Chapter 4
Addy
Well, I wondered. And now I know. They make these based on reality…right? As I hold the thick green dildo in my hands, noting that it takes both hands to reach all the way around, I send a hope to the universe that it’s right. And also, that I get a chance to experience it for myself.
I definitely do not feel the need to clench my thighs together as I contemplate the artistic rendering of the dildo. Or squash those butterflies deep down inside my belly.
When orc Santa—no, Leif—clears his throat, his rumble somehow travels through me.
Not only am I caught red-handed—green-handed?
—but his gaze seems to read my thoughts.
I hope orcs don’t have super-sensory hearing; I would hate for him to hear my heart pounding, trying to break my rib cage to get out.
Possibly worse—supersensory noses. I’ve read about those in my books.
The hero scenting her arousal. Geez, that would be terrible.
“Dry clothes, great! Thanks,” I say, voice squeaky, setting the dildo carefully on the sofa side table and walking away from the suggestive toys.
Hands out, he gives me the clothes without a word.
The zing when our hands meet is the same I felt earlier this evening at the festival.
I hope there isn’t some sort of nerve issue happening. That’s all I need right now.
“Bathroom this way?” I ask, pointing into the room he just came through. He nods; I scurry away.
I do not look at his bed. Or contemplate how big his bed is.
Or think about him in bed. Is it hot in here, or is it just me?
Bathroom used, face washed, giant orc clothes on, and tied as best as possible to keep them up—I had to cuff the pant legs too many times to prevent myself from stepping on them—I feel slightly better prepared to meet my kidnapper.
Even with my thick curves, the gray sweatpants are still trying to fall off of me.
I reappear to a completely serene scene.
Shivering before, I didn’t really take in his living space.
The fire roars in the fireplace. Above it is a painting of a ship at sea.
Lit candles glow along the kitchen counter.
He’s set up a plate of cookies and mugs with tea bags in them.
It’s a surprisingly heart-warming scene to see this giant orc being so domestic in the kitchen. And barefoot, too. It makes me smile.
Between traveling to the island today and the festiveness of the party, I am exhausted—hence my falling asleep in the truck.
“My phone is dead. Can I call Poppy to tell her where I am?” I ask in the kitchen, pulling out a chair to sit at the little table in the corner.
It’s hard to imagine that Leif fits in this chair.
“Poppy?” Leif sounds confused. He’s pouring hot water from the kettle into the mugs. The spicy, herbal scent wafts around me; it’s just what I need. Ravena’s drinks at the party, however delicious, were high on the sweet scale.
“My sister. She’s the reason I’m here.” Did he not know that?
“Oh, sure.” Cleary from his tone, he did not. Several seconds later, he says, “No. Lines are down. No power and no phone calls tonight.” My heart drops, but only for a moment, because then he’s next to me, a mug of tea for me. “Want to sit by the fire?”
Yawning, I nod, take the tea, and follow him back to the sofa. The dildo is still sitting there innocently, like a piece of art.
“Where’s your tree?” I ask, trying my best to be friendly and make conversation.
“Tree?” he asks with the same confusion as earlier. Thinking for a minute, he answers, “Outside.”
“You don’t have a Christmas tree?” I sip the tea, a lemony herbal blend.
“Oh, no. It’s just me. I don’t need a tree.” He waves off the idea.
“I hate to say it , but you might be perpetuating the stereotype of the Grinch,” I say with a tsk.
He looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head, so I clarify.
“You’re green, you don’t have a tree; in fact, your home, while nice, is devoid of any Christmas décor.
And, despite all that, you look good in a Santa hat.
” I end with a smile, so as to not completely offend the person keeping me warm during a blizzard.
He grunts, sips his tea, and I shove my laughter down deep. Does he know his grunt only reinforces my statement?
“I think even ‘just you’ can enjoy a tree with twinkly lights,” I say, surprised by the softness of my voice.
“In fact, I’ll help you! In the morning, we’ll get a tree and decorate it.
” Rotating on the sofa, with my knee tucked under me, I rest one arm on the back of the couch as I face him.
It feels vulnerable to sit open, facing him, offering to help him with a tree, which seems very personal.
He doesn’t say anything.
After our mom passed away, Christmas decorating was a sacred affair for Poppy and me.
We didn’t have much, and our stepdad didn’t always support us or pay for us to have a tree.
But we were determined. We’d drag in whatever Charlie Brown style tree we could and decorate it.
We’d string popcorn and cranberries and hang our homemade ornaments from school.
And at the top, we’d place the star we made together with a photo of our mom in it.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me that Poppy and Koru decorated their tree without me this winter. I get it; it’s their first Christmas together. But I’m still family, right? They knew I was coming.
Leif startles me out of my thoughts. His hand is close to my arm on the sofa as he leans in.
“If it bothers you that much, then you can help me get a tree. But please don’t cry.
” He gently wipes the tear off my cheek.
The tip of his finger is hot and rough and leaves behind a tingling sensation that travels down my neck to my chest and belly.
“Thanks,” is all I say, too tired and emotionally raw to explain it to him. I tilt my head toward him, bouncing over his absurdly muscular shoulder. As I let my head bobble back to upright, he wraps an arm around me, his hand flat on my back, and gently pulls me into him.
It’s awkward. I spill a little of my tea, hissing as I burn my finger.
Leif clucks and takes the mug from me, setting it next to the dildo, then adjusts us so it isn’t awkward.
We aren’t awkward. Curled up next to him, inhaling his scent of pine and cinnamon, watching the fire, listening to it crackle, I lower my guard and allow myself to relax.
“These clothes look good on you,” he says after a few minutes, plucking at the sweatpants along my knee.
“Yes, ‘wear your boyfriend orc’s clothes that will never ever fit you,’ is quite the growing trend.” Shit, did I just say ‘boyfriend?’ I bite my lip as a silent punishment to myself.
“Boyfriend orc, huh?” Yep, I did say it aloud. I can just melt into this couch and die now. There’s amusement in his voice, though he doesn’t smile. That doesn’t change my embarrassment.
“You know those fashion trends,” I wave my hand in front of us, “’boyfriend jeans,’ ‘boyfriend chambray,’ as if boys even know what a chambray is. That’s all I was saying. Not that you are mine.”
“Yet.”
That one word freezes everything in me, including my giant mouth. Hand frozen in space, lips twisted, about to speak, I blink at him. His tusks glint in the firelight as he eyes me with something more than plain amusement.