Grumpy Pucking Orc (Orcs on Ice Book 1), page 23
Jordan laughed, eyeing me. “Ice cream?” she asked.
I grinned, then turned to the server. “What do you suggest?”
“I’ll be right back.” She toted the plastic bag off and returned a few moments later carrying a tray with samples of all the dessert offerings.
“Ooh, Smith Island Cake.” Jordan winced. “I’m not sure if I can eat more than a few bites, though.”
I sniffed, then frowned. “None of these smell like food. They smell like plastic.”
The server laughed. “Because they are. Trust me, the ones you’ll get to eat are real. We have these plastic replicas to show customers.”
“If they used real desserts as displays, they’d melt or have flies dive-bombing them, or look really stale a few hours into service,” Jordan explained. “Lots of restaurants do this.”
I nodded, bemused by the idea of fake food. This would never work back home since the aroma was so unappealing, but humans didn’t have our acute sense of smell, and they were very visual.
Visually, these selections were attractive. But none enticed me without being able to scent the combinations of sugar, flour, spice, milk, and fruit.
“I’ll take a slice of the Smith Island Cake.” Jordan glanced over at me. “And let’s get the warm bread pudding with caramel as well. We can share.”
“No ice cream?” I didn’t intend for that to sound so whiney, but I was truly sad over not having what had become my favorite treat.
Jordan’s smile brought adorable dimples to her cheeks. “I have ice cream at home in the freezer and will gladly serve you some. If you’re coming home with me, that is.”
I perked up at that. As much as I loved ice cream, the best part of that offer was that I would be taking Jordan to her lack-of-furs bed and spending the night bringing her pleasure and having her body against mine.
The server returned with Jordan’s selections. I inhaled deeply and knew that my mate had made an excellent choice.
“Smith Island Cake is a bit of a local legend, although you can now purchase it all over the country,” she explained as she pushed the plate to a spot between us and handed me a fork. “In the early eighteen hundreds, women on Maryland’s Smith Island would bake this cake to celebrate the autumn oyster harvest.” She gestured out to the river, dark with lighted boats bobbing at the pier. “If you haven’t realized, Maryland has a love affair with the water and the bounty the Chesapeake Bay brings. The whole state is covered with creeks, streams, and rivers—all tributaries leading to the Bay and the ocean.”
I nodded, thinking of how, back home, we were all about the mountains, the stone, the caves. While we did have streams, rivers, and lakes, my clan’s territory did not have anywhere near the number of waterways that this state did.
“The cake has always been distinctive for its multiple thin layers. Usually there are anywhere from eight to ten, each with icing in between. No one is exactly sure how the unusual number of layers originated, but I like to think that the women baking the cakes had a friendly rivalry over who could create the thinnest and the most layers.”
“I am not a skilled baker, but I cannot imagine creating layers this thin without them breaking,” I confessed.
“Me either. But I’m sure it’s a lot easier with our modern automation.” She dug her fork in and scooped up a large piece. “The original was yellow cake with a chocolate buttercream, but nowadays there are lots of flavors, and the chocolate icing is usually fudge so it remains stable at a warmer temperature. It’s the official state dessert. And since Maryland is my adopted home, it’s my official favorite.”
She extended the fork toward me, and I hesitated. Courtship involved male orcs feeding the female they wished to marry, not the female feeding the male. But humans had their own culture, and I’d noticed Jordan doing many things that would be a male orc’s wooing actions. She occasionally purchased food for me. She planned some of our dates. I’d been thrilled that she was physically demonstrative, initiating many of our sexual activities.
Jordan leaned forward, touching the fork and the cake to my lips. I opened my mouth and let her feed me, my hand-axe growing hard at the gesture. The cake was good, an explosion of sugary crumb and sweet chocolate, but that all faded into the background of my sudden fantasies.
Jordan pushing me back onto her furless bed. Her restraining me with those small, fragile, white hands. Her issuing demands. Her taking control of my body. I would lie there, helpless as she used me however she wanted.
It wasn’t the sort of fantasy that a Clan Guardian should have. It wasn’t the sort of fantasy that a male orc should have. But the idea of this slight human having her way with me almost had me ejaculating in my pants.
“And now for the bread pudding.” Jordan pushed aside the cake, putting down her fork and picking up a spoon. “This isn’t a particularly Maryland dessert or even one originating in the U.S. It dates back to the Middle Ages in England and was a good way to make use of stale bread.”
I stared at the gooey mess with horror. Stale? Stale bread?
“Oh, stop!” She laughed. “It’s soaked in custard which is eggs, sugar, and milk. You’re going to love it.”
Again, she fed me a spoonful. In spite of the stale bread, this dessert was much better than the sugary cake, but not nearly as appealing as Jordan’s delight in feeding me.
Unable to resist, I picked up a spoon of my own and fed her some of the bread pudding. Caramel clung to her lower lip from the bottom of the spoon. That, along with her noise of pleasure, so like the one she made when I tasted her body, nearly undid me.
I put down my spoon, swiped my thumb across her lower lip, and licked the sweet caramel. The faint taste of her mouth made it all the better.
Her eyes darkened, and her lips parted as she focused on my mouth. “I think I’ve had enough dessert.”
The breathless tone of her voice increased the sweet agony of my need. “Me, too.”
I barely remember the tussle over who should pay for dinner. I barely remember the Uber ride back to her house. Everything was a blur until I took her in my arms and gave all of myself to her.
Jordan was my mate. My love. She held my very soul in her hands. And I would be nothing without her. Nothing. As I lay in her furless bed, her head on my shoulder and her chest rising and falling under my arm, I knew that now was the time.
In a week, I would be leaving with the team for a series of what the demon owner had called away games. It would be agonizing to be separated from Jordan for so long, but I’d made a commitment and felt as if I must see it through. But before I left, I needed to let Jordan know my intentions. I needed to tell her I wanted to make her my wife.
Chapter 30
Ozar
The following week went by in a blur. I spent every night with Jordan. Sometimes we joined her friends for dinner, and sometimes we ate only with each other. There were nights when she stayed at my apartment for the night, and nights when I slept at her house.
Unable to tolerate the lack of furs on her bed, I had asked Bwat for assistance and had a fifty-pound box of assorted pelts delivered to her house. These were much nicer than the odd-smelling ones I’d purchased at the Home Store for my own bed, and it had given me great satisfaction to place the red, gray, black, and white pelts of various textures throughout her house.
Judy had approved, making happy chirp noises and kneading her claws in the long hair of the ones draped across the back of Jordan’s couches. Jordan had seemed somewhat shocked when she’d returned to see my gift, but had let them remain in place, admitting that the furs were soft and warm, if not really her style of decor.
While my wooing was hitting new heights, the Tusks were on a descending trajectory straight to hell. Everyone was disheartened after Friday night’s game, and I was lucky if three orcs showed up for morning practices. Ugwyll was the only one who consistently joined me on the ice, and I’d taken to running through the Baltimore streets alone. Normally the disintegration of the team would have infuriated me, but thankfully I knew I’d only need to endure it another month or so, then Jordan and I would return to my clan, where I wouldn’t have to deal with such humiliating defeats or a team that wouldn’t follow my lead.
“Good skating today.” Ugwyll clapped a hand on my shoulder as we walked into the locker room. Eng had arrived but was dozing on a bench. Bwat was sorting through a box of books. Five other orcs were playing a dice game in a corner.
I grunted, glaring at the others. I might be leaving soon, but that didn’t make their indifference sting any less.
“How is the wooing going?” Bwat smiled up at me from the box of books. “Are you to be wed soon?”
I plopped down on a bench. “I believe I am ready to ask Jordan to be my wife. But I don’t want to approach this without thought and consideration. How do human women like a proposal of marriage to proceed? Should I set a tree on fire, prepare an offering of gold and incense, and hand-feed her pickled Xlinea?”
Eng nodded approvingly, but Bwat winced.
“What do you suggest?” I asked Bwat, because I valued his opinion far more than I did Eng’s.
“I have read of many human proposals, and the most popular ones seem to involve asking the female while at a sporting event with the request to marry projected on the large screens so that all the attendees can witness the joyous event.”
I shuddered at the thought of such a public spectacle. Besides, the only sporting event Jordan seemed to attend was our hockey games, and it wouldn’t be easy to orchestrate a proposal while I was on the ice and she was in the stands.
“In addition, human proposals involve gifting the female a ring with a large high-value rock,” Bwat added. “You’re supposed to lie down on the ground when presenting the ring. That way, the female knows you are not a threat to them.”
“Jordan knows I am not a threat to her,” I told him.
Eng shrugged. “Sometimes these things become tradition and continue to be done even if the original reason is no longer an issue.”
Bwat nodded. “Like the white dresses human females wear during the marriage ceremony. It is supposed to indicate virginity, but modern human females like to test the virility of their potential mates and ensure they can perform to their satisfaction before they bind themselves in marriage.”
“It’s a good practice,” I said. “I was happy to show Jordan how I would devote myself to her pleasure.” I assumed I should also show her I was sensitive to human culture and traditions. “A ring. A prostrate position while proposing. Is there anything else I should know about?”
“The element of surprise is important,” Bwat continued. “Some males hide the ring in food items, then propose when the female uncovers it.”
“She might chip a tooth,” I argued, horrified at the idea. “Jordan takes the care of teeth very seriously, and I don’t think she would appreciate that sort of proposal.”
“What if she swallowed the ring?” Eng asked. “It would be difficult to propose with the ring in her stomach. You’d need to make her throw it up, or sort through her excrement for the next few days.”
Ugwyll shuddered. “Neither of those options sound appealing.”
No, they did not sound appealing. “I think I will just do the basics,” I decided.
“Will you hold the exchange of vows here or back home?” Eng asked me.
I frowned in thought. “Jordan has many friends and family here, and I know she will want them to be present. Perhaps we can have two ceremonies—one here and one when we return home.”
Bwat nodded. “And excellent idea. Expect her to want several of her closest friends to stand next to her in lavish dresses as she delivers her vows. And you will be expected to have an equal number of your friends next to you as well.”
“I’m not wearing a dress, no matter how lavish it is,” Ugwyll informed me.
“The males wear suits made of penguins,” Bwat told him. “It’s a bird, so I guess the suits will be feathered, although they all seem to be black and white.”
Humans were so strange.
“I’ll wear feathers,” Ugwyll grudgingly agreed.
“After the ceremony, all the guests join together to feast and dance and drink to the point of excessive inebriation,” Bwat continued.
“I’ll absolutely wear feathers if there’s a feast involved,” Eng said.
“You and Jordan will receive many gifts of toasters and Instant Pots, which you can promptly return for cash.”
“I think you should keep these gifts,” Eng informed me. “An excess of toasters and Instant Pots must be the way humans show their wealth. You could display them in your home to show visitors how important you are.”
“Traditionally, her family pays for the feast, but in the newer generations, the male and female often contribute significantly, if not entirely, for the festivities. The male’s family usually pays for a dinner following a rehearsal of the vow ceremony, and the male pays for the honeymoon.”
All the orcs, including me, were intrigued. “What is a honeymoon?” I asked. It sounded like one of those fancy cakes or cookies that Jordan was always buying for me to try.
Bwat’s smile was smug. “A trip somewhere interesting for a week or two where the married couple have copious amounts of sexual intercourse.”
Eng snorted. “Why do they have to go on a trip for that? They can have two weeks of sexual intercourse in the male’s den.”
“And why does it need to be an interesting locale?” Ugwyll asked. “If they intend on remaining in the furs for two weeks, how will they ever know if something outside of their room is interesting or not?”
Bwat shrugged. “I don’t believe human males are as virile as orc males. Perhaps they need breaks and use sightseeing and shopping as a way to keep their females from becoming bored while they recover.”
All of us immediately made comments about how we would not require such diversions.
“We will return home immediately after our wedding, so perhaps a honeymoon would not be necessary,” I mused.
“I would recommend a short honeymoon at least,” Bwat said. “You will be living with your clan, so it does not count as a new and interesting place. Plus, you will both want to have lots of time in your furs before traveling.”
True. The very thought had my hand-axe twitching.
“There are some places in Baltimore that would provide a suitable honeymoon spot,” Bwat added. “They will bring you all the food and beverages you wish, so you do not even have to leave the furs. And the view out the window from the bed is very romantic if you book the correct room.”
It was an excellent idea. First step was to get a suitable ring. The next step was to propose before I needed to leave for our away games. Then Jordan would plan our wedding while I found an appropriate local room and a dining area for our vow-rehearsal dinner.
And then we would go home to live with my clan and build our family. We might only have one or two orclets, but I’d be with Jordan for the rest of my life and whatever offspring we had would be loved beyond all measure.
It ended up being far more difficult to find a ring than I had thought.
The first store was insistent that I purchase a thin gold band with a large clear stone, stating that this was the classic engagement ring. It might have been traditional among humans, but even though the stone sparkled, the lack of color made it feel empty and devoid of emotion. The second store steered me toward a series of giant cluster rings so big that I wasn’t sure Jordan would be able to use her finger while wearing it.
“I need to propose before we leave on Thursday, but I can’t find a suitable ring,” I complained to Sizzle, who was the only one in the locker room Wednesday afternoon.
The demon grunted, which I’d come to learn meant he wasn’t listening.
“Those clear stones are soulless, no matter how much they sparkle,” I added, thinking that such a bland stone would never convey the depth of my love for Jordan.
“Humans like them because they’re the most expensive of the gems. And clear stones go with everything. Human women like to color coordinate, and colored gems in a ring they’re supposed to wear for the rest of their life would limit their clothing choices.”
Huh. I guess the demon was listening after all.
“Is there another choice that isn’t so…bland?” I asked Sizzle.
He shrugged, his hands never pausing as he replaced the blades on our skates. “Emeralds. It’s not easy to find a sizable stone without inclusions, or one that has a truly vivid color. Plus, they look best with not as many facets. The flatter cuts emphasize the color, but that means you’ve got a stone that sparkles less than what is currently in style.”
I searched my phone and eyed the pictures of green stones. They were pretty but didn’t feel right.
“Her eyes are like the waters during a storm. Are there stones like that?” I asked.
Sizzle nodded. “Yeah, but smokey topaz are cheap as shit, and you don’t want to propose with some budget-ass stone. How about a ruby? Humans consider red the color of love and passion. And demons like them since they look like blood. Vampires too. And probably shifters. Can’t go wrong with red.”
I looked that gem up on my phone and recognized several of the ornate ring designs I’d seen at the second shop I’d visited.
“I like the color but hate the…fussy style.” I’d had to consult my translation app to come up with the word “fussy.”
Sizzle glanced up at the image I was showing him on my phone and winced. “Yeah. That is damned ugly. How about a solitaire?”
“I want something different. Something special. Something that not only shows how I feel but also says that I am an orc. This…” I pointed at the picture on my phone. “This looks like something a fae noble would give the woman his parents had contracted for him to marry.”
That brought forth a snort from Sizzle. “Yeah. It’s very fae, isn’t it?”
“No one has gems set in iron or hammered metal,” I complained. “No one has rings that don’t look like a thousand identical ones were produced and shipped to stores across the human world.”
