5. Tark
Chapter 5
Tark
M y mate was curvy, pretty, and I would crawl many cleks if that would impress her.
And she was surprisingly strong for such a tiny thing, toppling me to the wooden floorboards where I landed hard but still managed to somehow keep from crushing her or hopefully causing her more pain.
Panting and with her brown eyes wide, she stared down at me from where she sat across my waist.
Even if the mating mark hadn’t appeared on my wrist when I touched her, she made my heart flop around, which meant she was the one .
As she braced her palms on my chest, her long, dark brown hair hung in her face. It was all I could do not to reach up and stroke my big fingers through it. I'd be sure to snarl it up if I did something like that, which I didn't want to do, so I clenched my hands to fists at my sides instead.
Tiny brown constellations dusted her nose and her pink cheeks, and her brown eyes… I’d never seen any that color. We orcs universally had dark, almost black eyes, never the color of the wet soil squishing beneath my boots. Squishy, mud-colored eyes were amazing.
“Gunshots,” she barked, more breathless than she should be from such simple activity.
Such an embarrassment that her slight weight could knock me to the floor. But it wasn’t surprising. Again, my foot had snagged on something; otherwise, I would’ve held my footing when she lunged.
Why had she lunged herself at me?
My cock didn’t seem to mind her sitting on top of me, however. It stiffened, thrusting itself against the thick fabric of my pants—and against the juncture between her thighs.
Dungar had made it quite clear we were not supposed to present our cocks in any way, shape, or form to the human females until they’d made it clear they wanted to see them. A “little lady” was to be treated with utmost respect at all times.
I was ruining this already. While I wasn’t exposing my cock to her, it had decided to take control and thrust itself up between us. At least my pants would keep it out of view.
Would she notice? Maybe she wouldn’t, and I could adjust my clothing and pretend it never happened.
She gaped down at me. “Gunfire. Stay down.”
“It’s fake,” I said, finally realizing what she was saying.
She released one blink. “What?”
“Fake gunfire.”
“Oh, jeez, you're right. Stagecoach robberies.” She smacked her forehead. “I forgot already.” When she shifted her body, her wide eyes shot back to mine. “You’re getting a woody.”
“Woody…?”
She bobbed her head in a nod.
“Ah, yes, the term makes sense. As solid as wood. Such an interesting word for a cock. Humans have the oddest way of stating things. Hard-off.”
She gaped down at me.
“No,” I said. “Hard- on .”
“Yes, on.” Her lips twitched and a frown creased her forehead.
“Stuffy,” I added. “Booner.”
“You’ve been researching online, haven’t you?”
I grunted. We weren’t sophisticated orcs, but my brothers and I were learning quickly. “I didn’t actually study the terms, but one of my brothers mentioned them one night when we sat together in the saloon, enjoying a beverage called beer.”
“Beer,” she said.
“We sampled it for the first time to see what it tasted like. We were told to order lots of it for the saloon, and we did. It tasted so good, we each had five glasses.”
“Five?” Her eyebrows lifted. “I bet you were feeling that in the morning.”
“Such a headache.” I rubbed my temple and scowled. “We haven’t drunk any since.”
“I can see why,” she said with a bright laugh. “You know, this is social media gold. Not the headache but maybe you and your brothers bellying up to the bar, each holding a mug full of frothy beer.”
“No more beer.”
“You wouldn’t have to drink it.”
Did she really think viewers would be interested in something like that? I told myself when I hired her that I’d let her figure this out. And I promised myself I would make sure she never discovered the mess I’d made before I hired her.
“I’m not getting a woody or a stuffy or a booner,” I said, resisting the urge to thrust it up against her.
“If you say so.” She climbed off me and stood, looking down at me.
Sharga took that opportunity to fly across the room and land on my chest. He plucked his way around, meowing.
“That’s a funny bird,” she said. “I didn’t know they could meow.”
“Ravens can mimic others. He’s trying to sound like Podar, my bobcat.”
I sat up and willed my cock to lie along my thigh, though it resisted. Sharga scrambled up to perch on my shoulder.
“Do you need to go take care of it?” she asked, gaping at my cock poking away at my pants.
“What should I take care of?” I asked, rising to my feet.
“Your cock’s gouging the front of your jeans. I was just suggesting you might want to… relieve the pressure.”
Sharga meowed from my shoulder as if he agreed. Silly raven.
“We must ignore my cock for now,” I said.
She nodded slowly. “Sure. I can do that. Tell me about your bobcat.”
“I found Podar with his leg in a trap. His leg had to be removed, but he does well. He likes living with me, as does Sharga.”
“Was Sharga also wounded?”
“His wing was broken.”
“And you nursed them both back to health.”
“I love my friends.”
“That’s incredibly sweet. Such an awesome thing to do for wounded wild creatures.”
My chest knocked against itself like something trapped inside wanted out. People didn’t usually say things like that to me. Her words left a splinter under my skin, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
My damn face got hot again, though I liked her saying things like that. “Greel and Ruugar must've decided to practice stagecoach robberies with Dungar riding to rescue our passengers. No passengers today, but soon. Once the town opens. Which it will. In a few weeks.” I clamped my hand over my mouth before it continued spouting nonsense. “I’ve read tourists adore this activity,” I mumbled around my fingers. “Though I can’t imagine why they’ll have fun shooting someone else and watching them collapse on the street.”
I’d said the very same thing to my brothers, and we’d all shrugged. I scratched the back of my neck. “The tourist always wins the battle.”
“That’s good PR.” She craned her neck to look out the window at the street. “Will they practice with the stagecoach again? I’d love to make some videos of that.”
“Each day until the town opens to guests. I’ll make sure you have the chance.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Very.”
I waved toward the small kitchen behind the saloon’s bar. “Then please allow me to prepare a meal for you.”
“You cook?”
“That I do, ma’am. That I do.”
My voice sounded bigger than I felt. I didn’t know if she’d like the food, or laugh at it, or smile and leave me in silence afterward. Still, I reached for the skillet like it might turn into armor if I held it right.
When she snickered in a kind way and followed me toward the kitchen, I realized this Wild West terminology might actually help me win my mate.
A far as I was concerned, Gracie was mine.
I just had to convince her of that fact.