Chapter 10 Thraka #2
I pull her against me before she can protest, wrapping my arms around her trembling body, sharing my heat. Her skin is like ice against mine, so cold it almost burns, and I feel her entire frame shivering violently as I envelope her in my embrace.
She gasps sharply at the initial contact, the stark contrast between her ice-cold skin and my furnace warmth making her flinch.
But then, almost immediately, she melts into me with a full-body shudder that starts at her shoulders and ripples all the way down her spine,part relief, part surrender, and part something else entirely.
Something that makes my pulse quicken despite my careful control.
I tighten my hold on her, one hand splayed across her bare back, the other cradling the back of her head, pressing her closer until there's no space left between us.
Her wet hair dampens my shoulder. All that matters is getting heat back into her body, driving away the dangerous chill that's settled into her bones.
"Better?" I rumble against her hair, feeling her gradually stop shaking quite so violently.
"You're so warm," she murmurs, her voice muffled against my pecs, her breath creating tiny puffs of warmth against my skin. There's wonder in her tone, almost childlike in its simple observation. "Like a portable heater. Or a furnace. How are you generating this much body heat?"
I find a dusty tarp in the corner, shake it out, and spread it on the floor. Not comfortable, but better than standing. I sit, pulling her down with me, arranging her in my lap, surrounding her with as much body contact as possible.
She should feel fragile like this, all pale skin and delicate bones. But she doesn't. She feels right, fitting against me like she was designed for this exact purpose.
"Your heart is still racing," I observe, feeling it pound against my torso. "Are you still cold?"
"No." She tilts her head back to look at me, and the expression in her eyes makes my blood ignite. "Not cold at all anymore."
The shift happens so fast I almost miss it. One moment I'm warming her, being careful and controlled. The next, her mouth is on mine, demanding and desperate, her cold fingers tangling in my hair.
I growl into the kiss, something primal and possessive, pulling her closer even though there's no space left between us. She tastes like rain and coffee and something uniquely her, addictive and perfect.
"Orla." Her name comes out rough, a warning and a question.
"Don't you dare stop." She bites my lower lip, making me snarl. "Don't you dare tell me this is inappropriate or unprofessional or against policy. I've been cold and scared and trying to hold everything together out there, and I just need—"
I kiss her again, harder this time, swallowing whatever she was going to say. My hands find her waist, her hips, mapping the curves I've been fantasizing about since that day in the supply closet.
She arches against me, a soft sound escaping her throat that makes every possessive instinct I have roar to life.
"The others might hear," she gasps when I move my mouth to her neck, finding that spot that makes her whimper.
"Let them." I nip at her collarbone, satisfaction flooding through me when she moans. "Let them know you are mine."
"Yours?" She pulls back slightly, her eyes wide and dark. "That's pretty presumptuous."
"Is it?" I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly what I'm feeling, no corporate masks or human politeness to hide behind. "Tell me you do not think about me. Tell me you do not want this. Tell me your heart does not race when I am near."
She opens her mouth, probably to argue, to list reasons why this is a terrible idea.
I silence her with another kiss, this one slower, deeper, claiming her mouth like territory I plan to occupy permanently.
When we finally break apart, she's panting hard, her chest heaving against mine, her eyes glazed and unfocused in that way that makes me want to kiss her all over again. "This is insane," she manages, though her fingers are still twisted in my shirt, holding me close even as she protests.
"Yes," I agree readily, trailing my lips along her jaw.
"We work together." Her voice wavers when I find the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Same office. Same project. Same—"
"Yes." I bite down gently, feeling her shudder in my arms.
"There are policies." She's trying so hard to sound reasonable, even as her head tilts to give me better access. "Employee conduct clauses. Conflict of interest forms. HR would have a field day with—"
I silence her litany of corporate concerns with another kiss, swallowing her protests and regulations and five-point plans until all that's left is the taste of her and the sound of her breathing.
"There are approximately fifteen people on the other side of that door who will definitely hear if we—"
I flip our positions in one smooth movement, pressing her back against the tarp, caging her with my body. "Do you want me to stop?"
She looks up at me, this fierce Little Manager with her sharp suits and sharper tongue, and her answer comes out breathless and certain. "No."
Something snaps in me, some final thread of control I've been holding.
I kiss her again, rougher now, no longer being careful. My hands roam freely, learning every curve and valley, cataloging what makes her gasp and what makes her moan.
She responds with equal fervor, her nails digging into my shoulders, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer even as I press her harder against the rough floor.
"Thraka." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on her lips. "Please."
"Please what?" I nip at her throat, feeling her pulse race under my teeth. "Use your words, Little Manager."
"I need—" She cuts off with a whimper as my hand slides between her thighs, finding her wet and ready. "Oh God."
"Not God." I press my forehead to hers, holding her gaze as I touch her, learning what she likes, what makes her arch and cry out. "Just me."
She comes apart beautifully, biting her lip to muffle her cries, her whole body trembling with pleasure instead of cold.
But it's not enough. I need more. Need all of her.
I position myself at her entrance, giving her one last chance to stop this, to remember rules and protocols and all the reasons this is complicated.
She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me down into a kiss that tastes like surrender and victory all at once.
I push inside slowly, feeling her stretch around me, accommodating my size with little gasps and whimpers that make me want to roar my triumph to the storm.
"Okay?" I grit out, every muscle tense with the effort of holding still, of not just taking what I desperately want.
"Move." She digs her nails into my back. "Please move."
I do, setting a rhythm that's more rough than gentle, more claiming than careful. She meets me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to take me deeper, her cries getting louder despite the thin walls.
The tarp shifts under us, the old building creaking with the force of wind and rain and us, and it doesn’t matter who hears, it doesn't matter about anything except the way she feels wrapped around me, the way she says my name like it's the only word that matters.
"Mine," I growl in Orcish, the ancient words spilling out unbidden. "My mate. My heart. Mine."
She probably doesn't understand the words, but she responds to the tone, to the possessive claim in my voice, arching harder against me, taking me deeper.
I feel her tighten around me, her breathing going ragged, and I know she's close. I slide one hand between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with my thumb.
She shatters, crying out my name loud enough that everyone in the main room definitely heard, her whole body convulsing with pleasure.
The sight and sound and feel of her coming undone beneath me destroys the last of my control. I bury myself deep and finish inside her with a roar that probably scared the wildlife for miles, claiming her completely, marking her as mine in the most primitive way possible.
We collapse together, both breathing hard, hearts racing, skin slick with sweat despite the cold.
She laughs, the sound catching somewhere between breathless and slightly hysterical, tinged with the kind of post-orgasmic euphoria that makes everything feel both intensely real and completely surreal.
"Everyone definitely heard that. Oh god.
The entire team. Chad. The instructor. Everyone.
" Her voice carries that particular note of someone who's just done something wildly out of character and is still processing the implications.
"Good," I rumble against her skin, already moving to worship every inch of her with my mouth.
I kiss her shoulder first, lingering there, tasting the salt and sweetness of her.
Then I trail slowly up the elegant line of her neck, feeling her pulse still racing beneath my lips.
Her jaw comes next, that sharp, determined jaw that's so perfectly her.
Each kiss is a punctuation mark, an emphatic statement. "Now they know."
Her breathing hasn't quite steadied yet, but she manages to form the question, though her voice wavers with lingering pleasure. "Know what?"
I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, making sure she sees the absolute certainty in mine, the primal satisfaction of a warrior who has claimed his greatest prize. "That you are mine."
She should argue. Should remind me about workplace policies and professional boundaries and all the corporate rules I keep breaking.
Instead, she pulls me down for a kiss that feels like agreement, like promise, like the beginning of something that has nothing to do with HR departments and everything to do with this wild, perfect thing building between us.
We dress slowly, helping each other with buttons and zippers, stealing kisses between layers of clothing.
By the time we emerge from the back room, the storm has started to clear, the rain lessening to a drizzle, the wind dying down.
The group around the fire doesn't quite look at us, sudden intense interest in the ceiling, the floor, anywhere except our disheveled appearance and obvious satisfaction.
Chad's expression could curdle milk.
The instructor clears his throat. "Storm's passing. Radio says rescue team is mobilizing. Should be here within the hour."
"Good," Orla says, her voice steady and professional despite her kiss-swollen lips and the hickey blooming on her neck that her collar doesn't quite hide. "Everyone stay warm. Maintain the fire. We've survived the worst of it."
I stand behind her, one hand possessively on her waist, daring anyone to comment.
No one does.
Headlights cut through the lingering drizzle exactly forty-three minutes later, multiple vehicles navigating the muddy path, bringing rescue and civilization and all the complicated rules we temporarily escaped.
The CEO steps out of the lead vehicle, his expensive suit somehow still immaculate despite the conditions, his expression unimpressed as he surveys our bedraggled group.
His gaze lands on me and Orla, takes in our proximity, our disheveled state, the way my hand still rests possessively on her waist.
His eyebrow raises a fraction of an inch.
"Well," he says dryly. "I see the team-building exercise was more successful than anticipated."