Chapter 7 #2
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, right now,” he replied, because he wanted it more than anything.
He wanted her more than anything. He knew how the words would sound.
They’d push away all the tentative conversation topics, all the hinting and alluding toward mutual attraction.
Steer her towards rejection, not for a second did he want her to feel that way.
The red wine swirling around his head made him bold.
As she turned to close the gate behind her, he reached out and pulled her close.
Brierley felt the bitter stab of Breht’s rejection.
Only to be pulled back towards the orc. Her eyes widened as his hand swept through her hair, gripping the back of her head.
She needed no guidance in finding his mouth, pressing herself against him.
His lips parted, and their tongues danced, dragging over one another.
The taste of wine was bitter on his tongue, a grounding tonic to their heated passion.
Brierley could feel the press of his tusks against her cheeks, the impression of them a new experience to revel in.
She’d never kissed an orc before, the touch of his tusks enticing, pleading her to explore more of their differences.
His eyes closed as he kissed her, a murmur growling in his throat.
She was divinity in all manner of ways. Giving him a rush that seeped straight into his groin.
His erotic need heightened when she raised her hands to cradle his head.
Her fingers caressed the tips of his ears, and he wanted nothing more than to lean into her touch. To lose himself in her affections.
He came away from her breathless. His dark eyes connected with hers, finding them in the wan streetlight. His heart was pounding, wanting more. Not wanting to push things too far. Too soon. He took her hand in his and kissed the knuckles. The graze of his tusks on the softness of her hand.
“I want coffee and so much more besides,” he whispered, growling into the silence of the night.
"I'd like that," Brierley invited.
The squeak of the gate opening as he pushed past it was music to her ears. Breht stood over her, all broad muscles and intense stares. She reached her arms up around his neck and pulled him down towards her.
The warmth of his mouth against hers offered a welcome dose of comfort. As his maw parted, his rough tongue danced with hers, and her fingers gently caressed the tapered tip of his ears. Unwittingly, he groaned at the soft touch.
But he pulled back, his breathing ragged. His clawed thumb hooked underneath her chin, tilting her gaze towards him. He gave her a swift, chaste kiss on her painted lips before stepping away.
"We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the effort it cost him. "And you deserve better than a man who's still half-drunk and emotionally raw."
Brierley's disappointment was visible, but she didn't push. She simply smiled and nodded, understanding without needing words.
Breht closed the creaking gate behind him.
Sealing their fates to spend the night apart.
The jingle of her keys had him turning back, just to make certain she got through the door safely.
His fingers twitched in a small wave as she turned his way, and her heart-warming smile endeared him further towards her.
Brierley had been right. It was a long walk back to his hotel, but the night air and time to himself did him some good.
His thoughts swirled with something far deeper than the evening's wine.
Switching between the fight he'd had with Rosani, his renewed passion for his line of work and what that meant for his future.
He was set to inherit Merloft Corps. Which would mean less time working with businesses like Ohpaua and more time stuck behind the big office desk his Ma cherished so much.
Most prominent of all was the feeling that Brierley caused; there was something stirring in his chest for her, and it wasn't fleeting desire.
It was the kind of feeling that made him want to be better.
To be worthy of her trust. The way she'd looked at him when he pulled back—not angry, but understanding—told him she saw something in him worth protecting. Worth waiting for.
With his thoughts still broiling over him like a dangerous thundercloud, he arrived in the small hours of the morning at The Three Seashells.
The white-fronted hotel was basic compared to the usual high-rise hotel complex he stayed in while away on business.
He almost tripped over a picnic bench that was in the small front garden and apologised to a tree for bumping into it.
Inside, it was homely; the floral decor of his room was outdated and quaint.
But the bed was comfortable, and the shower was hot. It was perfect.
He opened the door to his room with an antique key, rather than a card.
Quaint. Nudging the door closed with his heel, he reached the double bed and slumped down onto it.
Face forwards. The frills of the pillow tickled his face, but he made no attempt to move.
The gentle sway of wine rocked him, quietening his fraught overthinking.
Soon, deep, even breaths filtered from his nose as sleep rapidly took him.