Page 44 of Torgash

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."

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