Tusks & Teacups
One wrong word about her scones, and he'll use your spine as a toothpick.
But first, he needs to learn how to steam milk.
Poppy Hartley is this close to losing her grandmother's caf . The espresso machine is weeping, the bank account is weeping, and her ex-fianc ran off with a TikTok influencer who "understands his art." Desperate for help, she tapes a faded "SERVER NEEDED" sign in the window.
Thrak Stonemaw is a seven-foot-four retired orc warlord with polished tusks, a polite bow, and absolutely no understanding of the word "server." He thinks it means "one who serves in battle." He walks into The Whistling Kettle, ducks under the doorframe, and gravely announces, "I shall protect this establishment with my life."
Poppy hires him anyway. She's that desperate.
What follows is a disaster of epic proportions-burnt eggs, sharpened spoons, and a customer who complains about the scone temperature only to find himself eye-to-tusk with an orc who whispers, "Would you like to rephrase that, friend?"
But when a petty crime boss threatens to burn her business to the ground, Thrak stops pretending to be a barista and starts being what he's always been: a protector. A possessor. A predator who's decided that Poppy-with her flour-dusted apron and her stubborn heart-is his to defend.
His to cherish.
His to correct.
His to claim.
And he's not asking permission.
Except he is. Because consent is sexy, and this orc has manners.
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