I clutched my hands in his coat, finding his gaze almost glowing down at me in the dark room. "We don't need one."
He held still as I undid the buttons of his jacket, pushing it back on his shoulders.
"Miss Nix, that's not necessary—"
"You don't sleep in your dinner jacket normally, do you?" I asked, trying to keep the words light but only hearing a hollow quality in my own voice.
Hunter huffed and remained still as the jacket slipped down his arms. I pulled it free and carried it to a small chair in the corner where my nightgown was waiting, resting it over the seat.
"Light the candle?" I asked, reaching for my nightgown and button hook.
Hunter puttered behind me as I changed my dress, and when I turned, I found him watching me, still nearly fully dressed.
"You should sleep, Miss Nix."
"Hazel," I corrected, eyes narrowing at him as I crossed and reached for his vest.
He didn't stop me from undressing him this time, but his lips were curved slightly downwards at the corners outside his tusks. "You're distressed," he said. "And cold."
Both were true, and I glanced down to find that the chill had my nipples peaked and clearly visible through my nightgown.
"You've just discovered a terrible tragedy," Hunter added.
"I don't want to think about it," I said quickly, hurrying to speak before he could correct me. "If I think about it, I'll need answers. Shall I run out into the street, back to those policemen, to ask?"
I shoved open Hunter's white dress shirt and gaped at the sudden reveal of a number of scars, deep and light, fresh and old. Battle wounds? He was so full of strange contrasts.
Large hands and gentle black claws lifted my face up to his. How old was Hunter? There was something ageless in that deep yellow stare of his, but he looked almost as though he might be even younger than me.
"I don't wish you to regret any deed between us," he said.
It was sweet and a little baffling, and I was in no mood to be circumspect. His shirt whispered off his shoulders and to the floor, and I was surprised that a man who took such care with his appearance didn't seem to mind all his fine things landing on my dusty old worn floorboards.
"Do you regret our kiss?" I asked.
"I could never," he said, the words warm and rough. His skin was warm and soft, and he didn't seem self-conscious as I ran my fingertips over an old scar, although he stiffened when I grazed them down over berry-dark nipples where I found twin bolts of gold pierced through, two beads shining on either side. My wandering hands traveled to densely carved muscles and then to the buttons of his waistband.
He reached to stop me, and I arched an eyebrow. "Do you sleep in your nicely pressed pants too?"
"I ought to tonight," Hunter growled, and the sound was making up for the chill of the room.
He didn't stop me as I pulled the buttons free, holding his gaze, glancing up to admire the play of candlelight over those deep red braids drawn back from his broad face. I didn't tease him any further, not even sure myself what my aim was. Hunter was a stranger, and yet not, our interactions far beyond any I'd had with a theater patron before. Beth was dead. The thought made my breath short and my head spin, and I stepped back as Hunter finished removing his pants and shoes, pulling his feet free.
I'd just managed to control my wild expression as he stood straight again, and my eyes snagged on the glitter of gold that suddenly appeared in front of me. There were two more beads at the base of Hunter's cock, larger than the ones on either side of his nipples, and brightly polished. Another four winked at me from the head of his cock, almost like the points of a compass.
"They are…traditional with my—" Hunter's throat cleared, and a large hand reached to cover himself.
I shook myself from my staring and realized Hunter was shifting away, his cheeks a darker, muddier shade than before. "They're beautiful," I blurted out. "Are there more?"
I stepped forward and he flinched, backing up almost into my bedside drawers. "I know they can be shocking."
I knew one thing in all my time at the theater—never laugh at a cock. And it wasn't the cock I wanted to laugh at, it was beautiful and perfectly long and thick, but the enormous and skittish orc who was suddenly shy at revealing his elaborately decorated member.
"I've seen some before," I said, neglecting to mention I'd happily ridden pierced cocks for both work and pleasure. I stepped forward, and this time, Hunter didn't move. "May I?"
I reached out, and his hands lowered. He cleared his throat as I reached for him, shoulders high, but his cock jumped happily as I stroked down the ample length.
There was more gold below—a twin line of beads bolted through the underside of his length, which I'd seen before on other men—and then a few surprise additions around his shockingly heavy sac.
"They're beautiful," I said again, trailing my fingers over the ladder of beads to the four points at the head. Fluid gathered at his tip, weeping into my palm as I rolled one of the piercings. "These go all the way through."
"Yes," Hunter rasped. His shoulders had dropped, and his chest was heaving. "You're very kind," he said softly.
He didn't reach to guide my hand into a grip like any other man would, simply stood frozen as I examined him. I reached out to the large beads at his base. They were close together, and I suspected they would rub at my clit with a good seat on the orc's cock. He would be fun to lick. To fuck.
"They're about status, right?" I asked, and he perked up.
"For warriors. For our strength," he said.