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“Ah, but this might tear the risk assessment report if we don’t move.”

I flip her onto the avalanche of paperwork. Pages stick to her sweat-slicked skin as she braces against the wall. Her choked moan when I thrust deeper sounds like surrender.

“Fuck your—ah!—risk assessment matrices,” she says, barely getting the words out between gasps of pleasure.

“Language, Miss Wren” I bite her shoulder, feeling the vibration of her laugh-turned-whimper. “This is a family camp, after all.”

Her hand flies back to grip my tusk, yanking my mouth to her ear. I indulge her unspoken demand, licking slowly at the shell of her ear, feeling the uncontrollable shiver she gives me in return.

“You’re paying for the dry cle…cleaning…oh!” Julie’s head wrenches backwards, air coming in shallow gasps as she gets closer and closer to sweet release. Her nails dig deeper, legs pull me tighter, lungs breathing rapider.

She’s close. So close. Right where I want her.

I shift so my pelvis rubs against her clit, and finally she’s completely undone.

The lamp topples as her climax hits, her own hand knocking it over like a were-cat. shadows lurching across the bulletin board’s safety diagrams. Her back bows, a map pin stabbing my palm as I pin her hips down. She chokes out something between my name and a swear, throat working like she’s still debating spreadsheets.

“To…Torack,mmm, don’t…don’t stop yet!” she practically begs. It’s unbecoming of a professional, modern woman like her.

I can’t get enough of it.

“Come again,” I demand in return. “Come for me, Julie. I’m not going to rest until I feel you tighten around my cock again.”

“Yes, yes, Tor- Ah!”

I can feel the exact moment her frenetic calculations short-circuit. Her muscles clench, all that meticulous control unraveling as she comes again with a ragged cry that scares the moths off the windowsill.

It’s enough to make me unravel. And then finally, I do just that.

The moment I spill into her, Julie’s fingers tighten in my hair hard enough to sting. Her breath scalds my neck—quick, shallow gusts that echo too loud in the ransacked office. The scent of sex and split pine planks coats my tongue. Her hips jerk once, twice, still chasing the fading tremor between us.

We don’t move. Don’t speak. Her cheek sticks to my clavicle where sweat glues us together.

And as the endorphins wear away, realization of what I've just done replaces them.

I just fucked my assistant.

Fuck.

CHAPTER 15

JULIE

The early morning fog curls low along the tree line, still clinging to the edges of camp like it doesn’t want to let go of the storm. Dew glistens on the grass, coating everything in a shimmery wet sheen. Even the wildflowers look a little drunk on the moisture—bowing under it like they partied too hard last night and are now questioning their life choices.

Kind of like me.

My boots squish faintly through the soft earth as I move along the outer path toward the admin tent. The clipboard in my hands is already full—notes, updates, a sharpie list that’s half logistics and half aggressively written affirmations likeYOU ARE A PROFESSIONAL, JULIE.DO NOT GET DISTRACTED BY ORC MUSCLES.YOU’RE NOT GONNA DIE FROM ONE GOOD NIGHT OF SEX, STAY COOL.

Spoiler alert: It’s not helping.

Because here I am. Heart jittery. Lungs tight. Still hearing the way Torack whisperedyou already arelast night. Still feeling the heat of his hands at my waist, his lips on my neck. Still seeing the way he looked at me like I wasn’t just helping hold his world together—Iwashis world.

And I’ve been pretending all morning like none of that happened.

Because I’m responsible.

I am the glue. The fixer. The overachiever. The girl who once laminated a schedule for her own break-up just to “streamline the grieving process.”