CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lara
“Tell me how you became a writer,” Brokk asks as he wades upriver with me swaying on his shoulders.
“Oh, I’ve always loved books,” I say. “I grew up in a small town that always felt a bit magical. Ferndale Falls is located in the middle of old-growth forest, and there’s even a beautiful waterfall, as you might expect from the name. It’s a wonderful town, but my mind always wanted to explore and dream up new places.”
“So you get that in a big city like New York?”
“No.” I shake my head, then realize he can’t see me. “It’s not about size. It’s about…” God, how to explain it? I’m supposed to be good with words, dammit! “It’s about possibility. It’s about wonder.”
My right hand releases its death grip on his hair just long enough to feel the comforting bulge of the journal stretching the fabric covering my stomach. “I grew up hearing the family stories of my ancestor who ran away to have adventures in Faerie. By the time I turned thirteen, I was obsessed .”
“For good reason. Faerie is a marvel,” he says, his voice carrying not even the tiniest smidge of mockery. Most guys would be humoring me by now, if they wanted to listen to me at all. No one’s ever taken this side of me seriously.
“I read everything I could get my hands on, devoured all the Harry Potter books and movies, back before the author got problematic. When I got a little older, I read The Hunger Games trilogy, and that changed everything again by adding more romance.”
“I liked those,” Brokk says.
“The movies?”
“And the books.”
“You read them?”
“The entire trilogy.” He grins up at me. “You mentioned them in an interview. I’d already read all of your books and wanted to see what inspired you.”
He actually read all of my books? And then read a whole other series simply because I like it? That’s absolutely the sweetest thing a guy’s ever told me.
“But I like your books best. I enjoy all the magic in them.” He smirks up at me again. “And of course, I love that they’re about orcs.”
I suck in a breath, my heart tripping with shock. His words give me all the feels.
Being a writer’s not simply a job—it’s who I am. It’s the very heart of me. I want to entertain, to offer people an escape into magical worlds full of adventure and love. For Brokk to value my work…
Tears prickle my eyes, a lump of emotion lodging in my throat. I cling to him as he wades upstream, wishing he held me in a bridal carry instead, because then I could kiss him and finally see what those tusks feel like.
We continue on in comfortable silence.
Bright-red parrots startle from a tree as we get near, launching up into the sky with complaining calls and flashes of blue and yellow painted wings. The branches overhanging the water bob from their movement, rustling clumps of thick, green leaves. The rushing river flows on in a constant murmur, swifter in the middle we already passed through. Here, closer to the shore, it’s calmer, and small dark shapes dart through the water.
All of it quiets my busy brain, letting me simply be . No worries about the future—getting off this island or my career or that sticky plot point in my next book. I even stop worrying about falling, relaxing into the surety of Brokk’s strong grip on my thighs.
This is really, really nice. I can’t think of the last time I was quiet with someone like this. Usually, I’m a ball of nerves around new people, so worried about being an introvert that I start babbling.
The riverbank angles back sharply, forming a little cove around a small pond. Brokk continues right by it.
“Why don’t we get out there? The bank looked easier to climb.”
“Which is exactly why we’re not going to use it,” he says. “It’ll be one of the places they’ll check carefully once they realize we didn’t come out downriver.”
“Oh, good point.” I add it to my list. These kinds of details will work great in my next adventure plot.
Brokk walks for at least another hour, pushing constantly against the water without flagging. I get tired, my stomach muscles complaining at doing all this unusual work to keep me upright without back support. But his steps never falter. His grip on my thighs never slips. He’s as strong and steady as any orc warrior I ever imagined.
When he finally climbs out onto the bank and sinks to his knees, I lift the tied shoes from my chest and let them drop to the ground, my neck giving a twinge of relief. Then I slide off him with a groan, my legs aching when I straighten them.
Brokk stands and whirls, his hands clasping my shoulders as his eyes roam over me. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” My cheeks heat. God, it’s embarrassing. He did all the work, but I’m the one who’s sore.
Then I get a look at his stomach and gasp. “Oh, god! What the hell are those?”
He makes a questioning noise and looks down at the six-inch long eel-things hanging from his stomach. They’re dark blue, and I could swear little flickers of blue light flash around their heads.
“Oh, those are lampreys.” He pinches the head of one between his thumb and index finger and pulls. It releases from him with a pop, leaving a circular welt. The long body lashes in the air, and more flickers of blue zap out of its round mouth like tiny bolts of lightning.
“Are you sure it’s not some kind of electric eel?” That would explain what I’m seeing, right? But even as I think it, I know I’m grasping at straws. “What’s with the blue lightning?”
“It’s not electricity. It’s magic.” He tosses it back into the water. “It’s a magical lamprey. It was feeding on my magic.”
I lean forward and squint as he rubs over the spot where the lamprey attached. It’s true there’s no blood or visible wound. But magic?
He plucks off the rest and turns toward the jungle. “We should get moving.”
“No wait. There are more of them.” Four of the lampreys dot his back. I reach for one, but my fingers stop, hovering only a couple of inches away. Ugh. Why couldn’t it have been something cute, like a vampire bat? Contrary to what most people think, the little bats are ugly-cute with funny little noses. These things? Not so much.
But I need to help Brokk after everything he’s done for me.
You got this, Lara. Just grab it and pull. How hard can it be?
My fingers touch the head, which is covered in slimy skin instead of scales, and I give a little pull. It doesn’t let go, and the rest of its body writhes against my palm.
I make a disgusted noise and yank harder. It releases with a pop that sends my hand flying backward, the lamprey arcing out of my grip to hit the river with a plop.
“Alrighty then,” I mutter and grab the next one. It gets easier after that, and I remove all of them. Right when I’m about to pronounce him done, I see something wiggle underneath the butt of his pants, which are wet and clinging to him.
“Uh, Brokk. Unless you’ve got a tail you haven’t told me about, I think lampreys got under your clothes.”
He grunts, his arms moving, and before I can ask what he’s doing, he bends over to remove his boots and shoves his pants off. Three things immediately register:
1) Brokk goes commando.
2) Even his butt is green.
3) His ass is exactly as glorious as it always looks in pants
His butt’s round and heavy with muscle, and my fingers tingle, wanting to touch.
I’m not sure how long I remain frozen, staring in a lust-fueled daze, when his deep voice says, “Is it bad? Are there a lot of them?”
“What?” I shake my head. Snap out of it, Lara. I crouch down and focus on the lampreys. “Oh, no. It’s okay. There are only a few.”
I pluck the three off his butt and thighs, and he pulls a couple off his front.
Then he spins. One hand fists his cock, pulling its length up. “I can’t see if there are any on my balls.”
My mouth goes dry, and I’m too shocked to even try to make a list of what I’m seeing.
The first thing that registers is his dick’s as green as the rest of him. But the surprises don’t stop there. Glints of silver show between his fingers—the entire underside is pierced with a Jacob’s Ladder, the round balls of each end making dual lines up his length.
And he’s massive! So massive I start babbling.
“You think you know. You imagine. And people talk about what it must be like, but you don’t know. Until you see it, and then you know.” I lick my lips. “You finally know.”
Monster cock. The words echo in my head. This is a freaking monster of a cock, whether he’s an orc or not.
“Lara. Are you okay?” His hand releases his dick, and the heavy length falls just enough to show a large piercing mounted right over the base. This metal ball is about as big as the end of my thumb, and blue flickers of lightning flash over the surface. Is that more magic?
My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.
“Lara.” His voice is a growl, and his cock jumps, thickening even further as it starts to rise.
Oh, god. He’s a shower and a grower.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll…”
My thighs clench. This is exactly like something that would happen to one of my heroines. This is where I’d have her be bold and go for what she wants.
Why don’t I ever do that for myself? What has playing it safe gotten me but kidnapped by some creep?
I’m tired of safe, of careful. Hell, if I can’t have fun in the middle of the jungle on an unknown tropical island, then where can I?
Also, I was wrong about Brokk. He’s not a vain guy who rips his shirt off at a moment’s notice for attention. He’s a confident and capable man who takes his shirt off at a moment’s notice, along with all the rest of his clothes too, because he’s simply that comfortable with his body.
Which makes me one very lucky bitch.
Because that is one seriously monster cock.
I pull my gaze away from it and look up to meet Brokk’s eyes, being daring for the first time in my life. “You’ll what?”