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.
