Page 45 of Ashes, Apples, & Amorous Orcs

"I won't abandon you." The promise comes easier than expected, like something that's been waiting in my chest for weeks. "Will you join me for dinner tonight? So we can talk?"

She studies my face for a long moment, weighing the offer against every disappointment I've handed her. Finally, she nods.

My cabin feels smaller with Isolde in it, her presence filling spaces I hadn't realized were empty. She runs her fingers along the worn wood of my table, taking in details I've stopped noticing—the neat stack of books, the carefully maintained weapons, the way everything has its place.

"This is cleaner than I expected," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. More... chaos? You spend so much time in the wild."

I move to the hearth, stirring the pot of deer stew I started before seeking her out. "Order keeps me sane."

"Is deer stew okay?" I ask, turning back to find her watching me with an expression I can't quite read. I reach up to tuck a curl behind her ear, the simple contact sending warmth through my chest.

But she's not thinking about dinner. I can see it in the way her breathing changes, the way she leans into my touch instead of pulling away.

"Draven." Her voice carries a weight that makes my hand still against her cheek. "Kiss me."

I capture her mouth with mine, weeks of restraint shattering in an instant. Her lips part under the pressure, and I taste honey and determination and something uniquely her. She meets my intensity with her own, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer like she's afraid I'll disappear again.

"I should have done this weeks ago," I growl against her mouth, backing her against the wall beside the hearth.

"You should have." Her teeth find my lower lip, biting just hard enough to make me groan. "But you're here now."

My hands span her waist, lifting her easily. She wraps her legs around me, and the feel of her pressed against me sends fire through my veins. I carry her toward the bedroom, our mouths never breaking contact.

"I've been obsessed with you since that first day in the forest," I confess between kisses, shouldering open the bedroom door. "Couldn't stop thinking about how you challenged me, how you didn't back down."

"Obsessed?" She pulls back to look at me, hazel eyes bright with desire and amusement. "That's what you call avoiding me for days at a time?"

"That was me being an idiot." I set her down beside the bed, hands already working at the ties of her bodice. "I thought if I kept my distance, I could pretend this wasn't happening."

"How did that work out for you?"

"Terribly." The bodice falls away, and I have to stop breathing for a moment. "Fuck, Isolde."

Her hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging it upward. "We've both been idiots. I should have told you what I wanted instead of waiting for you to figure it out."

I pull the shirt over my head, then reach for the ties of her skirt. "What do you want?"

"You." The word comes out breathless as I kiss her collarbone, working my way lower. "All of you. Not just the parts you think are acceptable."

Her skirt pools at her feet, and I sink to my knees before her, pressing my mouth to the soft curve of her belly. She gasps, fingers threading through my hair as I trace patterns across her skin with my tongue.

"You're perfect," I murmur against her hip, hands mapping the curves I've imagined touching for weeks. "Every part of you."

"Draven." My name sounds different in her voice now, rougher, needier.

I stand, backing her toward the bed until her knees hit the mattress. "I can't get enough of you. Don't think I ever will."

She sinks to her knees before me, her hands working the laces of my trousers with a determination that steals my breath. The fabric falls, and her cool fingers wrap around me, a contrast that makes my hips jerk forward.

“Eager,” I manage to grind out.

“You have no idea.” Her breath ghosts over me before she takes me into her mouth, hot and wet and perfect.

A rough sound tears from my throat. My head falls back against the doorframe as she works me, one hand braced on my thigh, the other exploring lower. The sight of her—curls tumbling forward, lips stretched around me—is the most beautiful wreckage I’ve ever witnessed. Every soft moan vibrates through me, a direct threat to my control.