Page 19

His hand rises, fingers tracing the air just above my cheek without quite touching. When his thumb finally makes contact, brushing across my lower lip, I part them slightly, tongue darting out to taste salt from his thick finger.

His pupils dilate.

"Strip," he commands, tone dropping to that register that vibrates through my bones.

My hands freeze on my belt buckle. Once I do this, there's no pretending it's just coordination. No going back to careful distance and measured words. This changes everything.

"You heard me." He doesn't step back, doesn't give me room to think. "Everything off. Now."

The order sends liquid arousal racing through my veins. My fingers shake as I work my belt free, the leather sliding through the loops with a whisper. His gaze never leaves mine, burning with an intensity that makes me feel exposed even fully clothed.

The belt hits the floor. My hands move to the buttons of my shirt.

"Slower," he orders. "I want to watch every piece come off."

My face flushes, but my fingers comply. Each button reveals another inch of skin. When the shirt finally slides from my shoulders, pooling at my feet, his sharp intake of breath makes me shiver.

My hands move to my bra clasp, but he stops me with a single word.

"Wait."

I freeze, arms halfway raised, suddenly hyperaware of how I must look.

"Tell me what you want," he says, circling me slowly.

"I want..." The words stick in my throat.

"Say it." His tone turns commanding. "Or put your clothes back on and walk out."

"I want you to touch me."

"Where?"

My face burns. "Everywhere."

"How?"

My words drop to barely above a whisper. "However you want."

Triumph flashes in his gaze. "That's my girl."

The praise sends a shock of arousal straight to my core. He moves behind me, and I feel the warmth of his body against my back.

"Hands on the table," he orders. "Palms flat."

I comply without thinking, bending slightly to place my hands on the war room table's surface. The position leaves me exposed, vulnerable.

His fingers finally make contact, tracing the line of my spine through my bra. The touch is electric, sending shockwaves through every nerve ending.

"So responsive," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. "I can smell how much you want this."

His hands work the clasp of my bra. When it falls away, I make a sound I've never heard myself make—part relief, part desperation.

"Please," I whisper.

"Please, what?" His palms cup my breasts—his hands so much larger than any human's, spanning from ribcage to collarbone—thumbs brushing over nipples already tight with need. "Use your words, Nova."

"Please touch me. Make me—" I can't finish the sentence.

"Make you what?" His teeth graze the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, tusks pressing cool against my flushed skin.

"Make me feel," I gasp.

One hand slides down my ribcage, fingers splaying across my stomach. "Last chance to change your mind."

Instead of answering, I press back against him, feeling the solid wall of muscle and the evidence of his arousal. He's huge.

"That's my answer," he growls.

His hand moves lower, fingers working at the button of my pants. When the fabric pools around my ankles, the cool air makes me feel exposed in ways that have nothing to do with nudity.

"Step out," he orders.

I comply, kicking the pants aside. His hands settle on my hips.

"Turn around."

I obey, turning to face him. His amber gaze devours every inch of newly revealed skin.

"On the table."

My legs shake as I boost myself up, the cool wood against my flushed skin making me gasp. He steps between my spread thighs, hands settling on my knees.

His touch is maddening—close enough to feel but not where I need him most. I try to shift closer, but his grip on my knees holds me in place.

"Patience," he commands. "You'll take what I give you when I decide to give it."

"Ash—"

"Wrong name." His thumb brushes against the edge of my panties, barely a whisper of contact. "My name is Torgash."

Understanding floods through me. Not the human-friendly version meant to civilize him. His real name. The one that acknowledges the beast he keeps caged.

"Torgash."

His expression transforms—surprise, maybe relief, like he's been waiting his whole life for someone to see him without flinching from what they find.

"Better." His smile is wicked, predatory. "Say it again."

"Torgash, please—"

His fingers hook in the lace at my hips, dragging the fabric down my legs with deliberate slowness. When I'm finally bare before him, he takes a moment to just look.

"Perfect," he breathes.

Then his mouth is on my inner thigh, lips and teeth working their way higher. When his tusks graze sensitive skin, I cry out at the contrast—cool hardness against flushed flesh.

His mouth moves higher, breath hot against my center, and I'm trembling.

"Tell me what you want," he demands.

"Your mouth," I gasp. "Please, I need—"

The first stroke of his tongue tears a cry from my throat.

He's relentless, skilled, building me higher with each calculated touch.

His tusks graze my inner thighs as he works, the cool contrast making me arch against him.

When his tongue finds exactly the right spot and circles with maddening precision, I'm already trembling on the edge.

Then he slides one thick finger inside me, and I nearly come apart.

"Not yet," he commands, pulling back. "When you come, it's because I decide you've earned it."

A whimper escapes me before I can stop it.

"Please," I beg, all pride forgotten.

He adds a second finger, stretching me, filling me in ways that remind me he's not human. Everything about him is bigger, stronger, more intense.

"Look at me," he orders when my gaze drifts closed.

His free hand catches my chin and holds me there until I force them open, meeting his burning stare. Something primal lurks there. Unleashed. Raw.

"Say my name," he commands, thumb finding that perfect spot.

"Torgash," I breathe.

"Again."

"Torgash, please, I can't—"

"You can." His tone turns hypnotic. "Let go, Nova."

His fingers curl, finding that spot that makes pleasure explode through my vision. The climax builds with relentless pressure, mounting until I'm teetering on the edge.

"Come for me," he orders. "Now."

The command breaks the last thread of control I've been clinging to. Permission to stop fighting myself, to finally let go.

The orgasm rips through me, stealing my breath and buckling my spine. My back arches off the table as pleasure tears through every nerve ending. I cry out his name as surge after surge overwhelms me.

He works me through it, fingers gentling but never stopping, drawing out every last tremor until I'm boneless and gasping.

When awareness slowly returns, his hand slides under my neck, lifting me to meet his mouth as it crashes down on mine.

The kiss is fierce, claiming, tasting my surrender on his lips.

His tusks graze my bottom lip, the careful scrape of his tusks making me gasp against him.

I can taste myself on his tongue, feel the barely leashed hunger in the way he devours my mouth.

When he finally pulls back, his gaze is molten amber.

"Mine," he growls against my lips, and I don't have the strength or desire to argue.

For a long moment, we stay like that—his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard. Then he pulls back slightly, and I realize I'm sprawled across the war room table, thoroughly debauched. Ash hovers over me with concern etched in the lines around his amber depths.

"You okay?" he asks, tone gentler than I've ever heard.

I nod, not trusting my words yet. My body feels like it's been taken apart and put back together.

He scoops me up easily, carrying me to the oversized leather chair in the corner.

He settles into it with me cradled in his lap, and I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against me, but his hands only hold, only comfort.

The leather of his cut is warm against my bare back, softened by years of wear.

He took nothing for himself. This was entirely about breaking me apart and putting me back together.

I should protest, insist on getting dressed, and reestablish distance. But when he pulls me closer, the tension in my shoulders melts away.

For the first time in months, the constant vigilance that's been my companion since arriving in Shadow Ridge finally quiets.

"Better?" he asks quietly, one hand stroking down my spine.

"Yeah." The word comes out barely above a whisper. I turn my face against his chest, inhaling that leather and spice scent. "You're still an asshole."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling beneath my ear. "That's not what you called me earlier. Something about having more honor and integrity than half the humans in this county."

My gaze snaps open. "You heard that?"

"Orcs have excellent hearing." His tone holds quiet satisfaction. "Especially when someone's defending us."

My face flushes, but I don't pull away. I close my eyes again, letting his warmth seep into my bones. "This changes everything."

"I know." His words rumble in his chest beneath my ear. "Let me worry about that now."

For the first time since I arrived in Shadow Ridge, I'm not fighting.

Not calculating my next move or measuring the cost of letting someone else take the lead.

The families counting on me, the investigation, Royce's corruption—none of it disappears.

But for tonight, the crushing weight of carrying it all alone finally lifts.

I don't have the strength to argue. Don't want to. Tomorrow can bring whatever it brings.