I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t have the words to explain myself. My thumb traces the line of her jaw, pressing into the softness of her skin.
“I shouldn’t have put you in the trunk.”
I take a breath.
“I saw red.”
Her hands come up to grip my wrists, holding. “What is this? I’ve never seen you like that before.”
I close my eyes briefly. “I don’t know. I don’t know what this is. But it makes me so fucking violent. I’m a weapon, Ayla, I was forged like this and I won’t share you. Not with friends, not with family. Not even with yourself.”
The admission costs me something. I can feel it tear free, leaving something exposed.
When I open my eyes again, she’s staring at me with an expression I can’t read. Her fingers tighten on my wrists. Her eyes don’t have fear anymore.
“If I’m a weapon, Ayla... then I’m yours.”
Something in her eyes shifts.
Her mouth slams into mine. And all I taste is war in her surrender.
Blood and fury and the sweet copper tang of everything she’s been holding back. I don’t kiss her—I devour her. Teeth clashing, tongue forcing past her lips like I’m trying to crawl inside her soul and never leave.
My hands are already punishing: one fists her hair so hard I feel strands snap at the root, the other clamps around her throat, reminding her windpipe who owns the air she breathes.
She moans into my mouth, the sound raw and broken, and it snaps the last leash I had on myself.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, but she’s not pushing me away; she’s pulling me closer, her body arching into mine. I growl low in my throat, the sound vibrating between us, and shove her harder against the desk. Papers scatter, something metallic clatters to the floor, but I don’t give a fuck. Nothing matters except her heat, her mouth, the way her thighs part instinctively when I press between them.
I break the kiss just long enough to bite her lower lip, hard enough to draw a whimper. “You drive me insane,” I rasp against her skin, trailing my mouth down her jaw, her throat. I suck at the pulse point there, feeling it hammer under my tongue. Her hands claw at my shirt, yankingit up, nails raking over my abs. The sting goes straight to my cock, already straining against my jeans.
“Fuck, Maks,” she breathes, voice breaking. It’s not a plea; it’s a demand.
She shrugs out of her jacket.
I tear off mine, pull off my shirt, drop it before I’m on her again.
I grab the hem of her top and rip it up over her head, tossing it somewhere into the shadows of the office.No bra—she’s going to kill me.
Her tits are perfect, nipples already hard, begging. I dip my head and take one in my mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing. She arches off the desk with a cry, her fingers twisting in my hair, pulling. Pain sparks pleasure, fueling the fire.
My free hand works her jeans open, shoving them down her hips along with her panties. She kicks off her boots, helping me strip her.
Her legs wrap around my waist as I straighten, grinding against me, wet and ready. I can feel her cunt through my clothes. I shove her back onto the desk, sweeping my arm across the surface. The laptop teeters and crashes to the floor with a shatter—fuck it, I’ll buy a new one.
She’s sprawled out beneath me, chest heaving, eyes dark with want. I undo my belt, my zipper, freeing myself. She’s watching, lips parted, and when she reaches for me, I catch her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand.
“No,” I say low and final, positioning myself at her entrance. She’s slick, clenching already, and I thrust inside in one brutal stroke.
She cries out.
The stretch is brutal—hot, slick walls gripping me like a fist, every rung catching and dragging fire along her inner muscles.
I feel her pulse fluttering around each barbell, her heat soaking me, dripping down my balls.
The desk groans louder than the bass thumping through the walls, wood cool under my palms as I brace harder. Fuck, she’s trouble.
Chapter 30
