He pressed her in the direction of the wall. He wanted leverage and friction and he didn't think they were going to make it so far as one of the tables, even. Something stable to press against? The wall would do just fine.
Part of what made this so perfect was the grittiness of the setting, what usually went on there. In the place where he kept his supplies, his capability to reach out into the world and twist and break, he was finally getting the object of his obsession. Like those little Russian dolls--one inside the other.