Chapter 12

Twelve

I squeak in fright, then recognize the now-familiar scent. It's Morg, and he presses a kiss to my neck, under the damp curtain of my hair.

"Mm," he rumbles. "I missed you."

I twist in his arms and put my hands around his neck, having to go on tiptoes to do it. "You scared me half to death."

He nuzzles his cheek over mine. "I'm sorry. I forgot humans can't hear as well as we do. I thought you heard my footsteps."

I kiss him, feeling very bold as I do so, and tease my tongue over his lower lip. He groans and opens his mouth for me. Our tongues touch, and a bolt of lust shoots through me. My body is demanding things, and I'm not sure how to give it what it wants.

But Morg knows, because he pushes me up against the wall and lifts me, supporting my ass in one large hand. I spread my legs for him, the skirts getting in the way until he shoves them up impatiently and fits himself between my thighs.

The sensations are incredible, even though we're still separated from each other by the fabric of my underwear and his leather pants. He rocks slowly, his kisses turning carnal.

"Anyone could see us," I pant—but I grip him tighter instead of pushing him away.

Morg sniffs at my temple, then bites down lightly on the shell of my ear. "I'll hear if anyone comes close. I won't let anyone see you, love."

I hook my ankles together behind his back, clinging on to him, and kiss him again. Morg's biting, demanding kisses wind me up like nothing else, and I need him desperately. I'm not even worried about us being in this fairly public space because I trust him to protect me—to protect our privacy.

But when he reaches under my skirts for the strings of my underwear, I freeze in his arms. Morg stops immediately, unhooking his fingers from my waistband.

"I'm sorry." He leans his forehead against mine. "I shouldn't have tried that."

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. "I want this."

"But not yet, aye, I understand." He lets me down gently.

My heart thumps painfully at the loss of his warmth. For a moment, I consider asking him to return to that lovely position, because I do want this—I want him. And yet…

"It wouldn't feel right." I fidget in place, trying to find the words to explain what I'm feeling. "Being, um, physically close with one of you while the other one was left out."

And that's the issue. Since last night, when we shared the same bed, and Torren promised me I wouldn't have to choose between them, I've been thinking about how I want to proceed. And while there are options for our future that include me spending alternate nights with each of them or something similar, I don't want any of that.

Morg takes my chin and lifts my face. "You're saying you want him there when I touch you for the first time?"

I squeeze my eyes shut at the embarrassment but finally nod. "Yes. I'd say the same to him if he asked."

He leans down over me and brushes his lips over my temple. "Then let's get him."

I gape up at him. "Now?"

He grins. "Aye. No time like the present." Then he sobers up and focuses that dark gaze on me. "If I have to wait one more hour before tasting your pussy, I'll go mad, Jasmine. The scent of you is…" He shudders, his grip tightening on my waist. "If you don't want me, you only have to say so. But if you do, I need you tonight."

"O-oh. All right." I swallow thickly, need and want pulsing through my body. "I do want you, Morg. So much." I push my hair back from my face, my fingers trembling slightly. "Do you know where he is?"

Morg wraps his arm around my shoulders and drags me along the corridor. "In his room, likely. He always retires there before dinner. He bathes, then reads in silence. Doesn't like to spend his time in the great hall because he's too much of a grump."

I pinch his side. "Must you always poke fun at him?"

Morg pats my backside. "If it pleases you, I will stop. But he makes it so easy."

I squirm away from him, my hands at my hips. "If we want this to work, we all have to make an effort."

He scowls at me. "You think I'm not making an effort, Jasmine? If I wasn't doing my best to hold back, I'd drag you back to my room and have my way with you, and we wouldn't leave the bed for a week."

I purse my lips, pretending to think. "Well, we can do that. But you'll have to catch me first."

I don't know what's come over me to tease him so, but his reaction is immediate. Morg mock growls at me, his tusks glinting in the low light, and lunges for me. I squeak, giggling, and take off, my boots slapping on the packed earth floor. But he's on me in a moment, warm hands closing around my waist. He swings me up and over his shoulder, so I'm hanging head-down. My braid slaps me on the cheek, and I yelp in surprise, then brace myself on his back, trying to get my bearings.

"Put me down," I demand. "This is not how you get in my favor, Morg!"

He buries his face into my skirts. "Your scent says otherwise, sweet Jasmine."

"Oh!" I gasp in outrage, then pinch his side through his tunic.

Morg only laughs and continues his way down the hallway.

"Torren won't be happy if you carry me into his room like a sack of grains," I hiss as we pass a middle-aged orc couple looking at us curiously.

The woman, whom I've never met before, calls after me, "Do you need us to interfere, love?"

"No," I reply, waving at her, "but thank you for asking!"

She snorts. "Have fun."

I really should be more embarrassed that Morg is putting on such a display, but at least he's not carrying me through the great hall but taking a detour through some of the less crowded corridors.

"Torren will take one sniff at you and try to murder me, probably," Morg says conversationally as we round yet another corner. "I would, if he brought you to me smelling so good."

I don't want to get into this conversation while hanging upside down, but I really think there's more going on between them than either one of them wants to admit. Their enmity feels charged, as if they're both saying and doing things they don't mean just to get under the other's skin. I cannot wait for it to snap, because I have a feeling the explosion will be delicious.

Soon, Morg stops in front of the door to Torren's room. He knocks, two heavy thuds on the wood. The door swings open, which I only note because I see the bottom of it move. That means that Torren is now faced with my backside—and likely Morg's smug face.

"Hello," Morg says cheerfully. "We've come to fuck."

"Gods, Morg, you are the most insufferable orc who has ever lived," I shriek, thumping him on the back with clenched fists, not that it does any good. "Put me down this instant."

"Er," says Torren. "What?"

My face, already burning from being turned upside down, flames even more. "I'm so sorry," I tell him when Morg marches right past him and into the dimly lit room. "This was not my idea, and I can't believe he—eep!"

Morg swings me from his shoulder and sets me on my feet. All the blood rushes from my head back to my legs, and I sway in place, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

Torren grabs my elbow and snarls at Morg, "What are you doing? You can't treat a human like that."

Morg, to his credit, looks slightly abashed. "I'm sorry, Jasmine. Are you all right?"

I put my hand to my forehead, nodding slowly. "Give me a moment."

Torren leads me to his armchair and gently helps me sit. He's so massive, he blocks my view of the room completely, and all I can see for a moment is him, staring down at me with concern in his dark eyes. He holds my hand lightly, as if I'm one of his precious creations, then brushes a lock of my hair back from my face. His fingers are so warm. He touches my skin, and I instinctively lean into the touch.

He hums appreciatively, cupping my face with his big hand, and runs his thumb over my cheek, down to my mouth. We've done this before, kissed and touched, but not with Morg present. He puts his thumb in the middle of my lower lip, and I open my mouth just enough to flick the tip of my tongue against his finger. His inhale is quick, his nostrils flaring, and I know he must scent my need.

"So," Morg says from behind Torren's back. "Shall we do this or not?"

I pull away from Torren's touch to hide my face with my hands. "Oh gods."

Why I thought this would be anything other than mortifying, I have no idea. But when Morg put his hands on me, my mind immediately went to Torren, just like I couldn't keep Morg out of my head during Torren's kisses. They have become inextricably linked in my head, and trying to move forward with one while ignoring the other seems impossible.

Torren slowly turns and focuses on the other male. Who is now lying on Torren's neatly made bed, his boots off, his arms tucked under his head as if he hasn't got a care in the world. I wish I could shake some sense into Morg, but he apparently can't help himself—he's doing exactly the things that are guaranteed to infuriate the older orc.

"What are you doing?" Torren demands, his voice rough and low.

Morg rolls to his side and pushes himself up on one elbow, propping his head with his hand. "Well, see, Jasmine and I were kissing just now," he says, winking at me.

Torren meets my gaze, and I nod without looking away from him. Something flashes in his eyes, jealousy perhaps, but spiced with a good deal of heat. He dislikes that it was Morg's kisses that brought me here, but he's not disgusted by the thought at all.

Torren turns back to Morg. "What has that to do with me?"

Everything!I want to scream at him that they should stop pretending that they don't care about each other. But perhaps that's why I'm here. Maybe I'm the glue that will make them fit together after all this time.

The thought is preposterous. But I can't convince myself it's entirely wrong.

Morg now grins at Torren, his gaze sharp. "When we tried to more than kiss," he continues, "Jasmine expressed her worries over you not being part of the act. So we came here to include you."

I stand, marching forward. "That's not what I said, and you know it."

He's being deliberately annoying, and I think I know what's wrong.

"You think I rejected you, don't you?" I ask softly, nearing the bed. "You think that because I asked for Torren, I somehow don't find you enough?"

Morg turns his gaze away from us, and I know I hit the truth in one. I cast a glance at Torren, who's now staring at Morg with an inscrutable expression, his arms crossed over his chest. I give him a small smile, and the tension around his eyes softens. Then he lets out a long breath and gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

He's with me. Whatever happens here, he's with me—with us—and that feels like a victory. Now I only have to get my stubborn Morg to agree.

"I didn't reject you." I sit next to Morg on the bed and, feeling very daring, place my hand on his thigh. The muscles bunch under my touch, but he doesn't react otherwise. "And you misinterpreted my words," I add. "I'm sorry if I let you believe otherwise. I only wanted to say that I couldn't move forward without having a conversation with Torren."

"Right," Morg mumbles. "So talk."

I let a long breath out through my nose to calm my nerves. If I bungle this, I'll ruin more than just my own happiness, I know it.

"What do you want to do, Jasmine?" Torren asks.

We both turn to glance at him. He's staring at me, his dark gaze burning, and I know that I have to go for the truth. The whole truth, not some prim version I've spouted ever since they both claimed I was their fated mate.

"I want you," I breathe. "Both of you. I never expected this to happen, and I'm sorry if I caused you pain with my indecision. But the more I learn about you, the more I find it difficult to choose. I think doing so would hurt all of us very badly. And I'd like to see if we can make it work, together."

The words are wrenched from me, painful and sincere. I haven't even allowed myself to think them this clearly, and yet I find they ring with truth when I say them out loud.

Torren's gaze warms as he nods at me, and I sense how proud he is of me for daring to be bold.

Then he looks at Morg. "And you? What do you want?"

Morg opens his mouth, and I half expect him to say something flippant just to annoy Torren some more. But he sits up with a sigh and blows out a long breath. "Gods, I don't know. I always thought finding my mate would be easy. I don't do well with complications or finnicky things. You know that." He jerks his chin at Torren, who lets out a good-natured snort.

My heart shrivels a little at Morg's words. I sensed that about him. He's very straightforward and direct, and this must be agony for him, having to juggle not one but two relationships, talking about his feelings.

Then he takes my hand and squeezes it, hard. His fingers tremble slightly, and he stares at his knees when he adds, "But if this is what you want, I will try."

I frown at him. "No, that's not?—"

"Morg," Torren interrupts. "The truth."

Morg's head snaps up, his eyes blazing. I wrench my gaze from one to the other, aware of the changed mood between them. I'm not sure what Torren is implying, but the last thing I want is for Morg to feel compelled into a three-way relationship as some sort of favor to me. The thought alone has me feeling sick and more than a little confused.

"What of your truth, Torren?" Morg demands. "What do you want?"

The older orc stalks closer until he's looming over us both. Morg is tall and muscular, his shoulders broad from his work, but Torren is built like a warrior of old, a massive, hulking male. He's often quiet, he doesn't seem so large, but right now, he pulls himself to his full height.

"I want you to kiss Jasmine," he growls.

Morg's eyes widen, and his throat bobs as he swallows. "What?"

"You said you came here to fuck," Torren snaps. "So show me."