The second she meets my eyes, her heart rate spikes.
Good. I like my prey aware before I claim it.
She walks into my war room like a blade wrapped in silk, all tight shoulders and spreadsheet shields.
But I smell her—stress like prey in the wind.
She thinks her control is armor. I see the cracks. One touch of my tusks, and her world’s fracturing.
I claim her inch by inch. In elevators that trap us. Supply closets that echo her gasps. My tusks mark what’s mine, and she bends for the storm I bring.
She’s not ready for how deep I’ll go. How I’ll shatter her plans and rebuild her in my image.
She can organize my chaos. Now I organize the nursery.
Read on for possessive orcs, size difference heat, forbidden office obsessions, grumpy ice queens melting for green sunshine, and a warrior who fixes what he breaks. HEA Guaranteed!
