Chapter 19
QUINN
Ipull him up by his massive shoulders, fisting my hands in the fabric of his shirt and dragging his mouth back to mine with a ferocity that startles us both.
This kiss is different.
There's no hesitation, no uncertainty, no barriers left between us. Just pure, unfiltered want and the absolute certainty that we belong to each other.
He makes a low, rumbling sound deep in his chest, his big hands spanning my waist and lifting me effortlessly off the ground. I wrap my legs tighter around him, feeling the solid, overwhelming heat of him pressed against me, the sheer size difference making my head spin.
"Office," I gasp against his mouth. "Now."
He doesn't question it, doesn't slow down. He just turns and carries me through the narrow doorway into his cramped office space, kicking the door shut behind us with enough force to rattle the frosted glass window.
The space is barely big enough for his massive desk and the worn leather sofa shoved against the wall. I don't need space. I just need him.
He sets me down on his desk, and I immediately reach for the hem of his shirt, yanking it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The fabric catches briefly on his tusks, and he helps me wrestle it free, tossing it somewhere behind him.
I flatten my palms against his bare chest, feeling the ridges of hard muscle beneath his green skin, the raised texture of his intricate tattoos, the heat radiating off him like a furnace.
"You're so warm," I breathe, pressing closer.
"And you are so soft." His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my vintage dress higher. "Every part of you. Soft and sweet and perfect."
"I'm not that sweet." I bite down gently on his lower lip, feeling him shudder against me. "I just let you grovel on a concrete floor for twenty minutes before putting you out of your misery."
"You are merciless." His enormous hands grip my hips, dragging me forward until I'm perched right on the desk, pressed flush against him. "Ruthless. Terrifying."
"Good." I slide my hands up his neck, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling his head down to mine. "Because I need you to stop talking and start using all that incredible strength exactly how I tell you to."
The growl that rumbles through his chest is so deep I feel it vibrate through my body.
"Tell me what you need, little baker. Command me. I am yours."
The words send a thrill racing down my spine.
This is what I need. Not him making decisions for me, not him protecting me from battles I need to fight myself, but him giving me his strength willingly, letting me direct it, trusting me to know what I want.
Equal partners.
"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 you came 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."
"You are mine." The words are a rough growl against my throat, his tusks scraping lightly against my pulse point. "My mate. My partner. My fierce, perfect little baker who brought me to my knees and made me better."
"Yes." I clench around him, feeling him shudder. "Yours. All yours."
"I will protect your business with legal briefs and zoning ordinances." His pace increases, his control fracturing. "I will learn to carve roses from vegetables and bring you flowers like a proper human suitor."
"I don't need proper." I pull his hair, forcing his head back so I can see his face, see the way his features have gone sharp and feral with want. "I need you exactly like this. Primal and possessive and completely mine."
"Always yours." He shifts his angle slightly, hitting something inside me that makes me cry out. "Only yours. No one else will ever—"
"Don't stop," I interrupt, my body tightening, the pressure building to an impossible peak. "Right there. Exactly like that."
He obeys immediately, maintaining the exact angle and rhythm, his dark eyes locked on my face.
"Come for me," he rumbles, his voice dropping into pure command. "Let me feel you. Let me hear you."
The orgasm crashes over me with enough force to white out my vision, my body clenching tight around him as I cry out his name against his shoulder. He follows immediately, his own release tearing a rough, guttural sound from his chest as he buries himself deep and goes absolutely still.
We stay locked together for a long moment, both of us shaking, our harsh breathing the only sound in the small office.
Slowly, carefully, he carries me away from the wall and sinks down onto the worn leather sofa, keeping me wrapped around him, our bodies still joined.
I rest my forehead against his, feeling his massive hands stroke slowly up and down my spine, soothing and possessive.
"I love you," I whisper, the words finally, finally easy to say. "I love you exactly as you are. Orc instincts and all."
His arms tighten around me, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion.
"I love you, Quinn Hayes. My fierce mate. My partner. The woman who taught me that true strength is knowing when to hold a cleaver and when to hold a law book."
I laugh, the sound breathless and giddy, and press a kiss to his jaw.
"We're going to be absolutely insufferable together."
"Good." He nuzzles against my neck, inhaling deeply. "Let the entire neighborhood talk. Let them whisper about the butcher and the baker who screamed at each other across the alley and fell in love anyway."
"They're definitely going to talk when they realize we just had incredibly loud sex in your office at nine o'clock on a Tuesday morning."
He pulls back, his expression shifting into something smug and deeply satisfied.
"The door was locked. The window is frosted. And I do not care if the entire city hears me claim my mate."
I roll my eyes, but I can't stop smiling.
"You're impossible."
"I am yours." He stands slowly, still holding me effortlessly, and carries me toward the small attached bathroom. "And you need a shower before you go back to your bakery smelling like me."
"What if I want to smell like you?"
The look he gives me is pure, molten heat.
"Then I will ensure you smell like me every single day for the rest of your life."
An hour later, I'm clean, thoroughly kissed, and wearing one of his massive black t-shirts because my vintage dress is an unsalvageable wrinkled mess on his office floor.
We're tangled together on his leather sofa, my head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder. The early morning light filters through the frosted window, casting soft shadows across the room.
I should get up. I should go back to my bakery and start the morning prep. I have three dozen custom cupcakes due by noon and a wedding cake consultation at two.
But I don't move.
Neither does he.
We just lay there in comfortable, perfect silence, breathing in sync, his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my ear.
Finally, he shifts slightly beneath me, the steady rhythm of his breathing changing just enough for me to notice.
His large hand, which had been tracing those lazy, hypnotic patterns on my shoulder, stills completely.
The sudden absence of movement makes me acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch.
"I have a tactical proposal," he says, his voice carrying that peculiar blend of formality and intensity that means he's been thinking about something serious.
I tilt my head up to look at him, pulling back just enough to lock eyes. One eyebrow arches automatically, a habit I've developed specifically for dealing with his more outlandish ideas.
"A tactical proposal?" I repeat slowly, letting the words hang in the air between us. "That sounds ominous. And also very you. Most people would just say they want to talk about something."
He sits up slowly, keeping me tucked against his side, and gestures toward the wall between our two shops.
"That wall," he says thoughtfully, his business voice replacing the possessive rumble. "It divides us unnecessarily."
I follow his gaze, my mind already racing ahead.
"You want to knock it down."
"I want to knock it down." He looks down at me, his expression serious. "Combine the two spaces. Your bakery in the front, my butcher shop in the back, a shared kitchen in the middle. We could offer custom charcuterie boards with your pastries. Savory and sweet in one location. A true partnership."
"That's..."
"Insane," he finishes. "I know. But think about it, Quinn. We balance each other. Your precision and my strength. Your sugar and my smoke. We could build something entirely new together."
I stare at the wall, imagining it gone, imagining the two spaces flowing together seamlessly, imagining a future where we don't just share an alley but an entire life.
"I'll need control of the aesthetic," I say slowly. "No severed pig heads visible from the customer seating area."
"Agreed."
"And I get final say on the music."
"As long as the bass does not disrupt my sausage casings."
"And you have to promise to stop leaving raw meat for me as a romantic gesture."
He grins, his tusks glinting in the pale morning light filtering through the window, those silver rings catching and throwing off little sparks of brightness.
"I will leave it on our doorstep instead," he says, the words deliberate and pleased, like he's savoring the taste of them.
Our doorstep.
Not mine. Not his. Ours.
The words settle into my chest like warm honey, slow and thick and sweet, spreading through my ribs and wrapping around my heart. They feel warm and right and absolutely, completely, bone-shakingly terrifying in a way that makes my pulse skip and my breath catch.
"This is crazy," I whisper, the confession barely audible even to my own ears.
"Yes." He cups my face gently, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "But so is falling in love with the angry woman who threw my courtship steak back in my face. And yet here we are."
Here we are.
I take a deep breath and lock eyes with him.
"Okay."
His expression shifts into pure, devastating joy.
"Okay?"
"Okay." I kiss him quickly, feeling giddy and reckless and completely, utterly certain. "Let's knock down a wall and build something beautiful."