Page 108 of My Orc Has Big Tusks
“No.” I arched into his touch. “I want more.”
His thumb traced a pattern below my breast, testing. His gaze tracked the movement like he was analyzing data.
“You’re so small,” he said with wonder.
“You’re very large.” I traced the edge of one ridge with my fingertip. “I understand the mechanics. The question is whether theory translates to practice.”
His mouth curved. “Is that a problem?”
“Others have done it. We can too, right?”
“They have.”
He leaned down and kissed me, our tongues tangling together. When he pulled back, his fingers found the hem of my shirt. With his gaze on mine, he drew the fabric up, his knuckles grazing my belly, my sides. I lifted my arms, and he pulled it over my head, tossing it behind him.
His gaze moved over me, and my skin warmed under the attention.
“You’re—I want to touch you everywhere.”
“Then do it.”
His hands moved to my bra, a front fastening one this time. He studied the clasp with the concentration he gave complex procedures, his fingers much bigger than the tiny hooks.
“This is unnecessarily complicated,” he muttered.
I laughed. “Would you like help?”
“No.” Determination settled in his jaw. “I’ll manage.”
His first attempt failed. The second made him growl under his breath, actual frustration from an orc who could care for small wounds on creatures the size of ponies.
“This is a test of worthiness,” he muttered. “Your people have designed it to eliminate unsuitable mates.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing.
The third attempt succeeded. His victorious expression made me smile so big my face ached.
He eased the bra out from underneath me and dropped it over the side of the bed.
Then he leaned back on his heels and looked.
The clinical side of my vet brain kicked in, but there was nothing clinical about the way he traced one finger along my collarbone, down the center of my chest, stopping above my navel.
“Your turn,” I said.
He gave me space to sit up. I helped him remove his shirt and pants. And I reached for the knot holding his loincloth in place, my fingers clumsy with need.
The fabric fell away.
Seeing him completely bare, his body responding to me, made my mouth go dry.
His shaft was proportional to the rest of him. Substantial. Ridges ran along its length, and at the base, a small projection curved upward.
“That’s…different,” I said.
His ears darkened. “Is that a problem?”
I traced one finger along a ridge, watching his breathing change. “I’ll let you know.”
