I grab the ruined lapels of his expensive suit and yank him down to my eye level with every ounce of strength I possess. He's so startled by the sudden movement that he actually lets me, dropping into a half-crouch so that our faces are inches apart. His eyes are wild, pupils still blown, breath coming hard and fast.
"Stop talking, Lanek."
For a single, frozen heartbeat, he just gazes at me. Then his gaze drops to my mouth, his expression shifts from protective panic into something dark and hungry and almost feral.
"Quinn—"
I kiss him.
It's graceless and desperate and probably tastes like smoke and terror. I shove up on my toes, fisting my hands tighter in his lapels, and crush my mouth against his. He makes a sound, half-growl, half-groan and then his arms lock around me like steel bands, hauling me completely off the floor.
The kiss turns molten.
His tusks press against my cheeks, smooth silver rings cool against my overheated skin. One massive hand cups the back of my skull, fingers threading through my hair and scattering the carefully tied ribbon, while the other splays across my lower back, holding me pinned against the solid wall of his chest. He tastes like black coffee and woodsmoke and something darker, something primal that makes my brain short-circuit entirely.
I wrap my legs around his waist on pure instinct, my vintage skirt riding up scandalously, and he groans into my mouth like I've just given him everything he's ever wanted. The rumbling purr intensifies until I can feel it vibrating through my body, a physical sensation that floods my system with heat.
"Quinn," he breathes against my lips, his voice wrecked and ragged. "Are you sure?—"
"Don't you dare ask me if I'm sure right now." I bite his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss. "Don't you dare try to be a gentleman."
"I'm trying to give you an out. You're in shock. You're scared. I don't want you to do something you'll regret when?—"
"Lanek." I pull back just enough to catch his eyes, my hands sliding up to frame his face. "I have spent three months being furious at you. I have yelled at you, sabotaged you, thrown raw meat at your customers, and fantasized about breaking your kneecaps with my standing mixer. And the entire time, underneath all of that, I have wanted this. Wanted you. So unless you're about to tell me you don't actually want me back, stop giving me outs I don't need."
His pupils dilate until there's barely any grey left. "Don't want you back?" He laughs, a dark, disbelieving sound. "Little baker, I have wanted you since the moment you walked into my shop covered in powder, yelling about noise ordinances. I've wanted you every single time you glared at me over the alley fence. I've wanted you so badly it's made me insane."
"Then stop talking."
"You're going to regret this tomorrow." His breath is hot against my mouth, his grip on my waist tightening like he's already bracing for the moment I change my mind.
"Probably." I dig my nails into his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle flex beneath his shirt.
"You're going to blame me for taking advantage of your post-crisis emotional state." There's something almost desperate in the way he says it, like he's trying to convince himself as much as me.
"Definitely." I tilt my head back, exposing my throat, watching the way his eyes track the movement like a predator.
"And you're still going to hate me for ruining your aesthetic and making too much noise at dawn." His thumb traces the line of my jaw, gentle despite the roughness of his calloused skin.
"Undoubtedly." I slide my hands into his hair, gripping tight. "Now are you going to keep listing reasons why this is a bad idea, or are you going to kiss me again?"
He kisses me again.
This time there's no hesitation, no careful control. He turns and walks us backward through the kitchen, his mouth never leaving mine, until my back hits the wall next to the walk-in cooler. The impact punches the air from my lungs, but before I can even gasp, he's already there, one hand braced against the wall above my head while the other grips my thigh, holding my leg hitched high around his hip.
"Tell me to stop." His voice is a low, guttural rasp, his forehead pressed against mine. "Tell me this is a terrible idea and I'll walk away right now."
"Don't you dare walk away."
"Quinn—"
"I mean it, Lanek. If you try to be noble right now, I will actually stab you with a cake server."
He laughs, breathless and ragged, and kisses me again with bruising intensity. His hand slides higher up my thigh, callused fingers rough against my skin, and I can feel the massive breadth of him pressed against me, all hard muscle and barely leashed strength.
This is insane. This is reckless. This is everything I swore I wouldn't do.
The adrenaline is still flooding my system, mixing with three months of unresolved sexual tension and the overwhelming, intoxicating reality of being completely caged by six-foot-eight of possessive, protective Orc who just threw himself between me and a literal fire without thinking twice.
