Chapter 12 Korgan #3
So I tell her. Between kisses and touches and the slow exploration of skin, I explain the trials. The hunts and challenges and tests of strength that marked my transition from youth to warrior.
She listens, asking questions, learning me the way she learns recipes—with complete focus and genuine curiosity.
When I slip her jeans off, she shivers. Nerves.
"We can stop—"
"Don't you dare." She pulls me back down. "I'm just... you're really here. This is really happening."
"I'm here." I nibble her shoulder, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. "Not going anywhere."
She arches into me, hands gripping my shoulders. "Good. Because I have plans."
"Plans?"
"For you. For us. For—" Her breath catches when I kiss lower. "—for after we destroy the producers and win this whole ridiculous show."
I laugh against her skin. "Confident."
"You gave me ammunition. I know how to use it."
Smart and fierce and trusting me with her vulnerability. How did I ever think I could stay distant?
We move together slowly at first, learning rhythms. She's soft where I'm hard, giving where I'm solid. Her hands map scars and muscle while mine trace curves and freckles.
When I finally push inside her, she gasps my name like a prayer.
"Okay?" I hold still, trembling with the effort.
"Perfect." She pulls me deeper, legs tight around my hips. "Move. Please."
So I do. Set a rhythm that builds slowly, watching her face for reactions. She's gorgeous like this—unguarded, present, completely with me.
"Korgan—" Her nails dig into my back. "Don't hold back."
"Don't want to hurt—"
"You won't." She rocks against me, demanding. "I trust you. Stop being so careful."
Something breaks loose in my soul. The control I've been maintaining since the pavilion, the careful restraint.
I grip her hips and move harder, faster. She meets me thrust for thrust, fierce and fearless. The bed frame protests. Neither of us cares.
"Yes—" She's breathless, flushed. "Like that—"
I hush her with my lips to swallow the sounds she's making, aware despite everything that walls are thin and contestants are waking.
She breaks the kiss to gasp against my throat. "Close, I'm—"
"I've got you." Shift angle, find the spot that makes her arch. "Let go."
She does. Comes apart in my arms with my name on her lips, clenching around me. I follow seconds later, burying my face in her shoulder and breathing her name like an oath.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, sweaty and boneless. Trinity traces lazy patterns on my chest, her breathing gradually slowing.
"So," she says eventually. "That happened."
"Eloquent."
She pinches my side. "I'm allowed to be incoherent. You scrambled my brain."
"Fair." I move my lips against her hair. "You scrambled mine first."
"In the pavilion?"
"Earlier. The flour fight."
She laughs, the sound soft and content. "That was an accident."
"Was it?"
"Mostly." She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me. "I didn't expect you to retaliate."
"Competitive instincts."
"Mmm." She traces the scar on my shoulder. "What happens now? With the producers, the show..."
"Depends on how they handle the evidence going public." I check my phone on the nightstand—5:47 AM. "Thirteen minutes until the journalist runs the story."
"Think they'll try to suppress it?"
"Too late. I sent copies to four different outlets plus social media backup accounts." I grin. "Tech Guy was thorough."
"Remind me to thank Tech Guy."
"Intimidate him first, thank him after. Maintains the dynamic."
She laughs again, then sobers. "Korgan. What if they cancel the show? What if this ruins everything—"
"Then we walk away together. You go back to your bakery, I figure out what an exiled orc does in the human world. Maybe I learn to bake."
"You'd be terrible at baking."
"Probably. But I'd try."
She kisses me softly. "I love you."
The words hit harder than I anticipated. Sweeter.
"Say it again."
"I love you, you stubborn, tactical, occasionally thick-headed orc."
"Better." I roll us over, pinning her gently. "Again."
"I love—"
My phone explodes with notifications. Buzzing so aggressively it vibrates off the nightstand.
Trinity yelps. I catch the phone before it hits the floor, look at the screen.
Fifty-three messages. Seventeen missed calls. Three email alerts.
The journalist's story went live early.
I pull up the article. Front page of their website, complete with video stills and damning email screenshots:
REALITY SHOW SCANDAL: Producers Fabricated Evidence Against Contestant, Bachelor Provides Proof
Trinity reads over my shoulder, eyes widening.
"They printed everything. The emails, the editing script, your video—" She scrolls faster. "Oh my god, Melissa's agent is already denying involvement—"
"Too late. Email thread has her signature on three separate messages."
My phone rings. Hammond's number. I decline.
Rings again. Borgat this time. I answer.
"Have you seen the news?" He sounds almost gleeful.
"Just now."
"It's trending. Internationally. 'Heart of the Horde Scandal' is number two worldwide on social media, right behind 'Orc Bachelor Declares Love.'"
Trinity covers her mouth, eyes sparkling.
"Good press?" I ask.
"Excellent press. For you, for the clan, for inter-species relations in general. Hammond and the production company, however..." He chuckles darkly. "They're finished. Network's already distancing themselves."
"And the show?"
"Unclear. But Korgan—regardless of what happens with the show, you have clan support. Full support. Bring Trinity to the next gathering. Let the elders meet the human worth all this chaos."
"She might be terrified."
"Good. Means she's smart." He pauses. "I'm proud of you. Your father would be too."
My throat tightens. "Thank you."
"Now go handle whatever happens next. And Korgan—enjoy the victory. You earned it."
We disconnect.
Trinity stares at me. "Did your terrifying clan elder just say he's proud of you?"
"Apparently."
"And invited me to an orc gathering?"
"You don't have to—"
"Are you kidding? I'm absolutely going." She grins. "I'm going to bake something that will win over every elder in attendance."
"They're hard to impress."
"So was a certain grumpy orc. I have a good track record."
Someone pounds on the door. Hammond's voice, frantic: "Dongoran! Lewis! We need to talk, now—"
Trinity and I look at each other.
"Ignore him?" she suggests.
"Definitely."
We stay in bed, wrapped around each other, while the world burns and rebuilds outside.
Together.