Page 100 of My Orc Has Big Tusks
“I didn’t want to move and end this.”
His hand slid down across my hip, pulling me closer. “We could stay here.”
“We could.”
I slid my fingers along his jaw, gliding across the line of it up to where his tusk emerged.
I kept stroking, learning everything I could about his face and neck. He had morning stubble, making me wonder what a bearded orc would look like. His skin warmed under my touch, and his eyes darkened when I brushed the corner of his mouth.
“Laina.”
“Yes?”
“If you continue that, we’ll be very late for work.”
“Would that be terrible?”
His hand slid from my hip to the small of my back, pressing me flush against him. “No.”
I rose up and kissed him. His mouth opened under mine, and his other hand came up to cup the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
He kissed me again, softer this time. Then pulled back enough to search my face. His mouth found mine once more in a deeper kiss that made everything spark inside me.
Sunlight hit the windowsill at an angle that made me realize exactly how late it was.
“Oh.” I scrambled up, nearly kneeing him in the process. “What time is it?”
He reached for his phone on the nightstand. “Seven forty-three.”
“We’re supposed to be there at seven.”
“We won’t make it.”
I snorted. “No, we won’t. They’re going to think we…”
He shrugged. “Let them.”
I was already halfway to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth with the toothbrush I’d left on the sink last night and washed my face and tried not to think about how I’d just woken up wrapped around my boss.
Friend.
Whatever this was between us.
When I emerged, he’d put the tea kettle on and was pulling eggs from the refrigerator.
“You don’t have to cook,” I said.
“You need to eat before facing your mother.”
He wasn’t wrong.
I sat at the table and watched him move through his kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl, heating the pan, and adding butter that sizzled. He worked with the same careful attention he gave everything. This was what I’d been running toward when I left the clinic. Not away from grief or responsibility or my father’s memory but toward someone who made breakfast and gave me his bed and wrote my name in a cherished way in his notebook.
My phone buzzed on the table, and my stomach dropped before I even looked at the screen.
I’ll be there in twenty minutes. –Mom
