The water wascool and clear, a narrow ribbon snaking between mossy rocks. I shot him a look as I knelt on the bank. “Turn around,” I said, pointing like he was some oversized kitchen boy.
His eyes burned into mine for a long, excruciating second, and then he obeyed, folding his arms across his chest, his impossibly broad back facing me. He stood there like a statue, guarding the perimeter with all the seriousness of a warlord, while I stripped down and slid into the water.
It was cold enough to make me gasp, but better than feeling the dried blood and grime cling to my skin. I washed quickly, glancing over my shoulder every so often, but Gorran never turned.
Not once.
Which was… unexpectedly decent of him. Almost irritatingly so.
Why did I feel… somewhat disappointed?
These treacherous thoughts…
I was playing with fire, and I didn’t care.
When I climbed out, teeth chattering, he offered me one of his rough, heavy blankets without a word. I muttered a quiet thank you before I could stop myself, wrapping it tightly around me.
And then, with no preamble, he started stripping.
I blinked. “What—what are you doing?”
He looked at me over his shoulder, face unreadable. “I’m filthy. You got your turn.”
Oh.
Oh.
Gods, he’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he?
I turned away, clutching the blanket like a shield, but curiosity—traitorous, wicked curiosity—itched at me. I told myself I needed to know what he looked like. For survival reasons. To better… assess my captor.
It was not because I wanted to.
Absolutely not.
I peeked anyway.
Oh, gods.
The orc was…impressive.
He was all muscle, built like he’d been carved from stone and violence. His back was broad and crisscrossed with scars, old and new, a tapestry of battles that told more stories than he ever would. As he knelt by the stream, water ran down the length of his spine and over the sharp ridges of his shoulders, glistening across skin the color of the verdant forest.
And then he turned, just slightly, enough for me to see the hard lines of his chest, the deep grooves of muscle down his stomach. My breath caught before I could stop it.
I snapped my gaze away, but too late.
“Do you want to look?” His voice was low, cutting through the soft rustle of the forest. Almost insolent… arrogant.“Look.”
Damned cocky orc.
I froze.
I didn’t turn back—my pride wouldn’t allow it—but my pulse pounded so hard it felt like it shook the trees around us.
“Not curious?” he asked after a beat, the faintest trace of amusement threading his tone.
“I’ve seen plenty of bare chests,” I said, aiming for sharp and dry, though my voice sounded thinner than I’d have liked.
