"That's it," he murmurs, voice laced with heat. "Show me how wet you get for these thoughts. I've pictured your mouth on me too—sucking me deep while I tell you exactly how I'd ruin you. Come on, baby, let go. Soak my cock like I've dreamed."
The command shatters me. Pleasure coils tight and snaps, my orgasm crashing over me in waves, my body shuddering as I cry out, clenching around him.
He groans, hips bucking once more before he follows, spilling hot inside me with a satisfied curse, his grip bruising as he holds me in place through every pulse.
Afterward, we're tangled together on his couch, my head on his chest, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His fingers trace lazy, possessive patterns on my bare shoulder, a reminder that even spent, he's the one who calls the shots.
The sun has set, leaving the apartment in blue twilight, but neither of us moves to turn on the lights—content in the afterglow of his unshakeable control.
"You liked all that, didn't you?" he says after a long, quiet stretch, his voice low and rumbling against my ear, that smug edge creeping back in as his hand slides down to rest on thecurve of my hip. "Fuck, baby, the way you clenched around me... You were soaking just from the words."
Heat blooms fresh in my cheeks, but I don't deny it—can't, not when my body still hums with the echoes of those fantasies, my pulse quickening at the mere reminder. I tilt my head up, meeting his gaze in the dim light, my voice soft but honest.
"Yeah... It was hot, the way you said it—like you meant every word."
"I meant every word," he replies, his tone dropping even lower, laced with that raw intent that sends a shiver racing down my spine. "I like to fuck, baby—and I like it hot, spicy, and edgy. No holding back, no vanilla bullshit. And I very much like being in charge, calling the shots, watching you unravel because of it."
His eyes darken as he speaks, that predatory spark flaring to life, and I feel it before I see it: his cock twitching against my thigh, hardening steadily, thick and insistent as it presses into my skin.
He shifts slightly, his grip tightening on my hip, pulling me closer so I can't ignore the growing heat of him.
A thrill shoots through me at his command, that unyielding tone wrapping around my will like a vice, making resistance impossible—and the truth is, I don't want to resist.
My body moves before my mind catches up, sliding off the couch with a soft rustle of the sheet, sinking to my knees on the cool hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The twilight casts shadows over his form, highlighting the flex of his muscles as he sits back, watching me with that intense gaze, his cock now fully hard and curving upward, flushed and ready.
I lean in, my hands sliding up his thighs to steady myself, fingers brushing the base of him as I part my lips and take him in—slow at first, tongue swirling around the thick head, tasting the salt of his arousal mixed with the remnants of us.
He groans low, one hand coming to rest on the back of my head, not forcing but guiding, fingers threading through my hair as I hollow my cheeks and sink deeper, sucking with a rhythm that's all for him, all to prove how those words ignited something wild in me.
The sounds he makes—rough, approving—spur me on, my own heat building again as I bob my head, taking him to the back of my throat, gagging just a little before pulling back to tease the underside with flicks of my tongue.
"Fuck, yes," he mutters, hips bucking slightly into my mouth, his grip tightening as he watches through hooded eyes. "Just like that—my good girl, showing me what you can handle."
I lose myself in it, the power in his pleasure, until his breaths turn ragged, his body tensing, and with a final, deep thrust against my tongue, he comes hard, spilling into my mouth in hot pulses that I swallow greedily, milking him through it until he's shuddering and spent.
When he finally pulls me up, his touch gentler now, I curl back against him on the couch, both of us boneless and sated once more, the air thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction. His arm drapes over me possessively, our breaths syncing in the quiet.
"So," he says, voice rough with satisfaction and exhaustion, "does this influence your decision about the Guardian HRS job?"
I prop myself up to look at him, taking in his tousled hair, the satisfied smile playing at his mouth, the way he's looking at me like I'm something precious.
"I'm definitely going to take it now."
His smile widens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I gesture between us, "I want to see where it goes."
He pulls me down for a kiss that's gentle and sweet and full of promise, his lips lingering like he's sealing the deal.
We stay like that for hours, talking quietly, stealing kisses, learning each other's bodies now that we have time and safety to explore. And when I eventually need to leave—early meeting with CJ to finalize my contract—Flint walks me to the door, kisses me goodbye with enough heat to make me consider canceling my morning plans, and extracts a promise that I'll come back tomorrow.
"Every day if you want," I tell him, meaning it.
"I very much want," he says, and watches me leave with eyes that promise he's already counting the hours until I return.
THREE MONTHS LATER
The Guardian HRS training facility is empty except for me and the advanced EOD operators I've been training over the past six weeks. We're in the final session of the course I designed—practical application using adaptive triggers in scenarios that push their skills without putting them in actual danger.
