Chapter Six
He stands up from the table and holds out his hand.
I look at it for a second. His large, rough, capable hand that cleaned my windows this morning and made me sandwiches and works on roofs. The hand that held my jaw two nights ago when he kissed me until my legs stopped working.
I take it.
He pulls me up and leads around the counter, into the staff side, my side, of the shop. The narrow space between the back of the display case and the shelving behind me is small for someone his size, and he fills every inch of it.
My back finds the counter and my hands find the edge of it behind me. I grip it, even though I’m not entirely sure what’s about to happen.
He talked about taking care of dessert, so… Is he about to scoop me some ice cream or is he going to give me a lot more than that?
My breathing is shaky as I think about all the possible ways he’s going to serve me dessert.
He looks down at me, and I realize this has nothing to do with ice cream or rainbow sprinkles or cake—which I don’t even sell.
Warmth radiates off him, filling the tiny space behind the counter. My breathing is out of control, and he hasn’t even touched me yet.
But the way his eyes hold mine, there’s no doubt in my mind that what he’s about to do is anything but innocent.
I think of the ‘back in thirty’ sign I flipped earlier and how I didn’t lock the door. Let’s hope people can read, so they won’t try to come in here.
Should I mention this isn’t part of our fake dating arrangement?
Probably, but I don’t say anything.
Because I want this. I’ve wanted it since he walked into my shop the first time and looked at me like I was something worth finding.
So when he says my name, low and quiet, I don’t step back.
I bite my lip and wait. My heart is about to hammer out of my chest and my hands are shaking. He dips his head down and kisses me.
His hands are on my waist and my hips, and I let out a soft whimper. He kisses down my jaw and my neck, and I grip the counter harder because I need something solid to hold onto.
My knuckles go white.
Then he drops to his knees.
Holy… Fuck.
His warm, green hands slide up the outside of my thighs, pushing my dress up as they go, and I feel every inch of it, burning into my skin. My panties are soaking.
His palms are rough and hot. When they reach my hips, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my underwear and looks up at me.
The view from here is going to ruin me. This enormous green orc is on his knees in my ice cream shop, looking up at me like I’m the only thing worth looking at in the entire world, and he’s about to pull my wet pink panties down my legs.
“Yes?” he asks.
All I can do is nod.
He pulls my underwear down slowly, and watches my face the whole time.
I grip the counter so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.
Then his hands are back on my thighs, spreading them, and he takes a moment to just look at me. I should feel vulnerable, standing against the counter with my pussy bared to him, but I don’t.
I want this. God, how I want this.
I don’t know if he’s filing this under practice or if it’s something else, but I refuse to think about the reasons. Right now, I’m going to surrender and enjoy every second of it.
His mouth finds my clit, and every last thought I had disappears.
He starts slow. His tongue carefully drags over my swollen clit like he has nowhere to be in the next few hours.
His large hands are splayed across my thighs, and I’m grateful for it, because my legs have already started to shake.
His tusks push into my skin lightly, and I decide it’s my new favorite sensation.
“Oh, Broven,” I pant.
He makes a low sound against me that I feel everywhere, and my head falls back.
I’m gripping the counter with all my might.
Above Broven’s head are pink shelves with extra sprinkle jars and spare waffle cone sleeves.
The cool counter contrasts with Broven’s hot skin, and the edge of the marble is hard against my back, but I don’t give a damn because this gorgeous orc is on his knees in the middle of it all, taking me apart piece by piece.
It’s the most surreal and perfect thing that has ever happened to me.
I moan as his large tongue licks my wet folds open. He pushes inside my pussy, and my back arches off the cool counter. When his fingers join his tongue, I can’t do anything but buck against him.
“Oh, Daisy,” he growls, lapping me up.
I make a sound I’ve never made before and I’m very glad the shop has a ‘be back in thirty’ sign at the door.
“More,” I beg.
And holy shit, does he give me more.
Two of his thick fingers slide inside even deeper, stretching my pussy as they curl in a way that makes my vision blur. At the same time, his tongue works relentlessly, hitting sensitive spots I didn’t even know I had.
He drags his tongue out of my pussy, and his mouth glistens with my wetness. I have to press my lips together to keep from being audible from the street.
My hips move against him, and he lets me ride his face. I lose all sense of self-control as I slam my clit and pussy against his eager mouth. His hands loosen their grip on my thighs and become guidance instead of anchor, moving with me, encouraging me to ride him even harder.
He’s making sounds too. They’re low and satisfied sounds, like he’s enjoying this as much as I am, which does things to me I wasn’t prepared for.
I feel my orgasm build from somewhere deep. My toes curl and my thighs shake. My brain flatlines and goes completely offline.
I try to keep the orgasm at bay, because I don’t want this to be over yet. I don’t want him to stop. I want to stay exactly here in my shop with his mouth on me and his fingers inside me and the soft lilac walls around me.
But it’s useless. The orgasm is coming at me like a tsunami.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please.”
He presses his fingers deeper into my pussy and his tongue moves faster on my clit. I grip the counter with everything I have and come.
My orgasm rolls through me in waves, and he works me through every single one, my pussy walls clamping around his fingers in a frantic pace.
By the time it’s over, I’m limp against the counter with my dress bunched around my waist and absolutely no memory of my own name.
He stays where he is for a moment, pressing one slow kiss to the inside of my thigh, then another.
Then he stands and slowly wipes his face with his big wrist. He reaches out and smooths my dress back down over my thighs.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good?”
I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “That’s one word for it.”
He gives me a satisfied look. “I’m happy you enjoyed that.”
He steps back around the counter, picks up his jacket from the chair, and looks at me one more time.
“I’ll see you Friday. Rehearsal dinner.”
“Yeah,” I say.
He ducks out the door. The bell above the door chimes once and then there’s nothing but the hum of the display case and the sound of my own breathing, which is still not entirely back to normal.
I let go of the counter. My hands are stiff from gripping it. I flex my fingers and look down at them like they belong to someone else.
What the hell was that. I mean, it was… earth-shattering. Mind-blowing. I’m sure there are better ways to describe it, but I’m not an author. I scoop ice cream for a living.
I should flip the sign back. I should check the display case temperature. I should freshen up in the bathroom.
But I can’t move.
Willa’s voice comes back to me, clear as anything, the way it sounded this morning on the phone before I saw him cleaning my windows.
Orcs have fated mates, Daisy. You could be Broven’s.
I told her it was ridiculous, but I think about it now properly instead of filing it immediately under crazy and moving on.
Fated mates. One person, chosen. Certain and absolute and not something an orc would keep to himself if it were true.
Which is the thing, isn’t it?
If Broven thought I was his fated mate, he would’ve said something. He’s not a man who withholds information for sport. He’s straightforward and plain-spoken and he told me within five minutes of meeting me that he’d come to my ex-boyfriend’s wedding. He doesn’t play games.
So if it were true, he’d have said so.
Wouldn’t he?
I mean, what do I really know about orcs and how they approach the subject of fated mates? All my intel comes from reels on social media. That’s not exactly trustworthy.
After freshening up, I flip the sign to ‘open’ again and leave it ajar. I need some fresh air to cool off after being eaten out by a gorgeous orc.