"Tell me to stop," he says, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Tell me this isn't what you want."
In answer, I reach behind me, guiding him to where I need him most. He enters me in one powerful thrust, filling me completely, stretching me to the point of exquisite pain. We both cry out at the sensation, our voices mingling in the charged air.
He sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving me harder against the wall. One hand remains at my throat, the other gripping my hip, holding me in place as he takes me. The angle is perfect, hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur at the edges.
"Is this what you wanted?" he growls, his rhythm never faltering. "To be fucked against a wall like you mean nothing? Like this is just about getting off?"
I can't answer, can't form words past the pleasure building inside me. He seems to take my silence as defiance, his handsliding from my hip to between my legs, finding that bundle of nerves that makes me see stars.
"Answer me, Claire." His fingers circle my clit with devastating precision, in perfect counterpoint to his thrusts. "Is this what you wanted from me?"
"No," I manage, the word torn from me. "I wanted you. All of you. Not just the parts you think I can handle."
His rhythm falters for a moment, my honesty catching him off guard. Then he's spinning me around again, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to his desk, sweeping papers and files to the floor with one arm.
He lays me down on the cool surface, never breaking our connection. The new angle allows him to go deeper, to see my face as he takes me apart piece by piece. His eyes lock with mine, refusing to let me hide, forcing me to acknowledge what's happening between us.
"You want all of me?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion and exertion. "The killer? The monster? The man who would burn down the world if you asked him to?"
"Yes," I breathe, reaching up to touch his face, my fingers tracing the harsh lines of his jaw. "Everything. All of it."
Something breaks in his expression then—the last of his control shattering. He leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that's surprisingly gentle given the force of his body moving inside mine. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I willingly grant.
The contrast is maddening—the tenderness of his kiss against the relentless power of his thrusts. I'm caught between sweetness and violence, between hatred and something dangerously close to love.
The pressure builds inside me, coiling tighter and tighter until I think I might shatter from the tension. Ian seems tosense it, his fingers returning to where we're joined, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves with expert precision.
"Come for me," he commands, his voice a dark promise in my ear. "Let me feel you fall apart."
The order pushes me over the edge. I come with a cry of his name, my body clenching around him in rhythmic pulses. The sensation triggers his own release, his rhythm faltering as he empties himself inside me with a guttural groan.
For a long moment, we stay like that, connected, breathing hard, neither willing to break the fragile peace that's settled over us. His forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us.
One hand comes up to brush hair from my face, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the intensity of what just happened.
"I've wanted to tell you for so long," he says, his voice quiet in the aftermath. "How I feel about you. What you do to me."
I should pull away. Should rebuild the walls he's so thoroughly demolished. But I find myself leaning into his touch instead, craving the connection I've denied myself for so long.
"And what’s that?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
He studies me for a moment, as if weighing how much truth I can handle. "I'm falling in love with you," he says finally. "Have been since I first saw you. It terrifies me. Makes me want to lock you away somewhere safe, where Blackwood and this world can't touch you."
The confession steals my breath. Love is not a word I expected from this man—this dangerous, controlled enforcer who kills without hesitation. It's not a word I allow myself to consider, not with the life I've lived, the walls I've built.
"You don't even know me," I say, the protest weak even to my own ears.
"I know enough." His thumb traces my lower lip. "I know you're brilliant. Determined. Fierce. I know you've survived things that would break most people. I know you're afraid of needing anyone, of being vulnerable."
Each word strips away another layer of my defenses, leaving me raw and exposed. "And you still want me? Knowing all that?"
"I want you because of all that." His eyes hold mine, unflinching. "Because you're like me. Broken in all the same places. Hungry for all the same things."
The truth of it resonates in my chest, a perfect harmony to the melody of my own desires. This man sees me—all of me—and wants me anyway. Wants me because of the darkness, not despite it.
"I'm scared," I admit, the words barely audible.
"I know." He pulls me closer, his arms encircling me, offering shelter I didn't know I was seeking. "So am I."
