Chapter Sixteen Ingrid
What do I think?
I think I’m in love.
I don’t even want to be in love, but I’m falling into it like someone going down an eighty-foot water slide, praying the pool is full at the bottom.
The arrogant jerk I met is a memory. Everything out of King’s mouth has been serious and selfless, and always with others in mind.
“I love that idea. I’d volunteer. And I know someone else who would, too. Craig, in social work—”
“Oh, he’s a wulver. They totally love helping those in need, it’s like—ingrained.”
It occurs to me I haven’t seen Craig in a couple of weeks. I have no idea what a wulver is, but now I’ll be able to see it.
Funny. Someone I thought was blind to everything but his own wants and needs is opening my eyes and making me see things I’ve been missing for years. Making me think of ways to connect puzzle pieces in this little town I’ve come to love and call my own. “You’re not what I thought,” I mutter.
“Hm?”
“Craig is not what I thought,” I say louder. “What’s a wulver?”
“Oh, kind of like half-man, half-wolf.”
“Like a werewolf?”
“No, no. That’s when the moon forces you to shift into a wolf form, and you have very little human control over your transformation.”
I lick my lips. “Werewolves are real, huh?”
King nods. “And the ones around here are nice, decent people. They don’t roam around biting people during the full moon or anything like you’d see in a horror movie. Jasper Wainwright and the Silverman family—”
“Wainwright? The reporter on the local station? And Silverman of Silverman First Fiduciary, the bankers?”
He nods.
Well. Brain’ll have to wrap around that later. “So, not a werewolf. A wolfman?”
“Head of a wolf. Body of a man. It’s a Scottish thing.”
“Got it.” I don’t got it. I cuddle up close to King.
I consider myself pretty brave, but a prickle of unease runs up my spine, and I’m shocked to realize that something about King makes me feel safe.
“So there are lots of monsters and paranormal creatures in this town? Is that why Halloween is such a big deal?”
“That’s part of it,” King looks around. “Getting dark quick. Dinner? We can talk about fundraising ideas? We could make a video with the dogs getting belly rubs from Mrs. Y, Steve, and Lester sometime?”
“I think that would be amazing.”
“What are those? What is that?” I stop dead in King’s kitchen.
“Oh, Georgie and Claire Fenclan, who own the coffee shop and bakery, dropped off dinner.” He holds a white and green paper bag in the air by its thick brown handles.
“Looks like we have quiche, salad, and a bunch of pastries. It says I have to put it in the oven for twenty minutes if I’m reheating the whole thing,” he mutters, looking at the pretty note on the shopping bag.
“Oh, and they say they hope I get well soon, and do I need anything?”
“Not that. That. And those.”
There are four plastic bowls on the floor. Four plastic bowls covered with little pawprints and dog bones. There are several cans of the wet dog food I give Chip and Daisy on special occasions (or bribes when they have to go to the vet for their annual shots).
King bites his lip—and somehow that makes him look hotter.
Bad brain. This is not the time to remember how he looks, all wet and glistening while you’re sucking him, how his muscles ripple, how he bites his lips and moans...
I’m absolutely thinking about it now. My brain is a little bitch sometimes.
“Well. I thought... You see, Bryce was driving me back from my visit with the team trainers, and Fia—that’s his wife—said she needed condensed milk to make this dessert.
It’s Brazilian. The dessert, not the milk.
She’s Brazilian, so it’s a dessert she makes that Bryce goes crazy over. I think it’s called—”
“You are stalling so bad.” I smirk and lean on the counter.
King goes on like he hasn’t heard me. “I figured since my leg wasn’t hurting that much, I might as well go into the store with Bryce when he stopped at the Fresh Market to get the milk. The baking aisle is only an aisle or two away from the pet stuff—”
“I shop there every week. It’s like the last aisle before the freezer section, and the baking stuff is near the front.” My arms cross, and my smirk turns into a fake scowl.
King looks visibly sweaty and nervous now. “I saw the dog food and remembered seeing it in your kitchen. It was on sale,” he ends in a whisper.
I pounce. Harder than I should with his bum knee, plump little body crashing into his big, broad one, yanking his collar down so he has to bend to kiss me.
Quiche crashes to the floor, a big crack running down the center of the golden surface, still contained in its aluminum pan with a plastic lid. “You went to the store and bought my furbabies their own bowls and food? To keep at your place?” I demand between kisses.
“Uh-huh,” King grunts as he grabs me and lifts me, spinning me to sit on the kitchen counter while he curses in pain and his crutches fall to the ground.
“I’ll get them,” I gasp as his mouth finds that amazing spot on my neck, the spot that only seems to come alive to the combination of his tusks and his talented tongue.
“Leave them,” he growls, and shivers race up my spine.
“The dogs—”
“Sleeping off a tennis ball hangover on my couch.” His hands knead my waist before moving to nestle between my legs.
“The quiche is on the floor...”
“In a pan. It’s clean. I’ll pick it up later. Right now, I’m not hungry for anything but you.” The shy, sweet King disappeared when I took the lead and kissed him, giving him the signal that I wasn’t mad, I guess. He was telling the truth when he said he’d move at my pace.
Only I know my pace shouldn’t be racing ahead, legs spread in a V on some guy’s kitchen counter while his fingers sneak down the front of my leggings and find my pussy.
My pace shouldn't be letting my head loll back while he buries his head between my breasts and two fingers in my slit, rushing me to an orgasm.
But that’s what happens. It’s fast and desperate and immediate—his huge hand demands my pleasure, moves my clit in furious circles one second, then sends two fingers arching up against my upper wall to milk another scream of pleasure out of me.
The dogs don’t even make a curious woof or leave the sanctuary of King’s couch.
In the tangle of insta-orgasm and brain-melting delight, I have a hazy realization that my dogs trust him, and that he loves them.
That I might be distancing myself from my family, but that the four of us could be our own little family.
“Want you,” I gasp, hips bucking forward.
“Drink your tea,” King snarls, kissing me hard, his tusks scraping my lower lip and making me see stars, the sting of pressure putting a neat bow on my climax.
“Wha?” I ask through uneven breaths as my legs keep shaking against his relentless hand, even after my peak passes.
“Knotting tea. Heard you went to get some with Marina today. Drink it. It makes me fit inside of you—with a little practice.” King slides a third finger in me and looks into my eyes. “Mmm. See? Already, that tight little pussy is so soft and open. Lets me right in.”
My heart thuds in my ears, maybe trying to drown out the naughty words and the cocky lilt in his voice.
King stares into my eyes and twists his wrist, grinding his three thick fingers deeper into me, opening me up more than I’ve ever been.
The soft, slick sound of my juices engulfing his fingers makes me moan and squirm, but that’s just what he likes.
“That’s it. That’s my girl. I can make you feel good?”
“So good.”
“Two fingers. Three fingers. Toys...”
“God...”
“The tip and some friends.” He jerks his hips forward, his eyes briefly shutting.
“I want that. I want to be full of you,” I admit, past caring as he takes control, opening me, marking me so that I fit him.
“All those inches? My whole cock?”
I nod. Don’t know if it’s possible. Right now, his fingers make me feel like I’m going to explode, like my sides are splitting, and I fucking adore the stretch, the urge that grips me as my walls flex and ripple on his fingers. “I’m going to squirt if you keep—”
“Good. My girl should squirt every time. Or almost every time,” he grunts, and I wonder if he’s close, too. “When I’m better, I’m going to have you squirting on my knot. You know that? You want that?”
“Yessss!” With a wail that breaks free, raw and ragged, I flood his hand.
Oh my God. Did I just get finger-fucked until I squirted, sprawled on a kitchen counter?
My life is becoming something out of an erotic novel.
“Take those off. I want to clean you up,” King demands as his hand leaves me and slides down to release his own cock. His slick fingers coat his long, hard cock, dark green and swollen with pent-up pleasure.
When my pants slide to my knees, he keeps his balance with one hand on the counter, and his face buries in my pussy, lapping me up. His other hand races up and down his length until he shoots, decorating the rest of my ruined outfit.
In the aftermath, I can barely breathe—until I burst out— “Shit, I don’t have any clean clothes here!”
They never mention that in erotica.
“I have a washer and dryer, bathrobes, and hoodies. I’ll clean the kitchen if you start the laundry?” he pants.
“Deal.”
“Don’t go. Spend the night?”
I sprawl next to King, naked and limp, dinner finished, dogs snoring softly on his bedroom floor. He does more with his mouth and hands than any man has ever done with a tutorial, his cock, and two good legs.
“I didn’t drink the tea. It’s still in the back of my car,” I whisper, running a hand down his chest. His fingers spread out over mine and keep my hand on his pectoral.
His heart beats like a steady drum, harder than a human heart, and when he speaks, my fingertips buzz, touched by the deep resonance of his voice.
“I don’t care,” he reassures me.
My fingers flex under his. Such smooth skin. Such thick skin, denser than a human’s, like the softest leather, the texture both hard and yielding.
I look down at the body beside me, naked and gorgeous. Perfect—except for the temporary imperfection of the immobilizer wrapped around his leg.
“Since I didn’t drink the tea, I don’t think I can do much. Besides, you’ll re-injure your leg. We already pushed it with that stunt on the kitchen counter.”
King slowly twists to the side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Staying the night doesn’t mean sex.”
“No?” But I’d like it to. He’d like it to. Wouldn’t he?
His hand massages my scalp for a second before his fingers trail through my hair with gentle strokes. “I want you around me all the time. Every night. I know that’s moving too fast. I just... I just like it best when we’re together. Sex would be a bonus, but just a bonus.”
My heart tugs towards his. I want to believe something like that.
I want to believe in this feeling, believe that falling fast and hard comes with a soft landing out of a fairytale.
“How can you say you want to be around me all the time? You don’t know me like that.
You don’t know enough about me to make decisions that last a lifetime.
” I have to be brave. I have to set the rosy images he talked about at the park aside.
Be practical. Be successful. Get back some equilibrium and keep my life neat and happy, like it was until he limped into my office.
“So, I’ll learn. Nothing about you is going to put me off.”
“Really?” Maybe it’s because he sounds a little too sure of himself, or maybe it’s just because I can be a contrary troublemaker sometimes, but I challenge him. “What if I say I don’t want kids?”
“Then I guess we raise dogs and I coach junior hockey. They’re talking about doing a Junior Lumberjacks camp next summer.”
No! He had dreams of being a great dad! Kids and grandkids! I want to shake him.
How dare he give up on dreams... for me?
I don’t know if that’s as special as I think it is, but I feel like I’m glowing inside.
I keep fighting, because it can’t be this easy. It just can’t. “I don’t really like Orcs.” I lie through my teeth. I’ve liked everyone that I’ve met so far in this town—except King, oddly enough. Seems like my dislike was only temporary, I think with a wry smile.
“Oh, yeah?” King snickers and steals a kiss. “Two loads of laundry in one night says otherwise.”
“Okay, that one was a lie. I... I like to travel. A lot.”
“I’d like to travel with you. Where are we going once my leg is working? I have a six-week break. We could do something really cool, like one of those river cruises that takes you through five countries, or something like that.”
Infuriating man. Stop. Being. So. Agreeable.
“I have family drama that I just bury,” I admit. “But it’s going to come out at some point. I only keep things peaceful by seeing my family in carefully controlled settings a few times a year.”
“I’ll go with you. And when they start shit, I’ll growl, slam a shoulder into whoever is messing with my girl, and take you home.
Or to get ice cream. Whatever works. Oh—and family drama?
My mother and father are giving me a little break to ‘sow my wild oats.’ That’s what they think staying in Pine Ridge and playing hockey is.
My mother expects me to move back to Scotland, marry a beautiful Orc maiden, and provide grandchildren to spoil.
My father expects me to suddenly morph from a kid who grew up spending twice as much time on video games and the skating rink as he did hunting in the woods and fishing into some superior landsman like Ian Fenclan.
He fully expects me to come home and miraculously hang up my skates, throw on a kilt, and become a rival for Chieftain of the Silverbow Clan.
” He flops back. “We love our parents, you and I. We aren’t going to let them run our lives, though, are we? ”
Ooof. That last bit hits home.
All of the things he’s said hit home. “No. No, we make our own choices,” I whisper and snuggle into his side. “I’ll stay.”
As I’m drifting off, I think I hear him ask, “Stay forever?”
Stay forever? Or just tonight?
My arm drapes over his middle possessively, and King sighs. “My Ingrid.”