Page 52 of Torgash

But what comes out is: "I can't."

Something feral burns in his amber eyes before his mouth crashes down on mine. All teeth and desperation, tasting like coffee. I should push him away, should remember every reason this destroys everything I've worked for.

Instead, I bite his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He growls against my mouth, the sound vibrating through my chest. "Is that how you want this? Rough?"

"I don't want your restraint." I grip the back of his neck, pulling his mouth closer. "I want you to give me what I need."

"And what do you need, Nova?"

I go very still under his touch.

"Someone who won't disappear when they see who I really am," I whisper.

His eyes darken, pupils dilating. "I've seen you, Nova. All of you. And I'm not going anywhere."

I search his face for the lie, but can't find one. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, carrying me from the living room toward the bedroom while I wrap my legs around his waist. The movement presses his hard length against me, and I can feel every inch of him. My back hits the bedroom doorframe as he pauses to devour my mouth again, fingers already tearing at my shirt.

The fabric gives way under his impatient touch, and buttons scatter across the hardwood floor. His mouth follows the path of destruction, lips and tongue mapping the hollow of my throat,the curve of my collarbone. When he reaches the lace edge of my bra, he pauses, looking up at me with eyes that burn like amber fire.

"Still with me?" he asks, voice strained.

"Stop asking and start taking."

That's all the permission he needs. My bra joins my shirt on the floor, and his mouth closes over one peaked nipple while his hand cups the other breast. The dual sensation makes me arch against him, as a cry tears from my throat.

He carries me the rest of the way to the bed, laying me down with surprising gentleness before stepping back to look at me. The way his gaze maps every inch of exposed skin makes me feel powerful instead of vulnerable.

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs, working at my jeans. "I've been imagining this for weeks."

The denim slides down my legs, taking my underwear with it, leaving me bare beneath his burning stare. But when I move to cover myself, his hand shoots out, catching my wrists.

"Don't. Let me see you."

For a long moment, he just looks. His gaze travels from my face down my body and back up, slow and thorough. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but not ashamed. The way he's looking at me - like I'm something precious he's been waiting his whole life to unwrap.

His touch is powerful against my skin as it maps every inch he's uncovered, mouth following the path of his fingers. When he reaches the scar on my thigh—knife wound from my rookie year—he pauses, lips pressing gentle reverence to the raised flesh.

"My warrior," he murmurs, and I understand he sees my scars the same way I see his, not as damage, but as proof of survival.

His mouth moves lower, taking his time, kissing and nipping until he reaches the juncture of my thighs. I try to close my legs, suddenly shy, but his hands—so much larger than any human's—hold me open.

"Trust me," he says, breath hot against my most sensitive skin.

His tongue traces along my folds with maddening slowness, exploring, learning what makes me gasp and arch beneath him. I grip the sheets, trying to stay still, but my body has other ideas. When he finds that perfect spot, he focuses there with devastating precision, circling and teasing until I'm trembling.

"Ash," I breathe, but he doesn't rush. Just continues that relentless torture, taking his time like he has all night to learn precisely what drives me wild.

When he adds his fingers, I rock against him, meeting each thrust. This time I'm not shy about what I want. I know what his touch can do to me. His thumb joins the assault, applying pressure where I need it most. The combination makes my back arch off the bed, but now I'm seeking more friction, more pressure.

"More," I gasp, and he rewards me with what I need.

My body responds instantly, and my hips move on their own. The pressure builds, and my thighs shake with the effort to stay open for him.

With my next labored breath, I begin to come undone in his grip, my voice breaking on his name.

He finally lifts his head, his lips glistening with evidence of what he's done to me. That wicked grin spreads across his face as he watches me come back to reality, satisfaction and possession written in every line of his expression.

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