Page 31 of Scoring the Orc
For a moment, we’re both lost in the aftermath, our bodies trembling, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. He holds me close, his hands gentle now as they stroke my skin, grounding me in the reality of his presence.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice both possessive and tender.
He kisses me again, a slow, lingering kiss that speaks of unspoken emotions. When we finally pull apart, he lifts me once more, carrying me to a nearby bench. He sets me down gently, wrapping a towel around my shivering form before sitting beside me, his arm around my shoulders.
He helps me dry off, something I am surprised by. When he turns to take care of himself, I dress in silence, my mind racing with my emotions toward Jurto. I’m not sure how to take him sometimes, but I just want him.
When I turn to leave, he catches my arm, pulling me back for one last kiss. “Remember, Emilia,” he murmurs against my lips. “You’re mine.”
“I know,” I whisper back, my heart swelling with a strange mix of emotions.
He smiles, a rare, genuine smile before turning and leaving me alone. I hate the way I ache for him as he goes, but I force myself to turn away.
As I walk back to my room, I can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. Things are changing between us, and I don’t know where it will lead. But for the first time, I’m excited to find out.
In my bed, I replay the events of the day, the way he was always there, watching me, the way he held me in the bath. It’s strange, but I feel a connection to him that I can’t explain. He’s still the orc who captured me, the one who has been both my tormentor and somehow someone that I’ve grown to want. But now, he’s something more.
20
JURTO
Energy thrums through my body as I stride through the base. I gave the team a week off from practice to rest before diving back in for our next big game – and I took advantage. I’ve fucked Emilia on every surface of my house by now.
Even though my mind should be focused on leading the drills at practice, I’m already thinking about her. I can still taste her on my tongue after having her for breakfast – and I’m ready for seconds. I have to will myself not to get hard behind the thin shorts as I approach my teammates.
“Jurto!” Borka shouts as I approach. “We haven’t seen you all week.”
I grunt as I walk past. “Why would I want to see your ugly mugs if I don’t have to?”
The team howls with laughter at that, but I notice a few watching me a bit too closely. It’s as if they can see what exactly has kept me away, and I’m not sure I like it.
“Alright!” I wave my hands. “Get over here.”
As the team gathers, I notice sly glances and murmurs rippling through the group. It seems rumors of my relationship with Emilia have spread, at least in some way. I can feel their eyes on me, assessing, judging. Some smirk, others look almost envious.
I narrow my eyes, scanning the crowd until I catch sight of Varg and his closest friends exchanging knowing looks. Varg is the first to approach me, a mischievous grin on his face.
“So, Jurto,” he begins, crossing his arms over his chest, “we’ve been hearing things. Interesting things.”
I grunt, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Oh yeah? And what interesting things would those be?”
He chuckles, and a few of the others join in. “Word around the base is that you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with a certain human. Emilia, isn’t it?”
I feel a surge of protectiveness at the mention of her name. “What of it?” I say, my tone sharper than I intended. “Last I checked, my personal life isn’t up for discussion.”
Varg raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no need to get defensive. We’re just curious, that’s all. She must be something special to keep you away from us for a whole week.”
The group laughs again, but there’s an edge to it. I can tell some of them are genuinely curious, while others seem to be enjoying the idea of me being distracted. I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool.
With a bellowing command, I silence the gossip. “Enough! Get to your positions and start the drills!” My voice echoes across the training ground, leaving no room for argument. The grumbling orcs comply, though their curious stares linger on me, their captain.
I stride towards the center of the field, my eyes scanning the team as they reluctantly fall into formation. The tension is palpable, but I refuse to let it distract me. “We’ve got a big game coming up,” I remind them, voice firm. “I expect nothing but your best.”
The drills begin, the rhythm of our practice routine a familiar comfort. Varg and his group are still casting sidelong glances my way, but they focus on their tasks when I catch their eyes. I push them harder than usual, channeling my frustration into the training. The sound of feet pounding the ground, the grunts of exertion, and the clash of practice weapons fill the air.
“Faster!” I shout as they run laps. “Stronger!” as they spar. I need them sharp, focused. And I need to remind them—and myself—of what’s at stake.
As the practice continues, the initial murmurs and whispers die down, replaced by the disciplined shouts and responses of a well-trained unit. Sweat pours down their faces, muscles straining as they give it their all. I keep a close eye on each one, correcting stances, adjusting grips, demanding more.