Chapter 8
LANEK
Idon't do slow.
I've restrained myself for three months, watching her stomp around in those ridiculous vintage dresses, listening to her yell at me with fire in her eyes, breathing in the intoxicating combination of vanilla and fury that clings to her skin.
I've tried to court her properly, tried to follow the confusing human dating rituals my supplier explained over coffee and uncomfortable diagrams.
I'm done trying.
I hitch her higher against the wall, adjusting my grip so her thighs are locked around my hips, and she gasps at the friction, her head falling back against the brick.
The exposed column of her throat is too tempting to resist. I drag my tusks along the delicate skin, careful not to pierce, just enough pressure to make her shudder and dig her nails into my shoulders.
"You want fast?" I growl against her pulse point, feeling it hammer beneath my lips like a war drum. "You want me to stop being careful with you? Stop holding back?"
Her breath hitches, and I feel the tremor run through her entire body.
"Yes," she gasps.
I drag my tusks along the sensitive skin of her throat again, harder this time, proprietary.
Possessive. "You want me to take you right here, in your ruined kitchen, covered in flour and smoke?
Want me to claim you on this counter where you've spent three months baking those ridiculous pastries while pretending you don't feel this thing between us? "
"Lanek—" My name comes out strangled, desperate, and the sound of it on her lips makes something feral unfurl.
"Say it," I demand, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. I need to hear her admit it. Need to know she wants this as badly as I do, that she's done fighting this pull between us. "Say you want me. Say you're done pretending you hate me. Tell me, Quinn."
Her eyes snap open, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from my kisses. "Yes. God, yes. Stop asking questions and just—"
I kiss her hard enough to bruise, swallowing her demand, my tongue sliding against hers in a rhythm that makes her whimper into my mouth.
She tastes like butter and sugar and desperation, and the small, needy sounds she makes are driving me absolutely insane.
My control is shredding by the second, the carefully cultivated civilized butcher persona I wear for my human customers burning away under the overwhelming need to claim her, mark her, make her mine in every way that matters.
The wall isn't good enough.
I turn, carrying her the few steps to the massive stainless steel prep counter, and set her down on the cool surface.
She yelps at the temperature change, but I'm already pushing her back, following her down, caging her smaller body with mine.
The counter is the perfect height. I can stand between her spread thighs, can bend over her and still have leverage, can finally touch her the way I've been fantasizing about for months.
"You smell so good," I mutter against her throat, my hands roaming over her curves, mapping her soft human flesh. "Like sugar and vanilla and mine."
"I'm not—oh—" Her protest cuts off into a moan as I cup her breast properly, no fabric barriers this time, my thumb circling her nipple through the thin cotton of her bra. "Lanek, please—"
"Please what, little baker?" I ask, pulling back just enough to watch her face, to see the exact moment my words register through the haze of desire clouding those pretty blue eyes.
"More," she gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair, tugging hard enough that it borders on pain. The slight sting only makes me want her more.
I bare my teeth in a feral grin against her collarbone, letting her feel the blunt edges of my tusks scraping carefully over her delicate skin.
The gesture is pure predator, pure Orc, and the way she shivers tells me she knows it.
"Greedy," I rumble, my voice dropping into that gravelly register that makes her pupils dilate.
"You have no idea," she shoots back breathlessly, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks even through the fabric of my shirt. There's a wildness in her expression now, something untamed breaking free from beneath all that pastel perfection and controlled sweetness.
I shove her dress higher, bunching the vintage fabric around her hips, and freeze. She's wearing pale pink underwear, delicate and lacy and completely impractical, and the scrap of fabric is already soaked through. The smell of her arousal hits me, rich and heady and utterly intoxicating.
"Quinn," I rasp, my voice barely recognizable.
"Don't you dare stop."
I hook one finger under the elastic, dragging it aside, and the first touch of my calloused fingertip against her slick heat makes her arch off the counter with a choked gasp. She's impossibly soft, impossibly wet, and so responsive that just that single touch has her trembling.
"Look at you," I murmur, sliding one thick finger inside her carefully, watching her face as she adjusts to the intrusion. "So tight. So perfect. You're going to take me so well, aren't you?"
"Yes—god—Lanek—"
I add a second finger, stretching her slowly, and her inner walls clench around me.
She's scorching hot, slick and needy, and the way she's rolling her hips against my hand is absolutely obscene.
I curl my fingers, searching, and when I find the spot that makes her cry out and grab my forearm, I file that information away with ruthless focus.
"That's it," I praise, pumping my fingers in a steady rhythm, my thumb circling her clit. "Take what you need. Show me how fierce you are."
"This isn't, oh fuck, this isn't fair—"
"What isn't fair?"
"You're still, you're completely dressed—"
She's right. I'm still in my ruined dress shirt and slacks, while she's spread out on her prep counter, dress rucked up, thighs trembling, face flushed with arousal. The visual contrast sends a fresh wave of possessive satisfaction through me.
"Then fix it," I challenge, scissoring my fingers inside her.
Her hands go immediately to my belt, fumbling with the buckle, and I have to grit my teeth against the urge to knock her hands away and do it myself. The anticipation is excruciating. She finally gets the leather free, popping the button of my slacks, dragging the zipper down with shaking fingers.
The moment she wraps her small hand around my cock, I nearly black out.
"Holy shit," she breathes, staring down between us. "Lanek, that's—you're—how is that supposed to—"
"Carefully," I grit out, fighting to maintain control as she strokes me experimentally. "Slowly. I told you, little baker. I'll make it work."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true." I withdraw my fingers from her body, ignoring her whimper of protest, and grip her hips with both hands. "But you need to be ready. You need to be so wet and open that you can take me without pain."
"I'm ready—"
"You're not." I drag her to the counter, positioning myself between her thighs, the thick head of my cock nudging against her entrance. "But we're going to get you there."
I push forward just slightly, barely breaching her, and even that small amount of penetration has her gasping and clutching at my shoulders.
She's tight, impossibly tight, her body resisting the intrusion despite how wet and ready she is.
The primal part of my brain is screaming at me to thrust forward, to seat myself fully inside her in one brutal stroke, to claim and mark and possess.
I don't.
Instead, I withdraw, ignoring her frustrated whine, and drop to my knees on the flour-dusted floor.
"Lanek, what are you—oh my god—"
I hook her thighs over my shoulders, bury my face between her legs, and feast.
She tastes like heaven and sin and mine, and the broken, desperate sounds she makes as I work her with my tongue are the most erotic thing I've ever heard.
I lap at her clit, circle it with the flat of my tongue, suck it between my lips until she's writhing and pulling my hair and begging incoherently.
"Please. Lanek. I can't. It's too much—"
"You can," I murmur against her slick flesh. "You will. Come for me, Quinn. Let me feel it."
I thrust two fingers back inside her, curling them against that perfect spot, and she shatters with a sharp cry that echoes through the destroyed kitchen.
Her inner walls clamp down rhythmically around my fingers, her thighs trembling against my shoulders, and I work her through it, drawing out every pulse of pleasure until she's boneless and panting.
Only then do I rise to my feet, gripping my cock and positioning myself at her entrance again.
"Better?" I rasp.
"You're smug," she accuses breathlessly.
"I'm right." I push forward slowly, watching her face as the thick head breaches her entrance. "Breathe, little baker. Just breathe."
She inhales shakily, her hands gripping my forearms, and I feed myself into her inch by excruciating inch.
The fit is impossible, her body stretching around me, and I have to pause repeatedly to let her adjust. Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort of restraint, every instinct screaming at me to just thrust home.
"Lanek," she whimpers, her voice small and wrecked. "It's too—you're too—"
"Shh. You're doing so well. Taking me so perfectly." I lean down, bracing one hand on the counter beside her head, the other gripping her hip to hold her steady. "Just a little more. You're almost there."
"Almost—oh god—"
I push forward the final few inches, seating myself fully inside her, and we both freeze. She's strangling my cock, impossibly hot and tight, her body clamping down around me like a vice. I can feel her pulse fluttering internally, can feel every tiny adjustment as she tries to accommodate my size.
"Breathe," I remind her roughly. "Just breathe."
She inhales shakily, her eyes locked on mine, and something profound and terrifying passes between us.
This isn't just sex. This isn't just stress relief or adrenaline-fueled attraction.
This is something fundamental shifting, clicking into place, the final piece of a puzzle I didn't know I was solving.
"Okay," she whispers finally. "Okay. You can move."
I withdraw slowly, almost all the way out, and thrust back in with controlled force. Her back arches off the counter, a strangled moan tearing from her throat, and I do it again. And again. Setting a steady, deep rhythm that has her gasping and clawing at my shoulders.
"That's it," I praise, picking up speed. "Take it. Take all of me."
"Lanek, oh, right there—"
I angle my hips, hitting that spot that makes her cry out, and her entire body tightens. "Here?"
"Yes, don't stop, please don't stop—"
I have no intention of stopping. I brace both hands on the counter on either side of her head, caging her completely, and fuck into her with deep, powerful strokes.
The counter rocks with each thrust, metal squeaking against the floor, and somewhere in the back of my mind I register that we're making an absolute mess of her workspace.
All I care about is the way she feels wrapped around me, the desperate sounds she makes, the way her inner walls are already starting to flutter with the approach of another orgasm.
"You're perfect," I growl against her throat. "So fierce. So strong. Taking my cock like you were made for it."
"Lanek, I'm going to—"
"Do it. Come on my cock, little baker. Let me feel it."
She detonates with a wail, her entire body going rigid, inner walls clamping down so hard I nearly lose control. I fuck her through it, drawing out every pulse and flutter, and only when she collapses boneless against the counter do I let myself chase my own release.
Three more brutal thrusts and I'm gone, burying myself as deep as physically possible and spilling inside her with a roar that rattles the windows.
The orgasm seems to go on forever, wave after wave of intense pleasure, and when I finally come back to myself I'm collapsed over her smaller body, both of us panting and covered in sweat.
"Holy shit," she mumbles against my shoulder.
"Agreed."
"That was—"
The deafening, shrieking wail of the overhead smoke alarm tears through the intimate moment like a chainsaw through butter, immediately followed by the sudden, icy blast of the fire sprinklers activating.
Freezing water drenches us both in seconds.
Quinn shrieks, and I immediately curl around her, trying to shield her from the worst of it, but it's useless. We're both soaked, the water sluicing off my shoulders and running in rivers down her face. Her carefully pinned hair collapses in wet ribbons. My dress shirt is plastered to my skin.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!" she yells over the alarm.
I can't help it.
I start laughing.