“I could call you princess,” he purrs softly, his breath warm against my skin.
An involuntary gasp parts my mouth. My jaw drops, and I squirm where I half sit on his arm. Is he flirting with me? Why did it feel…pleasant? Do I want to be flirted with? I mean, he's a better option than Bart, not that it's hard. So, maybe I do want to be flirted with. It's been so long since anyone saw me as anything other than my father's daughter, a pawn in his world, that it's kind of nice to be treated as my own person, even if I am in a fantasy land. With shaking fingers, I reach out as he moves his head back. Timidly grazing the side of his face as he waits patiently while I explore him.
“Your eyes are different colours?” I breathe.
“I share them with my brother.”
“Your eyes?”
“Mmmm, we are one person split into two.” He looks me over, analysing.
“Twins?” He nods. “You're real,” I whisper.
“I am.”
“You haven't kidnapped me?”
“No.”
“I'm not losing my mind.” I look away from his gaze.
“I do not think so,” he whispers back.
The movement of his mouth directs my attention as I grow more confident in my touch. With a firmer grasp, I wrap my hand around one of his tusks, stroking, entranced by the buttery feeling of it. It's fascinating because I would assume it to be hard and smooth like an elephant's tusk, but it seems to be coated in the finest of velvets, which you can't see, but when you feel it, it's there.
Something nudges my thigh, and I move a little tothe side, but both of his arms keep me trapped in the small space between his legs. Trapped is the wrong word because I do not feel fearful anymore. It's like my racing heart calmed as soon as we touched.
“Rosie,” he moans, his eyes fluttering shut.
Oh.
My.
God.
Clasping my hand tightly against my chest, I look down, his fire hose standing to attention beneath the sheet, some of it pressed against my thigh still, but I dare not move.
Was I giving him a hand job through his tusk?
I'm barely breathing. I don't want to accidentally rub against anything in case it'sthatsort of touch. I've never even held a man's hand before. The strict rules I had to follow would never have allowed me to be in a room alone with a man who wasn't family. I'm not a prude, I have the internet–had.I understand the principles of intimacy; I've just never done it.
Steve's eyes flare wide, his breathing heavy but controlled as he takes me in.I was definitely giving him a hand job through his tusk.I would slap my palm against my face right now if I dared to move.
“I'm so sorry,” I squeak.
“Your touch. My tusks are sensitive, but when you touched them, it's not felt like that before.” His heavy-lidded gaze spurs me on.
“Do a lot of people touch them?” Of all thequestions I could pick, why am I asking him that?! I should be freaking out that I'm wherever I am, but instead, I'm jacking off an orc in some sort of warped reality.
“No one touches them. It is something done between bonded.”
He leans forward, closer than necessary, both of his hands circling my waist, holding me gently.
“Are we bonded?”
“The guards at the entrance to the city saw your dress and mistook us for newly bonded. I did not correct them.” He glances away abashedly. It's endearing.
“So that means…” I trail off, my thoughts racing a mile a minute.
