Chapter 13
Poppy
B jorn, August, Grev , Urk, Anne, Koru, and I sit around the biggest table closest to the fire. There’s no one else here. Probably helped that Koru proclaimed loudly that he was closing early tonight to everyone, for the entire weekend prior.
August roasted some winter squash, delicious. Grev brought a playlist of oddly sad folk songs. Urk brought Anne, and Anne brought cornbread muffins with a delightful, crispy edge. Bjorn and Koru roasted a leg of cow together out back. And I made my mom’s famous spiced cake with brown butter cream cheese frosting. I’m weirdly nervous about everyone eating it.
“Grev. Can we please change the playlist? It’s like listening to sad country music by hipsters. Pleeeease.” August slaps Bjorn on the arm. Bjorn’s whines are funny, but also true. Grev and I haven’t spoken much since I moved here, but he certainly seems to walk around with a sad thundercloud over his head, like one of those cartoon characters. Now, though, Grev shoots lasers from his eyes at Bjorn.
“Can’t help it. You don’t have good taste,” Grev says.
“Maybe you need to buy your morning coffee from Moonlit Grounds. Pretty sure Ravena is a witch. And pretty sure she makes love potions and slips them into our drinks.”
Koru and Grev groan in unison. “Not this conspiracy theory again, Bjorn. You know, you sound crazy when you talk about Ravena. Also, fated mated. ”
Bjorn snorts. “There are rumors. And they are true. I will prove it to you! And weren’t you scoffing about fated mates not too long ago?” Bjorn gives Koru a pointed look. “And if nothing else, Grev will get out and socialize more. Like a puppy.” He shrugs. Grev flips him the bird.
“It’s true,” August jumps in, and we all look at her in shock. “Not about Ravena,” she waves us off, “Bjorn is on his own with that theory. But he does have the worst taste in music.”
“Ah, gee, thanks darlin’. Thanks for having my back.”
“I’ve got your back. But I also speak the truth.” August smiles, then puts a spoonful of roasted butternut squash on Bjorn’s plate. “It’s good for your cholesterol.”
“Koru. Tell August that orcs don’t have to worry about their cholesterol.” He rolls his eyes.
Koru shrugs, a tiny smile on one side of his mouth. We’ve also had this conversation recently. Must be the hint of spring in the air—August and I are excited for fresh vegetables, not things that have been stored in a fridge for months.
“I think I saw a sprig of green today on my walk,” I say, letting whatever thoughts I have in my mind wander freely. “Does spring come earlier here than on the mainland? Because of the tempering effect of the ocean? Or later, because of the tempering effect of the ocean?”
“I saw a snowdrop the other day, too!” Anne says. She seems sweet. Sweeter than her mate, Urk, who sits with his arms crossed glaring at his brothers.
I look to August for help. She just shrugs. I look at Koru, who also shrugs. “You grew up here. I feel like you should know how the weather works.” Now I look pointedly at Grev.
“Yes, spring tends to come earlier here than the mainland. Mostly. The northern current runs down the western side of the island, so that side is significantly colder, and wind-worn. Also, the mountain is late, comparatively speaking. I’m sure Bjorn can speak to late season frosts that happen every year, causing unprepared folks to need rescuing.”
August coughs, her cheeks red. Bjorn glares at Grev, cracking his knuckles. Eventually, Grev realizes that he overstepped and tries to backpedal. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you. Wasn’t even thinking of you.”
“Clearly,” Bjorn snorts.
“And time for dessert!” I shout, standing, ready to avoid any bloodshed over dinner. While I’m in the kitchen, I can hear their friendly fire gaining heat. These orcs and their tempers. Cake in hand, I rush back out, tripping on my way to the table. The cake arcs through the air, a graceful swan of a cake. I hear gasps, an “oh shit!”, and I’m pretty sure I shriek.
Koru, my hero and lover and protector, catches the cake with both hands, like it’s a bundle of baby, and sets it down on the table with the biggest and stupidest grin on his face that I’ve ever seen. Frosting splattered all up his arms and across his chest. The temptation to lick it off him is great.
Everyone erupts in claps and cheers. I cry.
“Why are you crying?” Koru whispers, holding me close with his sticky cake fingers. No one is paying me any mind. They’re all digging into the cake now. Literally. With their hands. A cake free-for-all.
“I don’t know. Hormones? Overwhelmed with gratitude? Put to shame by your amazing reflexes.” I cough a laugh at the last one.
He kisses the top of my head, taking a moment to breathe in and out. “No need to be ashamed. We all have our own gifts. Yours? Infinite in bed. And in the kitchen. And talking to people. And thieving. Mine? Brewing beer. And beating up my brothers. And now, catching flying cake.”
We grab our forks and join the others at the table. No one bothered to scoop cake onto a plate but eat the cake communally from the middle of the table. Bjorn isn’t even using a fork, just his hand. He keeps smearing little bits on August, then licking it off.
“Get a room, you two!” Grev growls, but even he is laughing.
My heart swells at my new family. Gratitude to Koru, for loving me even though we started out so rocky. Gratitude that even with Addy getting settled in her new apartment, she’s coming to visit next month. And gratitude that I get to write my own rules from now on. I get to call my own shots. I work a job I love at the library. And I have an orc whom I adore, and who adores me. And I have friends. Camaraderie.
––––––––
L ATER THAT NIGHT, TUCKED into bed after washing the dishes and the table—literally, Bjorn brought in a hose and hosed the table down—I roll over to Koru to tell him how happy I am.
He’s snoring. His septum ring moving ever so gently with each growly snore. I wonder if they make nasal strips in orc sizes?
Carefully not to wake him, I undress, then roll on top of him, licking from his hard stomach up to his nipples, then down again. Down, down, to where his cock springs up for me. On demand. I smile.
Koru’s eyes are still closed, but he’s no longer snoring. Faker. I run my tongue from root to shaft of his thickset, sturdy cock, admiring the shine I give it. It’s a beautiful sight to behold. One hand on his balls, one on his cock, I slide my hand up and down his shaft along with my mouth. Rolling the head with my tongue each time. It’s a stretch to fit all of him in my mouth. The stretch feels good; I imagine my pussy stretching to take him as he fills me.
He groans—a rumble that I feel through all of me. His fingers tangle in my hair, guiding me. A little faster. A little harder. The hardness of him makes me wet with anticipation. Little ole’ me having this kind of power over him gives me chills.
“This is the best wake-up call ever,” Koru says. “My little flower. So delicious. So good.” I smile over his cock at his words. “You take my cock so well.” I love the way my spine tingles when he praises me.
His breathing comes heavier. I feel his balls contract in my hand. I imagine him coming in my mouth, on my breasts, inside me. I can’t decide which one to start with.
Luckily, I don’t have to pick. His hands still me, and he lifts me up, sitting me on top of him, his cock between us. “You missed,” I say.
“I’m not sure I’m that talented. Need an extra hand to hold my cock up.” He laughs, and I feel myself blush at the image of more than two hands.
“You need my cock.” It isn’t a question. I nod. He growls and I roll my eyes. You’d think I’d remember to say the words. But I still forget.
“Yes. I need your cock. Inside me. I need your cum.” His growl of pleasure ripples through me again.
I lift my hips high so I can sit on his cock. It’s a tight fit, but I get him all the way. Sitting with him all the way inside me, I’m smiling, proud.
“My good girl. You take me so well.”
We sit like that, staring at each other, smiling, loving the feel of each other. Then he twitches inside me, making me gasp and shudder in pleasure. Hands on his chest, I slide up and down him. His fat fingers dig into my hips as he guides me. We move together in sync. In unison.
Faster. His neck is tense, the cords visible as he works to control himself with me. When his fingers reach up to pinch my nipple, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger, I gasp, almost coming right then. His other hand reaches around my ass, feeling my bottom. “Too much,” I whisper, unsure of what I’m saying.
He twists my other nipple. That’s all it takes to send me over the edge, flying, milking his cock with my pleasure. He gasps, moans my name, his cum filling me, spilling out of me.
Exhausted, I collapse onto him, where he holds me. Cleans both of us. Tucks us back into bed.
“Just like the first time, my flower.” He chuckles to himself at the memory.
“So much better than the first time,” I say. The first time was delicious, but this was pure magic.
“Think we’ll continue to get better with age?” He’s groggy already.
“Like a fine stout.” I kiss his nose, then settle into him, content and safe.
“I love you, Poppy. I want you to be mine forever.” Every time he says those words, tears prick at the edges of my eyes. I don’t know why, and I’d love to get them to stop. I hate crying.
“Koru, I love you, too. But I need you to stop saying it.” Koru startles and snorts.
“Why on earth would I stop?”
“Because I need to stop crying every time I hear the words. It’s embarrassing and frustrating.” I slam my hand down on his chest. Not hard, just an emphasis.
“Oh Poppy, you are the cutest thief I’ve ever met. I will never stop loving you. And I will never stop saying the words. You cry all you need to until you believe me, all the way down to your toes.” He kisses me, gently.
Sighing, how am I supposed to argue with that? For crying out loud. Covering my face with my hand, I try to think up some new solution to crying. The only solutions I’ve got so far are either to plug my ears any time I think he might be about to say the words, or run out of the room when he gets that swoony look in his eye. Perhaps I could just blindfold myself when we make love.
After a few minutes, Koru stirs, shifts so that he’s up on one elbow looking down at me. “Poppy?”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me.” Reluctantly, I remove my hand and blink away the tears. “I want you to marry me. Be my wife.”
“Oh Koru. Are you asking me to marry you? I can’t believe you said that! Now look at me!” Red eyed, tears pouring down my face, nose running. “I’m a big fat mess.”
“Yes, I am. Never, you are beautiful. Even on your quote unquote worst day,” he growls into my ear. “I’ll take you with tear-stained cheeks. Rosy red with laughter or embarrassment. I’ll take your runny nose and raise you—sick in bed with a cold. I want you every day, every way. Because Poppy,” he pulls my chin up so I am looking straight into his eyes, “I love you.”
Undone. It’s the only word I have to describe the feeling inside me. All of me has come undone by this rigid, strong orc.
“If you mean it, Koru. Yes, I will marry you.”
“I mean it.”
And with that, I kiss him, tears, snot and all.