Page 13 of Alien Orc's Prize

He recoiled, his gaze finally snapping upwards from my mouth to my eyes.

“What was that?” he demanded, his brows coming together indignantly as if to gingerly hug the spot I’d so rudely accosted.

I almost apologized. I’d flicked him without thinking, doing something I’d done countless times before, although never to a glowering orc prince. But then I remembered what he’d just told me.

That I never needed to apologize.

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even as my heart slammed up into my throat at my own boldness.

“It’s something I used to do to my sister all the time,” I explained. “She’s kind of a worry wart. Whenever she got toobogged down and anxious about the future, I’d flick her like that. It would always distract her and make her laugh, at least a little.”

Prince Gal was silent for a moment. When he spoke next, he didn’t meaningfully respond to a single thing I’d said besides to inquire, “Your sister has warts?” Then he cast an offensively suspicious glance down at my dress, as if I, too, had thousands of secret warts that would be revealed the moment the fabric was peeled away.

“That’s not what I said. Don’t make me flick you again,” I said primly, facing forwards on his knee. I grabbed the bread out of his big, green hand and ate the rest of it all up.

CHAPTER 10

GALBRATH

Iswung wildly back and forth between feeling offended and pathetically, helplessly aroused by my human wife’s surprising audacity.

She’d taken up her tiny human fingers like they were weapons andflickedme with them. As if I were a sea gnat that she’d decided to violently disperse.

I could not remember the last time anyone had touched me in such a disrespectful manner. Whenever the last time had been, it had probably been Althrop who’d done it.

But idiotic Althrop didn’t make my cock hard.

Luna did.

I’d learned my wife’s name, at least. That was something I could console myself with as my cock throbbed, neglected, in the constriction of my pants. Neena and Noona had both said her name at various times during the lively conversation the three of them kept up together. My sisters seemed to be quite taken with my wife, engaging with her throughout the meal, their eyes keen and bright as Luna’s cheeks bunched with her strangely pretty, tuskless smiles.

Jealousy flared that such smiles were directed anywhere other than me.

No. I got flicked.

Not that I’d done anything to deserve a smile from her. I sat behind and beneath her. Mostly immobile, silent, chair-like.

If a chair was capable of nearly ejaculating into its leathers every time its wife shifted her little rump, that is.

All in all, the meal was rather agonizing. I distracted myself from how good the curve of Luna’s waist felt beneath my hand by shoving bite after bite of food into my mouth, followed by several large flagons of mead and then several more tumblers of whisky, something I hadn’t partaken in since my father’s funeral.

I could handle my drinks just fine. But the smooth buzzing in my limbs was undeniable as the meal ended and I lifted Luna down to her feet before immediately standing up behind her.

“We are departing for bed,” I announced, my voice sounding oddly husky in my own ears. Neena and Noona jumped up and screeched their disappointed goodbyes at my wife, completely ignoring me, their elder brother and their prince, soon-to-be king. Their eyes lingered on Luna, and then on the doorway we exited through, long after I’d pulled her away.

It was only when Luna began gently trying to tug her hand from mine that I even realized I was still holding hers. My fingers wrapped all the way around it so easily. The pad of my thumb was nestled against the inside of her wrist, feeling out the pulse that flapped there like a manic, trapped bird.

Humans must have very fast heartbeats.

Never would I have imagined touching my new wife’s hand in such a way. Never would I have seen myself letting my thumb not just rest, but roam up and down the silken skin, as if I could not stand not to touch her. Never would I have anticipated the amount of irritation I now felt when she tried to pull her hand away.

“Stop that,” I grunted.

“Stop what?” Luna asked, sounding startled. She turned her head to look at me, her eyes lush and luminous in the low lantern light of the long, stone hall we now traversed.

“Stop trying to stop holding my hand.”

Ah. An eloquent and elegant sentence. Songs would be written of the great poet King Gal, who’d once ordered his new wife to stop trying to stop holding his hand. Right after he’d compared her face to cheese.