Steagor leads me through the room, and I cling to him, my only solid point in the dark. The advantage he has over me in this moment is complete, with me blind to the world. I should be panicking, demanding that he light a lantern or a candle, but—I trust him. Whatever he has in mind, I trust him.
He halts a couple of steps later and draws his hand up my arm. Slowly, he brushes my hair back, then runs his fingers over my skin, from my shoulder to my ear, then down my neck to my collarbone. Goosebumps erupt all over my body, and my nipples pebble into points, but Steagor doesn’t push things further.
And I don’t know that I want him to, not tonight. We’ve been through so much today, I can’t handle more emotional turmoil. I’m spent, tired beyond belief, and sore from sitting atop a horse for hours. I can’t imagine Steagor is much better off, no matter his muscled stature.
He takes my shoulders and turns me to face away from him, then undoes the laces at the back of my gown with gentle tugs. I relax and let him work, let him draw the dress down my arms and lower. It pools on the floor at my feet, and I’m left in nothing but my linen shift.
He hesitates a moment, then his warm, firm lips touch my shoulder in a reverent kiss. It’s the first one he’s ever given me. Tears prick behind my eyelids, so I squeeze my eyes shut, not willing to ruin this intimate moment.
“Here,” Steagor murmurs, “lie down.”
He guides me to sit on the bed, and I put my head on his pillow, tiredness sweeping over me. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over my cheek.
“I’ll be right back,” he says.
He disappears into the darkness, but the swish of the tapestry at the other end of the room tells me he’s only gone to wash up. He’s back minutes later, and this time, he doesn’t spread out his bedroll on the floor. Instead, he climbs in bed behind me and fits his large body around mine, drawing me into his chest.
The warmth of him is incredible. I draw his heavy arm higher so it hugs my waist, then lace my fingers through his. Ignoring the very clear sign of his excitement nestled against my ass, I snuggle closer with a sigh.
This is the coziest I’ve ever felt in my life. The room, though completely dark, is a safe haven. Steagor will guard me, no matter what.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
He gives my hand a quick squeeze. “Goodnight, Poppy.”
I wake up sometime later, and for once, there’s no confusion. I know exactly where I am and whose body I’m wrapped around, even though the underground room is still dark. I’m rested, my mind clear and buzzing with thoughts.
We must have shifted positions sometime in the night, because Steagor is sleeping on his back and I’m tucked into his side, my leg thrown over his and my arm resting on his chest. I don’t move for a while, simply enjoying the comfort. Then I slowly extricate myself from him and feel around, careful not to bump into things. Finally, I reach the small table with the lantern and light the wick after a couple of false starts with the flint.
A yellow glow suffuses the room, pushing shadows into the corners. I squint at the brightness, then blink. I’ve managed not to knock anything over—and Steagor is still fast asleep, his long, powerful limbs stretched out on the bed.
I use the privy, then debate waking him, but he looks like he needs the rest. The poor male spent the past week taking care of me, keeping vigil at my sickbed, then sleeping on the floor because he’d given me his bed. The least I can do is let him catch up.
So I find the parcels we brought from town and carefully unwrap them on the table. I run my fingers over the soft cloth and arrange the silk ribbon and the bobbins of thread I purchased into neat rows. I’ll start my sewing project today.
“Morning,” Steagor rumbles from the bed.
Startled, I look up to find him leaning on one elbow, watching me. He’s still wearing his shirt, but he’s so delightfully rumpled, I can’t help but grin. His long hair has escaped its braid and lies around his shoulders in gorgeous waves, black and streaked with silver at his temples.
Putting down the fabric, I approach the bed. I don’t speak, afraid I’ll somehow break the fragile peace from last night. Instead, I climb back in bed next to him and scoot close enough to touch.
I could kiss him right now. I could lean in, press my lips to his, and see if he’ll let me do more.
But despite what we did yesterday in the forest, it doesn’t feel right. My gut tells me this is the wrong moment, and for once, I listen to it. So when I do reach out, I brush Steagor’s hair from his cheek, tucking it behind one green, slightly pointed ear. He closes his eyes at the caress and doesn’t flinch away or stop me, so I take it as permission to explore.
I run the pads of my thumbs over his thick black eyebrows and trail my knuckles over a scar that cuts across his left cheek. The injury is old, completely healed, but my heart squeezes at the thought of how much it must have hurt. His coarse stubble scrapes my palm as I cup his jaw, but still Steagor doesn’t look at me.
It’s only when I tentatively touch the pointed tusks jutting up from behind his bottom lip that he opens his eyes, his pupils blown wide so the dark-brown irises are barely visible.
“I like these,” I whisper. “They’re so different.”
He doesn’t answer, merely swallows, the sound loud in the quiet room.
“May I braid your hair?” I ask, feeling very daring.
He flashes me a look of amusement now, and I breathe a sigh of relief, because I didn’t know whether this was a taboo for orcs. They mostly keep their hair long, so it might have been a ritual thing. But judging by Steagor’s smirk, it’s definitely not.
He reaches under his bed and comes up with a wide-tooth wooden comb, then searches the sheets for his leather hair tie, handing both to me. He sits up, cross-legged on the bed, and gives me his back.
I rise on my knees behind him to reach the top of his head and run the comb gently through his hair. It’s thick, reaching to the bottom of his shoulder blades, and I comb it diligently until there are no more tangles.
“You have beautiful hair,” I murmur, unable to keep quiet any longer.
He scoffs. “It’s black. Like every other orc’s.”
I section the upper third and start plaiting it into a simple braid. My mother taught me more complex styles, but somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate one of those.
“That doesn’t make it less,” I protest. “It’s so smooth.”
He peers at me over his shoulder. “I like yours better. Like a cloud of golden sunshine around your head.”
I gasp, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “You do not compare a lady’s hair to a cloud!”
He apologizes profusely, but I grin at him to show him I’m not really offended. Gods know what my hair must look like after last night. My body remembers all too well how it got so messy, too, but I squeeze my legs together and focus all my thoughts on Steagor’s hair instead of his other…attributes. This moment is not about that.
The braid is soon done, and I tie it off with the bit of leather he gave me. But I don’t want to let him go yet, not while I have him at my mercy like this. I lean in close and inspect his pointed ear on his left side, then on the right, noting the small nick in the right one, surely a continuation of the scar on his cheek.
I graze my fingertips over the tip, marveling at the soft skin. Steagor shivers, then leans his head to the side, giving me more access.
“You like that?” I whisper, my chest now pressed to his back. “Are your ears more sensitive?”
“Do it again,” he rasps back.
I repeat the motion, barely touching his skin, and he lets out a low groan. Feeling very brave, I follow my finger with my tongue, licking him lightly, just the outer rim, then the pointy tip.
“Poppy,” he mutters. “You’re…uhhh.” His words trail off on a sigh as I gently take the lobe between my teeth and scrape the soft skin.
I grin against his ear. This is fun. I’ve found Steagor’s weak spot, and for an orc this big, I love that it’s this tiny part of his body, so small compared to the rest of him.
I release him and start to move away, about to tease him and enjoy my newfound knowledge. But something behind the collar of his shirt catches my attention, right beside one of the bumps of his spine. An unexpected ridge of skin.
Frowning, I pinch the linen collar and tug it down an inch. “What…?”
Steagor explodes from the bed, wrenching himself from my grasp. Surprised, I topple back onto the pillows, staring up at him.
“Don’t,” he growls.
I scramble upright until I’m standing on the other side of the bed, facing him over the expanse of crumpled sheets where we’d shared a cozy, intimate moment.
“Was that a scar?” I blurt before I can stop myself.
I’ve never seen scar tissue like that. I didn’t get a good look at it, but what I saw…
“That’s none of your damn business,” he snaps.
Hurt smacks into me at his curt tone. “I’m sorry,” I say anyway, knowing I overstepped. “I didn’t mean—”
He bends to pick up his trousers and shoves his legs into them. “I’m returning to work today. If you need anything, find Mara or Dawn. They’ll help you.”
“Steagor, wait.” I start forward, reaching out to him. “Please don’t go like this.”
He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head. “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweet. You only helped me remember.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving me staring at the closed door.
