"No," he breathed. "Please. Let me finish. Let me—"
"You don't get to have everything you want." I tucked myself back into my pants with shaking hands. "Not after what you did."
"Algerone—"
"You touched me every day for a year and gave me nothing but your competence." I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. "Now you know what that feels like. To be touched and given nothing. To be marked and left wanting."
The intercom crackled. "Gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Zurich. Twenty minutes to landing."
I released him and retrieved my cane from the floor. My cock ached with unsatisfied desire, but denying him was worth it.
"Clean yourself up," I ordered. "We have work to do."
He stayed on his knees for a long moment with his hand pressed to his throat where the bruises were blooming purple. His lips were swollen, his hair wrecked, his cock still straining visibly against his pants.
He looked exactly like what he was: claimed, marked, and mine, but not forgiven.
"Get up," I said coldly. "Retrieve your tablet. We need to discuss the operation."
He rose on unsteady legs and gathered the scattered items with shaky fingers.
"You'll contact Shaw when we land," I said. "Tell him you're reconsidering his offer. That you're tired of my restrictions."
"You want me to pretend to betray you." His voice was still rough and affected.
I finally looked at him directly. He was debauched and perfect. "I want you to do whatever it takes to get us inside his operation. Whatever he asks for. Whatever proof he requires."
"Even if he wants—"
"Whatever it takes," I repeated. "You're good at being whatever men need. Use that."
He flinched, but his cock was still hard, and I knew he felt the ache of denial as keenly as I did.
The plane touched down smoothly. As we taxied toward the terminal, I moved to where he sat. He looked up at me with those dark eyes, still glazed.
I grabbed his chin and forced his head back. The marks on his throat stood vivid against his pale skin, purple and red fingerprints advertising my claim.
"Shaw thinks he knows what would buy you," I murmured, thumb brushing the bruises. His breath stuttered. "He's wrong. You can't be bought."
I leaned down until my lips brushed his ear. "You can only be owned. And you've been mine since the day we met." I bit his earlobe sharply. "But don't mistake this for absolution."
He shuddered. "Algerone—"
"Now get up. We have a weapon to retrieve. Xander and Ash are already running surveillance on Shaw's contacts."
I stepped back and adjusted myself. The ache of denied release would keep me sharp.
As we prepared to leave, I stared at his throat one more time. The bruises pulsed against his skin as evidence of my loss of control and my claim, but not my forgiveness.
Shaw wanted to steal my weapon. But the real enemy stood beside me, wearing my marks like a collar. The man who knew exactly how to make me lose control. The man I wanted to destroy and worship in equal measure.
The man I was sending straight into our enemy's orbit.
The thought sent a dark thrill through me because I knew with absolute certainty that no matter what Shaw offered, no matter what games he played, Maxime would come crawling back to me.
And when he did, I'd make him pay for every second he spent in another man's presence. I'd make him beg. I'd make him bleed.
I could hardly wait.
