Page 27 of Orc'd At A Wedding
He steps fully into my space, forcing my thighs wider to accommodate the sheer size of him, his hips pressing flush against mine in a way that makes my breath hitch. One of his massive hands slides up my spine, tangling in my hair, tilting my head back so I have no choice but to look directly at him.
"You think my reaction to you is part of the service, Bliss?"
His voice is low and rough, vibrating through my body, and the raw honesty in his tone makes my heart stutter.
"I—"
"Answer me."
I swallow hard, my hands curling against his chest, and I force myself to meet his gaze even though it feels like staring into the sun.
"I don't know," I admit shakily. "You're really good at your job, Olog. You've been perfect all weekend. So yes, I think maybe you're just that professional. That you're trained to make clients feel special."
He makes a sound like a half laugh, half growl, that sends a shiver racing down my spine.
"Professional," he repeats, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. "You think a professional loses sleep because his client smells like jasmine and champagne and drives him absolutely insane every time she laughs? You think a professional has to white-knuckle his way through an entire evening because watching other men look at you makes him want to commit violence?"
My breath catches.
"Olog—"
"I haven't been professional since the moment you rolled over in your sleep last night and wrapped yourself around me like you trusted me to keep you safe," he continues, his voice dropping even lower. "I haven't been professional since I realized that the idea of you going back to your life tomorrow—without me—makes me want to break the furniture."
Oh god.
"You—" My voice comes out as a whisper. "You're not supposed to say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because this is a transaction," I say desperately, even as my body betrays me by arching closer to him. "Because you're being paid to be here. Because I hired you to pretend to be my boyfriend, and if you start saying things like that, I'm going to believe you, and then when this is over I'm going to be completely destroyed."
His hand tightens in my hair, tilting my head further back, and his eyes blaze with something fierce and possessive.
"What if I want you to believe me?"
I can't breathe.
"What if I'm not pretending?" he presses. "What if every single thing I've done this weekend, every time I've touched you, defended you, wanted to throw your ex-boyfriend off a balcony, what if none of that was fake?"
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"That's insane," I whisper. "You don't even know me."
"I know you hide in bathrooms when your family makes you feel small," he whispers. "I know you're brilliant and sarcastic and you hate wearing heels but you do it anyway because you're trying to prove something to people who don't deserve your effort. I know you chew on your bottom lip when you're nervousand you laugh at my terrible jokes even when they don't land. I know you're brave enough to hire a complete stranger off a gig app because you refuse to let your ex-boyfriend see you broken."
Tears blur my vision.
"Stop," I choke out.
"I know you deserve someone who sees you," he continues relentlessly, his thumb brushing away the tear that spills down my cheek. "Someone who makes you feel safe. Someone who wants to protect you not because he's being paid, but because the idea of anyone hurting you makes his blood boil."
"Olog—"
"And I know," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, "that I crossed every professional line I have the moment I let myself want you for real."
I look at him, my chest heaving, my entire world tilting sideways.
"You're serious," I breathe.
