Page 26 of Stolen Hours
“So do I, but the cave floor is too small and jagged for—” Ian stopped and gave her a guilty look.
“For cuddling up like this?” Farrah slid onto the sun-warmed blanket beside him, kissing him with a contented sigh.
“I could kiss you forever, Farrah.” Ian stroked her back, and his hand rested on her hip, pretty much cupping the entire thing. Her hand made a valiant effort to return the favor, and simply ended up bunching up his kilt. “You’re so much smaller than me. We should probably,” he cleared his throat, “talk about a few things so you’re not worried about the wedding night—seeing as it’s the Saturday after next.”
“I’m not worried. I am a practical learner, though. Hands-on lessons might help if you’re nervous,” she teased.
“I’m only nervous because I don’t want to surprise you.”
“Well, see, this isn’t fair. You saw your bride naked before the wedding night.”
“That was an accident! A glorious accident,” he admitted with a foolish smile.
“So you think I’m some tiny, delicate thing—”
“Farrah, any stranger on the street could see that you’re a small, delicate thing. Tall! Tall, mind, but not ‘wide.’” He held his hands apart to indicate the width of her hips, and that foolish smile came back to his lips. “And the prettiest bottom on either side of the Atlantic.”
“Ian!”
“It’s true!”
“Well...” Farrah swallowed and bit her lip, nervousness and shyness swamping her. “Do humans and Orcs partner very often?”
“Not for centuries, but it’s becoming a bit more common now.”
“And the women are smaller, but just fine, right?”
“I’ll take grand care of you.”
“I know you will.” Farrah kissed him again and felt the nerves drop away. Her hands spread over his broad back and stroked down, listening to his soft rumble of happiness as she massaged him. Her breasts seemed to tighten, and her nipples were achingly hard, justbecause he was near her, smothering her with love and sweetness, protective and gentle.
And still so devastatingly big. Her hands clamped into tight balls to prevent her from finding the edge of his kilt, but the breeze and their tangled limbs seemed to have other priorities.
“Oh!” Farrah grabbed at her light cotton skirt as it blew up to her navel.
“Hang on, we’ll go—”
Whatever Ian had been planning to say, likely something about going inside, out of the summery gusts that were playing with their clothes and knocking over the picnic basket, died away when Farrah’s fingers slid into his as he was adjusting his kilt.
“Can we stay here? And keep cuddling in the sunshine? It’s nice and private,” she said pointedly.
“Aye, we could. But if we do, I’m afraid that we’ll spoil our wedding night.”
“There’s nothing to spoil. I, Farrah, have always been yours, Ian. My soul belongs with yours, in sickness and health, and sunshine and storm.” She plucked a strand of grass and blew on it, concentrating. Her breath turned the gray-green grass silvery and hard. A ring. She slipped it over his finger, enjoying the look of awe on his face.
“I, Ian, take thee, Farrah Falkirk, in plenty and in want. Storm and sun. Good times and bad. My soul has always been yours.” He picked a blade of grass from above his head and made a smaller circle. “If I blow on this, nothing much happens.”
She laughed and blew again, making a smaller shiny circle. “It’ll only last a few hours. I can make things change states, expand, or shrink, but only for a few hours.”
“Expand?” Ian’s eyes lit up with something akin to relief. “Even bits of yourself?”
“Ian Fenclan!” Farrah put a hand across her round, pert breasts with a frown. “I know they’re not supermodel size, but—”
“I love yourbody! I love all of you, every inch. It’s just that... Well.” Ian took her hand from his hip and moved it between his thighs, to the hard, long bulge between them.
Farrah’s mouth dropped open as her hand kept going and going, well past the point that a human man would have stopped.
“I’m more worried about you enjoying my inches,” he said. “Orcs have a... a knot. Something to help us please our mates and stay hard inside of them—and to—er, well, to er...”
