Chapter 13 #2
For a moment, I wonder if he'll push back, if that notorious tech CEO arrogance will reassert itself, if he'll try to negotiate or challenge my authority the way he does in every other context of his life.
But then I watch as something shifts across his face, a deliberate surrender of control that's far more intimate than anything physical.
His jaw clenches visibly, the muscles working beneath his moss-green skin as he processes my command.
Then, slowly and deliberately, he nods once, a sharp, economical movement that's somehow deeply obedient.
It's such a stark contrast to his usual commanding presence that it sends another wave of heat through me.
I climb onto the bed, straddling his hips, and settle my weight against him. The heat of him sears through the thin barrier of his trousers, hard and insistent against my core. I brace my hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath my palms.
"Three weeks," I say softly, rolling my hips in a slow, deliberate grind that pulls a strangled sound from his throat. "Three weeks of telling myself I didn't need this. That I was better off alone, building my business, proving I could do it without anyone's help."
His hands flex against his stomach, but he keeps them where they are, not reaching for me even though I can see the effort it costs him in the tension bracketing his mouth.
"I was lying to myself," I continue, leaning down until my mouth hovers just above his. "Because the truth is, I missed you. I missed this. I missed the way you look at me like I'm the only thing in the entire world that matters."
"You are," he grits out, the words rough and urgent, breaking the no-talking rule I'd established with a firmness that makes my breath catch.
I bite his lower lip in sharp reprimand, not hard enough to draw blood but sharp enough to make my point unmistakably clear. The taste of him floods my mouth, black pepper and something distinctly him, and it takes everything in me not to lose the thread of what I'm doing.
"What did I say about talking?" I ask, my voice coming out breathier than I'd like, less commanding and more affected than the dominating tone I'm going for. I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, watching the way his jaw clenches at the withdrawal, the way his hands grip the headboard tighter.
"Sorry." The word emerges strained and barely audible, almost a whisper, and there's something devastatingly vulnerable about hearing Thrall Orkenshade—the man who runs a tech empire with brutal efficiency and answers to no one—sound so utterly undone.
His chest heaves beneath me, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint, and I can feel the raw power of him coiled tight, waiting for my next move.
"Better." I soothe the bite with my tongue, then kiss him properly, deep and slow and thorough. He kisses me back with devastating focus, his mouth moving against mine like he's trying to memorize the taste of me, the shape of me, the way I fit against him.
When I pull back, we're both breathing hard.
"Hands on the headboard," I order, sitting up and looking down at him. "And keep them there."
He reaches up immediately, wrapping his large hands around the wooden slats of my headboard. The position pulls his chest taut, emphasizing every ridge and valley of muscle. He looks like some kind of fantasy come to life, all raw power and restrained strength, waiting for my instruction.
I slide backward, my hands moving to the waistband of his trousers. "Lift your hips."
He does, and I work the fabric down over his hips and thighs, taking his boxers with them. He's fully hard, thick and heavy, and the sight of him sends a pulse of pure want straight through my core.
I take my time removing his clothes completely, letting them join the pile on the floor, and then I crawl back up his body, dragging my nails lightly over his skin. He shudders beneath my touch, his knuckles whitening where they grip the headboard.
"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I ask, positioning myself above him, as the head of him brushes against my entrance. "How completely you've wrecked me for anyone else?"
"Romee." My name is a plea, rough and desperate.
"I'm going to take my time with you," I tell him, sinking down just enough to take the tip of him inside. The stretch is intense, and I pause, letting my body adjust to the size of him. "And you're going to stay perfectly still and let me."
His response is a low, guttural sound that might be agreement or simply wordless need.
I brace my hands on his chest and sink down another inch, slow and controlled. The feeling of him filling me, stretching me, is overwhelming in the best possible way. I take him deeper, inch by deliberate inch, until I'm fully seated against his hips.
We both freeze, breathing hard in the charged silence that settles between us like a living thing. The only sounds are the ragged gasps escaping our lungs and the faint creak of the headboard under the strain of his white-knuckled grip.
"Fuck," he grits out, his entire body rigid with the monumental effort of staying still beneath me, muscles bunched and trembling with his restraint. I can feel him vibrating with the need to move, to thrust, to take control, everything his primal Orc instincts are screaming at him to do.
"I said quiet," I murmur, leaning forward until my face is inches from his, letting him see the satisfaction in my eyes.
"Can't." His voice comes out as a low, desperate rasp, barely above a growl.
"You feel too good. You're killing me, Romee.
Every second of this is—" He cuts himself off with visible effort, jaw clenching so hard I can see the muscle tick beneath his green skin.
"I need you to understand what you're doing to me. "
I clench around him in punishment, and his hips jerk upward involuntarily, driving him impossibly deeper. The sensation tears a gasp from my throat, pleasure sparking up my spine like electricity.
"Hands stay on the headboard, Thrall," I warn, even as I start to move, lifting myself up slowly before sinking back down. "No matter what I do. No matter how much you want to touch me. They stay there."
"You're cruel."
"I'm in charge. There's a difference."
I set a rhythm, slow and deep, taking him fully with each downward stroke. His breathing turns ragged, his chest heaving beneath my palms. I can feel him fighting the urge to move, to thrust up into me, to take control the way his instincts are clearly screaming at him to do.
But he doesn't.
He stays exactly where I put him, hands locked around the headboard, and lets me use his body for my pleasure.
The power of it is intoxicating. Knowing that this massive, dominant Orc is completely at my mercy, following my instructions without question, sends heat flooding through me in waves. I increase my pace, riding him harder, chasing the building pressure coiling tighter and tighter in my core.
"Look at you," I breathe, leaning down to drag my teeth along the thick column of his throat. "So good at following orders when you want to be."
His only response is a strangled groan.
I straighten, changing the angle, and the new position sends him dragging across a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I cry out, my rhythm faltering, and his hands tighten around the headboard hard enough that I hear the wood creak in protest.
"Romee. Please."
The desperation in his voice is almost enough to break me, but I hold firm, rolling my hips in a deliberate, measured pace that keeps him right on losing control entirely.
"Please what?" I ask, my voice steady despite the way my thighs are trembling with exertion.
I lean forward slightly, letting my breasts brush against his chest, watching his eyes go impossibly darker with need.
"You're going to have to be more specific, Thrall.
I'm sure a man of your vocabulary can articulate exactly what you want. "
His jaw clenches, the white-gold caps on his tusks catching the light as he grinds his teeth together. When he speaks again, his voice is raw and rough, barely controlled.
"Let me touch you," he rasps, his entire body tense beneath mine like coiled steel. "Let me—fuck—let me use my hands. Let me make you come. I want to feel you fall apart for me, want to taste you, want to—"
He cuts himself off with a strangled groan as I deliberately squeeze around him, watching with dark satisfaction as his control splinters just a little bit more.
"No," I gasp, grinding down against him in tight circles that pull ragged sounds from both of us. "You're going to stay right there and watch me take what I need from you."
He swears, low and filthy, his hips flexing beneath me in tiny, aborted movements that tell me he's hanging on to his control by a thread.
I brace one hand on his chest and slide the other between my legs, my fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves where we're joined. The dual sensation of him filling me and my own touch sends pleasure crashing through me in waves that steal my breath and blur my vision.
"That's it," he growls, his voice rough and wrecked. "Touch yourself. Show me."
I'm too far gone to reprimand him for talking. My fingers move faster, circling and pressing as I ride him with increasing desperation. The pressure building inside me reaches a breaking point, and then I'm shattering, crying out his name as my release slams through me leaving me shaking.
My body clenches around him rhythmically, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through me, and somewhere in the haze I hear him make a sound that's pure animal need.
I collapse forward onto his chest, boneless and trembling, and his arms immediately come down from the headboard to wrap around me, holding me against him with careful strength.
"I didn't tell you to move your hands," I mumble against his skin, too wrung out to put any real authority behind the words.
"I don't care."
I laugh breathlessly, and he rolls us suddenly, putting me on my back and settling between my thighs without pulling out. The shift drives him deeper, and I gasp at the renewed sensation.
"My turn," he rumbles, his mouth finding the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
"I was in charge."
"You were. Now I am." He pulls almost all the way out and drives back in with one deep, powerful thrust that makes my back arch off the mattress. "And I'm not stopping until you come apart for me again."
He sets a pace that's deep and relentless, each thrust deliberate and controlled.
His mouth maps a path down my throat to my collarbone, teeth scraping lightly over my pulse point.
One of his hands slides down to grip my hip, angling me exactly where he wants me, and the other braces beside my head, holding his weight off me even as he drives into me with increasing intensity.
The pleasure builds again, faster this time, winding tight in my core. I wrap my legs around his waist, my nails digging into his shoulders, and meet him thrust for thrust.
"That's it," he growls against my skin. "Take it. Take everything."
I'm already close, my body still sensitive from my first release, and when he shifts the angle just slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside me with devastating accuracy, I shatter again.
The orgasm rolls through me in endless waves, and somewhere in the haze I feel him follow me over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spills inside me with a rough, guttural groan.
We collapse together, breathing hard, sweat-slicked and tangled.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. He's still buried inside me, his weight braced carefully to keep from crushing me, and I can feel his heartbeat thundering against me.
Then, just as my breathing starts to even out, just as the haze of pleasure begins to fade into something softer and more manageable, he goes completely still.
His hands tighten on my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. He sucks in a rough, ragged breath and lifts his head to look down at me with equal parts vulnerable and absolutely certain.
"Move in with me," he rumbles, his voice rough and raw. "Today."