"Kiss me like you mean it," I demand, tugging on his hair. "Stop holding back."
He crushes his mouth to mine immediately, and the difference is staggering. Before, even in our most heated moments, there was always a thread of restraint running through him, a careful awareness of his size and strength. Now that thread snaps completely, and he kisses me with the full force of his want, claiming my mouth with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl.
I kiss him back just as fiercely, refusing to be overwhelmed, meeting his intensity with my own. My fingers dig into the thick muscle of his shoulders, my nails biting into his skin hard enough to leave marks.
He makes another low sound, almost a purr, and his hands slide higher, spanning my ribcage, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts through the thin fabric of my dress.
"Off," I gasp against his mouth, tugging at the buttons running down the front of my vintage dress. "Get this off me."
His colossal hands are surprisingly dexterous, flicking open the tiny pearl buttons with practiced ease. He peels the fabric away slowly, reverently, his dark eyes tracking every inch of newly exposed skin.
"You smell like vanilla and sugar," he rumbles, pressing his face against the curve of my neck and inhaling deeply. "Even here. Even now. It makes me insane."
"Good." I arch into him, feeling the scrape of his tusks against my collarbone. "I want you insane. I want you completely undone."
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and the raw, primal hunger I see there makes my breath catch.
"You undo me every single day, Quinn Hayes." His voice is rough, gravelly, barely recognizable. "From the moment youcame into my shop covered in the messy powder and rage, you have owned me completely."
"Then prove it." I reach for his belt, fumbling with the heavy buckle. "Show me."
He helps me, his hands covering mine, guiding them through the complicated mechanics of industrial-grade denim designed to contain thighs like tree trunks. The fabric hits the floor with a heavy thud, and then there's nothing between us but heat and want and the overwhelming reality of him.
I wrap my hand around him, feeling the weight and heat of him, the way he shudders and goes absolutely still under my touch.
"Quinn—"
"I need you to pick me up," I interrupt, squeezing gently and watching his pupils blow wide. "Lift me against that wall and don't you dare be gentle."
The growl that rips from his chest is purely feral.
He lifts me effortlessly, his hands gripping my thighs, pressing me back against the cold cinderblock wall of his office. The contrast between the chill against my spine and the blazing heat of him pressed against my front makes me gasp.
"Like this?" His voice is strained, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
"Exactly like this." I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, feeling deliciously trapped between the immovable wall and the solid, overwhelming reality of him. "Now stop asking permission and take what's yours."
The last thread of civilized restraint snaps completely.
"Mine," he growls, and then he's moving, adjusting his grip, positioning himself exactly where I need him.
The first press of him makes me gasp, my head falling back against the wall. He's so big, the stretch almost overwhelming, the careful, deliberate pace he sets making me shake.
"Look at me." His voice is a rough command, his massive hand cupping my jaw and tilting my face down to peer into his eyes. "I need to see you. Need to know you want this."
"I want this." The words come out breathless, desperate. "I want you. All of you. No holding back."
He surges forward, filling me completely, and the sensation is so intense I can't breathe for a long moment. He goes absolutely still, his forehead pressed against mine, his breath coming in harsh pants.
"You feel—" He breaks off, his grip on my thighs tightening to pain. "You are perfect. So tight and hot and perfect."
"Move," I demand, digging my nails into his shoulders. "Lanek, please, I need?—"
He moves.
The rhythm he sets is deep and deliberate, using his incredible strength to lift me and pull me back down onto him with a precision that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. Every thrust presses me harder against the wall, the friction and pressure building into something almost unbearable.
"Talk to me," I gasp, needing his voice, needing the dark, possessive praise I know he's holding back. "Tell me."
