I wound my arms around his neck, melting into him, memorizing the feel of his skin against mine, the taste of him on my tongue. If our time was limited, I would cherish every second.
Our kisses deepened, and when his fingers stroked between my legs, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pressed him down onto the bed, marveling again at his size, atthe trembling of his coorails I knew would soon give me pleasure.
Then I climbed onto my orc cowboy and gave us both an amazing ride.
“What are you thinking about?”he asked when we’d finished.
“How hungry I am. Feed me, orc-man.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “As my mate commands.”
The word ‘mate’ sent another flutter through me, equal parts joy and apprehension. I pushed the latter away, determined to live in this moment.
Dungar slid out of bed, and I took a moment to appreciate the view. His powerful body moved gracefully as he retrieved a pair of pants from his dresser drawer.
I must’ve made a sound, because he glanced over his shoulder, catching me staring. “Does my body distract you, Deputy?”
“Terribly,” I said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to focus on breakfast at all.”
“Then my plan is working.” He winked, and my heart did a somersault in my chest. This playful side of Dungar was new and utterly charming. “You take the bathroom first.”
“No, you can. I’m going to lay here a moment longer.” And continue savoring that view.
A shirt and clean loincloth in hand, he nodded andheaded for the door, pausing to straighten a picture frame that hung slightly crooked on the wall.
Once he’d finished in the bathroom, I scooted into the room myself. I stood at the sink, studying my reflection, searching for visible changes. The woman who looked back at me seemed brighter somehow, her eyes clearer, her cheeks flushed with a happiness I hardly recognized. The golden mark on my wrist gleamed, beautiful and impossible to ignore.
I touched it, wondering what it truly meant. Was it just a physical manifestation of the connection I already felt with Dungar, or something more mystical? Did it change anything about who I was, what I could do, what I had to do?
No answers came.
By the time I joined Dungar in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts that hung to my knees, he’d already arranged ingredients on the counter. Chumble eggs, butter, cheese, and cragroot clumps formed a neat line.
“Chumble omelets?” I asked, sliding onto a stool at the island.
“With a side of sauteed cragroot.” He looked up from dicing one of the clumps. “I’ve been told I make the best fried cragroot in Lonesome Creek.”
“You’re modest, too,” I teased. “Need any help?”
“You could start the coffee.” He nodded toward the coffee maker that sat in its designated spot on the counter. “Remember. Three scoops, not four.”
“How could I forget?” I hopped down and moved to his side, deliberately brushing against him as I reachedfor the coffee canister. “Is that an official measurement, Sheriff?”
His hand caught my waist, steadying me. “I’ve conducted extensive testing to determine the optimal coffee-to-water ratio.”
“I’m not surprised.” I leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Did you create a spreadsheet to track your results?”
“Two, actually.” His deadpan delivery made me laugh. “One for taste variables and one for brewing efficiency.”
I filled the coffee maker, conscious of his eyes on me, the weight of his attention a tangible thing that wrapped around me like a caress. When I turned back to him, his gaze had darkened, a hunger that had nothing to do with breakfast evident in his expression.
“My shirt looks so much better on you than me.” His voice had dropped an octave.
“Doubtful. But it smells like you.” I lifted the collar to my nose. “Pine and leather and something uniquely Dungar.”
He set down his knife and stepped toward me. His hands cupped my face with so much care it made me want to cry.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked.
