CHAPTER 3 — Where’s the Harm ? #2
Because how can he say that? His affection is just a bit split up, isn’t it? My mind screams HE HAS THREE OTHER WIVES RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DAMN DOOR!
There’s a long pause, and for a second I’m scared I screamed that out loud.
But Roarg’s expression is still soft with delighted wonder as he gazes at me.
“You say to me,” he instructs, eyes warm on my frozen face, “‘Roarg, be my lover and beloved. I will lean against your side, I will nurture you with my whole heart, and I will be your willing helpmeet all of our days.”
Wow. It’s horrifyingly impressive that he can recite marriage vows off the top of his head.
Then again, it isn’t like he hasn’t had triple practice.
I do not feel comfortable repeating marriage vows. No matter what happens in the next few minutes, that just feels wrong.
At the same time, I’m reminded of my options: sell myself as a whore to Orcs, or become Roarg’s wife. Do I have a choice?
I clear my throat, and my words come out hoarse. “Can I postpone saying these vows?” Like, forever?
Roarg gives me a soothing purr that has my skin prickling. With unhurried confidence, he kicks off his pants. “I’d like the chance to persuade you to give me your vows tonight.”
I’m forcing myself to look no lower than his wide, prominent collarbones. “Persuade?” I ask, gaze locking on his with apprehension.
He’s clearly experiencing different sorts of feelings.
His eyes are traveling up and down my body in my borrowed Viking-esque apron dress, and his nostrils flare.
He takes a deep breath, and I swear his shoulders get even wider.
“You are utterly lovely. You are also an otherlander of a kind I’m unfamiliar with,” he continues, sounding ultra curious.
When no sound escapes me, he cocks his head.
“What has led you to join my house this day, Stephanie?”
There’s a hummingbird trapped behind my breastbone, and my breath is kind of wheezing from my lungs. “Magic, I guess.”
His voice rises in surprise. His brows, though, crash low. “Magic? Not Dragonkind magics, I trust.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know how I got here—I was playing a game, the game said something crazy about me and an Orc, and—”
He takes a slow step toward the bed. And me.
“The next thing I know, I’m about to have my head cut off! Then an Orc wanted to buy me so I’d mop his floors, and this other Orc said he wanted to—”
I stop, my eyes shooting up to his.
He’s frowning. “You’re a slave?” His gaze slides to my cheek. The one my ‘tattoo artist’ spent the most time decorating.
I cup my hand over it. “I’m not a slave.
” I shake my head vehemently. “I’m really not.
Where I’m from, I’m free. I don’t know how I ended up being on that cart of prisoners, but I assure you it’s a huge mistake.
I realize you’ll be out my—my bride price, but I’ll try to pay you back.
I don’t know how yet, but I will try,” I promise.
Roarg raises one square knee to mount the bed on the corner farthest from me, and my wide-eyed gaze goes right to the heavy green stalk that juts proudly in front of his thighs.
I yank my eyes up to his, my mouth gaping in horror. First, because I’ve never seen an uncircumcised penis.
And Roarg? He’s rocking an uncut warrior.
Second, he’s getting hard—and he’s a grower. It looks like there’s an emerald aardvark inflating between us.
Roarg’s smile is both gentle, and proud. “How much was your bride price?” he asks conversationally.
“Thirrr—” I start. But then I stop, because I remember Namak?ga’s concern about her husband finding out what she paid.
And since she bought me and kept me from being beheaded or sold to someone possibly scarier than Roarg, who didn’t throw me down and use me like he owned me first thing—and no matter his proximity, hopefully won’t do any throwing down or using of me at all—I feel a little sliver of loyalty, and it stops my tongue before I inadvertently toss her under a bus. “You’ll have to ask Namak?ga.”
Something flashes across Roarg’s face. It’s there and gone so fast, I’m not sure what it is—but what’s left in its place is… approval. “I’ll do that.” And then he pats his leg, right next to his dick. “Come here. Let me rub—”
I vault off the bed and skitter to the very corner of the room, trapped because the door is behind him, and I have no hope of making it there without him grabbing me. Even if I did, it isn’t like this house’s occupants will help me. His wives threw me in here specifically for him, after all.
With the wall at my back, I try to appeal to anything good in him. “Look, no offense, I know you’re a better option than selling myself on the street or being a slave, but I don’t want to be your wife!”
All the sexual interest washes from Roarg’s face. He frowns, and then he sits back on his heels. (Which makes his aardvark rear up and bob its snout.) “You don’t want to be wed to me?”
I clench my teeth and swallow hard, shaking my head rapidly. “Please… no.”
“All... all right.” Roarg blinks away the sexy glazed look that came into his eyes when he saw me and started stripping out of his clothes.
He grabs a small pillow from the pile of pillows on his bed, placing it over his groin—and I’m not going to be the one to point it out, but it’s doing practically nothing to hide his jolly green sausage.
“I’ve never forced a woman and I won’t start with my wives—nor women who aren’t interested in being my wife.
” He gives me a tight, polite smile. “Fetch me Ulda, and go in peace. Sleep dreams of a summer harvest, Stephanie.”
His voice is sincere, and so is the shimmer of concern in his eyes.
But uggggh, NOT Ulda—no way can I go out there and report this change of plans to Ulda.
My gaze swings back to Roarg. Because of the two evils, Roarg hasn’t hit me twice. Roarg hasn’t even hit me once.
Also, she has really rough hands. At my forced bath time, she scrubbed me like I was a show pig caught rolling in the mud. (I’m still offended.) My skin tightens: it’s not over the memory of her treatment of me just yet.
So my options are sleep with this stranger, or go tell Ulda that Roarg let me off the hook and he wants her to set her baby down and come in and service him.
Yeah, I can’t imagine that going well. My hand flies to cover my ear just contemplating her reaction.
Roarg regards me, taking in the way I’m considering him. His brows lower, looking unsure, but his eyes are heating back up, interest turning them to a warm, freshly-ground ginger color. He licks one of his tusks. “Have you... changed your mind?”
I reach for my tankard of ‘settle me’ juice and down the whole thing.
It’s Ulda’s mean hand or this.
Roarg is handsome—he’s actually the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen, even if he’s not technically a human.
If I do this, it wouldn’t be the worst hardship in the world.
It will probably be less damaging than some of my experiences with human men.
And I’ll give him credit: Roarg hit the brakes when I balked.
Plus there’s the fact that his wives seem to like him a lot.
It’s weird how much that says about a man, but it does put a little of my worry at ease.
I wiggle my tankard in the air, waiting for the last drops to roll out onto my tongue before I clank it down on the nightstand. My gaze rises resolutely to Roarg’s.
Positive the alternative will end up with me scruffed and thrown back in here—possibly with auricular hematomas (a.k.a.
busted ears)—I gulp air and nod uncertainly in answer to his question.
“Yeah. Okay, I think I can do you. I mean, this.” I shake myself, feeling a buzz in my head as my muscles loosen one by one, infused by liquid courage.
“Can we get to know each other a little first?”
The line of his broad shoulders relaxes.
“That was my thought. I’d been about to offer to knead the tension out of you.
” He reaches up to rub along one of his huge arms, which, if I was still wearing panties (I’m not: the sisterwife trio stole them, insisting that I wouldn’t be needing them), they’d be smoldering as I watch his muscles jump and flex.
Noticing where my attention’s been snagged, he goes still, then deliberately bunches his arm for me, making his pec pop and his bicep swell—which makes my eyes go wide.
His smile is broad and warm. “I’m a blacksmith by trade, and I have three wives to my name, and two blessed brats.
” One of his brows goes up at the same time one half of his mouth rises in a mischievous lip quirk.
“Mayhap I’ll have four wives and a new blessed brat on the horizon. ”
My lashes flutter and my heart dives into palpitations. My brain screams, ARE YOU SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING UNPROTECTED SEX WITH AN ORC WHO THINKS IT’S OKAY TO KEEP A HAREM OF WIVES THAT HE brEEDS FOR MORE CHILDREN? Sorry: BLESSED brATS?
Between my legs though… there’s a worrisome heaviness starting, like all the blood in my body is pooling south, warming up all the sexing gears no matter how uncomfortable I may be with my circumstances.
It’s the contents of my tankard. I’m almost positive it contained an aphrodisiac brew, although some credit certainly goes to Roarg’s very fit body and his alarmingly good smell.
(I didn’t know burnt metal was a turn-on, but the longer I hang out in the corner, the more I catch the scent coming off of him, and I think it’s making me a little drunk.
Although I heavily suspect that my tankard was also mostly alcohol.)
My jaws loosen and I hear myself offer, “I’m Stephanie Miller.”
Roarg eyes me with interest, the sex-charged color of his eyes fading. “A miller’s daughter?”
“A long, long time ago, I guess.” Hundreds of generations and a couple centuries, probably. “Now my family does all sorts of stuff. Anything and everything that needs doing, really.”