One of those full eyebrows raised at her stammered answer, the corner of his mouth lifting adorably. “I believe I pass by there on my way home, one of those little Main Street towns...I’m Kra’khash, by the way. Everyone just calls me Khash. I know that’s probably a mouthful for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She laughed, fixing him with a look of false indignation, failing to bite back her smile. “Orcish and Elvish aren’tthatdifferent.” In truth, they were night and day different, she thought, the guttural Orcish language always sounding harsh to her ears, but she wasn’t about to let him know that.
He snorted, leaning back on his elbows, giving her several more inches of his body to ogle. “You all have those delicate, frilly names that sound like poetry and flowers. I’ll bet your name is something like Bluebell.”
Lurielle hoped that her skin was at least flushing evenly as she shook with laughter. This wasn’t anything like what she’d envisioned happening this weekend, but she was enjoying herself immensely. “It’s not, you jerk,” she wheezed. “My name’s Lurielle.”
“Lurielle…” His syrupy drawl clung to the L, caressing over the second syllable and leaning on the final L once more, enunciating slowly, as if he were tasting the shape of her name. Lurielle felt her stomach tighten, somehow able tofeelthe drag of his tongue, the curl of those pillowy lips. She bit her own in response, wanting nothing more than to hear her name in his slow drawl again. “Well, that sounds like a song. A pleasure to make your acquaintance,Lurielle.”
♥♥♥
Ris scanned the deck from her position in the hot tub, not seeing Lurielle anywhere.She probably left.From her position in the hot tub, sandwiched between bodies, she scowled in annoyance, wishing she’d stayed with her friend instead of embarking on the doomed mission to get lucky. She’d managed to get the two orcs with whom she’d been flirting out of their clothes and into the hot tub at last...but six other women had immediately joined them: a trio of werecats, an inebriated harpy, and other assorted nymphs and goblins, all angling for the same thing.
This isn’t the kind of gangbang I wanted. Too many fucking tourists.She knew that she’d have to make the first move again—if nothing else, these orcs were very conscious of consent, and the plethora of bold tourists meant they could sit back and wait. Ris knew if she climbed into one’s lap, she’d likely be jockeying for position with one of the other giggling sightseers before she even got a chance to take a ride. The deck around them still pressed with people: plenty of hangers-on looking to get laid.Tomorrow you can score an orc. Tonight you just need to get lucky.
Ris hoped that Lurielle hadn’t had a terrible time, that she and Silva were at least comfortable in the room, half wishing she was there with them as she climbed out of the hot tub, noting ruefully that the two orcs barely seemed to notice. The gnoll who’d bought them drinks was still hovering around the pool, and it was he that she approached, gratified to see his eyes widen and mouth open hungrily at the sight of her wet, naked, nearing body.He’s not an orc, but he’ll do...for now.
♥♥♥
“And how did you wind up abandoned by your friends this evening?”
Silva drained the last of her drink, twirling a strand of her long hair around a finger. Tate’s eyes moved on a circuit: following the motion of her finger with that sharp-edged smile, meeting her eye, his own seeming to glitter beneath the pub’s lights, and scanning the area around the pool tables and the orcs clustered there, before moving back to her. He seemed quite insensible to the growing group of women at the high top tables and at the bar, and Silva preened under his attention.
She hmphed at his words, taking the glass he’d been sipping slowly from. Whatever he’d ordered for her wasn’t quite as strong as the Mirúlvin she was used to, and a bowl of peppery, baked wheat crisps had been placed before her, which she steadily munched from, ensuring she wasn’t drinking on a half-empty stomach. She’d not had this much to drink in some time, but was pleased to find she’d retained the tolerance built during her short-lived university independence. One of Tate’s dark brows arched as she raised the glass to her own lips, his smile twitching.
“I wasn’t abandoned.Someonetold them about the bar at the resort pool, and that’s where they were going. I didn’t want to spend the night being groped by nudists!”
“You came to the wrong vacation spot, in that case.”
“I don’t usually come to places likethiseither, you know.” She felt a giddy rush as musical laughter bubbled out of him, his dark golden eyes sparkling. Tate perched on the seat beside her, the heel of one of his scuffed, pointed-toe boots hooked on one of the stool’s rungs. He was close enough for her to feel the brush of his other outstretched leg and the heat of his breath as he leaned in; close enough to see the long, dark fringe of ebony lashes framing his almond-shaped eyes. There was something Puckish about him, the glint of his teeth and the sparkle in his eyes, a mischievous energy that he seemed to radiate, and Silva felt her pulse race in excitement as he laughed, leaning closer.
“Aye, is that just so? Strange, dove...the evidence of that doesn’tquiteadd up.”
Tate made a show of straightening the collection of glasses lined up on the polished bartop before her, his smile stretching at her squeal of protest. She had noticed that the big orc tending bar had stayed well away from their corner, only coming to pour them another round when Tate called out to him, doing so with averted eyes before quickly retreating to the other end of the bar once more. The collection of glasses before them had grown as she drained glass after glass of the sweet, golden alcohol, and the relative privacy afforded by the bartender’s lack of attentiveness had boosted her courage, even if it did mean the bar before them remained unbussed.
“Some of those are yours!” she protested with a laugh, pushing lightly against one of his wide shoulders. He was slight and angular compared to the crowd of hulking bodies pressed around them, but still broad and muscular compared to the elves she normally dated, and she was having an increasingly difficult time keeping herself from touching his chest, his arms, his solid thighs.
One of his long, leanly-muscled arms encircled her, resting lightly on the back of her chair, and under normal circumstances, Silva might have felt trapped. Considering where she was and the surrounding company, however, the protective circle of his arm only buoyed her confidence further, secure in the knowledge that none of the massive, lumbering orcs around the pool tables would approach her, with the bonus of providing unfettered access to his smooth, pale green skin.
“Two,” he corrected, affording her a glimpse of even more of his sharp-looking teeth, “twoof these are mine. This,” he tapped the side of half-empty glass in front of her, “would have been three, but it seems to have been absconded with.”
“You were drinking it very slowly! I thought you were finished!”
He laughed again at her bold-faced lie, like the pealing of a crystal bell, silvery and clear. “So if you don’t patronize establishmentslike this–I’ll pretend not to be offended, by the way–how, I wonder, did such a bitty little elf learn to drink like a middle-aged troll on midsummer holiday?”
“In my sorority,” she admitted with a giggle, gratified at the way his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I was our team anchor for all the drinking games, and we always won.”
“Anar Ilse?” he guessed, naming her sorority’s biggest rival. He wasn’t right, but there was no way an orc would know such specific Elvish conventions…
“Youarean elf!” Silva exclaimed triumphantly, thrilled that her suspicion was confirmed. He’d side-stepped her earlier question, only saying she “had the right of it,” and she’d been too drunk off the wideness of his smile and the light pressure of his hand at her back to press at the time, but now she was unable to hold back. “Iknewit! Not Anar. I was Ilma Ilma Ullum.”
She was about to ask which side of his family bore Elvish blood, marveling that she was actually meeting an elf of mixed-blood in the first place, considering how rare it was to marry outside of one’s own community, but Tate interrupted her before the question could form on her lips.
“In that case, I’m certain you absolutely donotfrequent places like this.” One of his slim black brows arched, and his smile once more took on the guise of a smirk. “Ilmarë cotillions and croquet would be more fitting for the pretty princess, I’d wager.”
“That’s true, mister knows-everything,” she admitted, holding his eye defiantly, “and if I’m a princess, you have to answer my questions. YouareElvish, aren’t you?”
Tate took his time answering. The arm braced around her dropped, and his huge hand closed over her own, slowly stroking the inside of her wrist with the pad of his thumb before meeting her eye with a small sigh.
