Page 43 of Torgash

His hands tremble slightly at his sides. I watch him fight it—duty warring with desire, control battling need.

Instead, his control cracks like ice under pressure.

"You want the truth?" His tone drops to a register humans can’t reach, all gravel and dark restraint. "Since the night you held a gun on me, I've wanted you. Can't get you out of my fucking head for a second, and it's been driving me insane,Nova, because for the past three nights I've thought of nothing but bending you over this table and showing you exactly what happens when I stop protect you."

The admission sends arousal spiraling through my core. For three nights, he's been fighting the same war I have—wanting something he thinks he shouldn't have. The knowledge that I've been driving him just as crazy makes something fierce and hungry unfurl in my chest.

"So do it," I challenge, the words ripping from somewhere deep and reckless. "Stop treating me like I'm going to break."

His laugh is dark, predatory. "Careful what you ask for, Sheriff. Because once I start, I'm not stopping until you're begging me to."

"I don't beg."

"You will." The certainty in his tone makes my knees weak. "On your knees, on your back, however I want you."

My body responds with a rush of arousal so intense it nearly buckles my legs. He sees it—reads my reaction like he's been studying me for years instead of weeks. His nostrils flare slightly.

"There it is," he murmurs, stepping closer until his massive frame towers over me. "The need your body won't let you deny."

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."

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