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Summary
“I’ll not be dismissed,” Bilbo whispered.
“I’m not dismissing you,” Thorin said, low and rough. “I’m trying not to lose my temper in front of the Company.”
“You already have,” Bilbo said coldly.
That was it.
Thorin moved like a storm breaking—fast, decisive, done with words. One hand snapped to Bilbo’s jaw, tilting his face up. The other gripped his waist, anchoring him in place. And then Thorin kissed him—no, claimed him. Mouth was fierce, open, heat and frustration pouring into him like fire.
Bilbo froze.
