut behind us without breaking the kiss.
"Bliss," he murmurs against my mouth, his voice rough and strained. "I am so sorry. I should never have?—"
"I know." I pull back just enough to look at him, framing his sharp, scarred face with both hands. "I know, and I forgive you,and if you try to leave me again for my own good, I will stab you with that ceremonial knife you gave me."
His mouth twitches. "Understood."
"Good."
I kiss him again, harder this time, pouring every ounce of frustration and relief and love into it.
Olog groans, his grip tightening on me, and then he is moving, carrying me through my tiny apartment like I weigh nothing.
He sits down heavily on my couch, settling me on his lap, his hands sliding under the oversized sweatshirt to grip my bare waist.
His palms are warm and rough and enormous against my skin, and the contact makes me shiver.
"I missed you," I whisper against his mouth.
"I was miserable without you." His voice is low and raw, stripped of all the careful professionalism he used to hide behind. "I sat in my apartment for three days and realized that every single part of my life felt wrong without you in it."
I pull back to look at him, my chest uncomfortable with emotion.
His silver eyes are locked on mine, open and vulnerable in a way I have never seen before.
"I don't want to be your client," I say quietly. "I don't want you to protect me like I'm fragile. I want to be your partner. Your equal. I want you to trust me enough to let me stand beside you, not behind you."
Olog's hands slide up my back, pressing me closer.
"You are my equal," he says firmly. "You have always been my equal. I was too afraid to admit that I needed you as much as you needed me."
My throat tightens.
"I need you so much it scares me," I admit.
"Good." His mouth curves into the faintest smile. "Then we are evenly matched."
I laugh, the sound wet and shaky, and kiss him again.
This time, the kiss is slower, deeper, deliberate.
Olog's hands map the curve of my spine, sliding under the sweatshirt, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts.
I arch into the touch, heat pooling low in my belly.
"I want you," I whisper against his mouth.
