A GENTLEMAN ORC'S DISGUISE
“Hazel," a voice hissed, and I sat up with a start, blinking in the weary light of my dressing room.
My candles were close to sputtering out, and Myra was standing over me, eyebrows bouncing and hands on her hips.
"There's someone here," she said, and I stared stupidly back at her. "To see you!"
Right! The patron. The orc.
I scrambled up, glancing down and flicking my robe back to rights. I looked up over Myra's head—she was a tiny woman, and I'd always been taller than most—to see the large figure waiting in the doorway.
He was a fine dresser, one of the best I'd ever seen backstage at the theater, in a beautifully tailored black jacket that accentuated the obvious bulk of the man beneath. He wasn't strictly speaking handsome—orcs usually weren't—but his hair shone red in my dim little doorway and his eyes were a bright golden yellow, fixed to me. His features were big and a little bulky, like him, right down to the shining white tusks that framed his full upper lip.
"Sorry," I whispered to Myra.
She rolled her eyes and stepped back. "Hazel, this is Hunter. Hunter, this is one of our very best actresses, Hazel Nix."
He bowed, which was almost laughable down here in our shabby dressing rooms, and I managed an awkward curtsey.
"It's too crowded for me to join you, of course," Myra said with a wave and a laugh. "I'll leave you to your conversation."
There would be one of the stagehands in the hall for me to shout if I needed, but I watched this massive man hover in the doorway, stepping out of Myra's way as she exited, and knew I wouldn't have trouble. A pushy patron would've been on the chaise by now, patting the cushion or his lap and waiting for me to join him. This orc, Hunter, remained in place, the curtain parted and resting against his shoulder.
"Come in before the whole hallway tries to join us," I teased.
Hunter's head turned to glance down the length of the hallway, the noise at full volume, which meant I'd slept through curtain call. I enjoyed a brief glimpse of his face in profile—a very strong nose and a promising mouth—and then he stepped in, the curtain shutting and its spell-woven fabric dulling the sound.
"We should not have woken you," he said, bowing slightly again and making my lips twitch with the slow and formal tone of his deep voice. "My apologies."
"If you didn't, no one would have, and I hate to sleep down here when everyone's gone. An empty theater just feels like a skeleton," I said. He'd only just stepped inside, no farther. Not at all pushy. He would take coaxing to flirt with. I turned and flounced down onto the chaise, aware my robe would flash skin for him to admire, and this time, I was the one patting the cushion. "Myra says you come to the theater often."
Hunter nodded, walking slowly forward, holding my stare well past my own ability to gaze back. "For two months now. I'd heard of the theater, of course, but I didn't expect to find the performances more than idle entertainment."
He didn't sit, and the power of his natural frame was only slightly lessened by his gentle speech.
"Your performances, in particular, are my favorite," Hunter said, ducking his head and offering relief from those bright eyes. Now that it was gone, I was determined to draw it back again.
I twisted, drawing out a slow smile on my lips as the robe slipped down on one side, revealing my leg. "What, in particular, about my performances makes them your favorite?"
I'd met plenty of orcs at the theater, and to my knowledge, they were a lusty, boisterous, eager species. Especially when it came to fucking. I didn't know many that would need such a strong invitation to touch a woman, let alone to flirt with one. And while Hunter's eyes fastened to my bared thigh, the yellow light within them blazing, his hands fisted at his side and he didn't move an inch.
"I hope it is not…untoward of me," he said, the words slow and careful like he was reciting them, those eyes finally raising to mine. "But it was your attention to your partners."
My lips were parted, prepared to continue teasing him, but his answer wiped all my wit away. I'd expected a comment about my body or the sounds I made, or something about how passionate I was or what big cock I could take. Not this.
"You take great care to watch them, to move with them. More than anyone else in the theater," Hunter said, with such incredible sincerity that I was at a loss for words.
It's my job, I thought, but Reddy and Myra liked us to keep up a certain illusion that we were all here for the fun of it, not the money. It wouldn't be half as fun for our audience if they knew all the work that went into staging a grand, mixed-species orgy.
"I've made you uncomfortable," Hunter said softly, stepping back and dropping his stare again.
"No!" I rushed, leaning forward and snatching his wrist, almost amused by the way he stiffened in my weak grip, stumbled forward at my leading. Didn't he know what a marvelous beast he was? How had an orc become so…domesticated, like a nervous human rather than a monster? I bent until I knew he could see my smile, trying to coax him closer with tiny tugs. "No, not uncomfortable. Flattered, sir. I'm very flattered by your words."
Hunter's tusks dug into his upper lip as he smiled, and I rose up from the chaise, holding him in place by that tiny anchor of my hand on his wrist. I stepped forward, and he huffed softly before taking a deep breath. I was tired and still sore, but this orc was so charmingly earnest that I thought I might suffer a longer night for his sake.
"You are very kind," I said, pressing myself to his hip and watching the throat in front of me bob with a hard swallow. I was taller than any of the other girls, and still, this orc towered over me. I lifted my free hand and rested it on his chest, leaning in and arching to stare up at him. "And I'm glad you asked to meet me."
Hunter clenched his jaw, and for the first time, I saw a hint of the hunger and power I'd expected from him, a brilliant spotlight focused on me from those lamp yellow eyes. His wrist twisted in my grip, and I braced myself for him to pounce, to tackle me back to the chaise, relieved to find my own excitement at the prospect.
"Haze, are you ready to walk—Oh!"
Hunter all but leapt backwards and away from me, graceful even as he bumped into my dressing table, rattling the rusty mirror against the wall. Beth stood in the doorway, trying to fight her laughter, hand raised in apology.
"I'll go," she said quickly. "I'm so—"
"It's fine," I said at the same moment Hunter spoke. "I should be leaving."
"No!" Beth and I cried out together.