To corrupt her. Make her more like me.
Dirty her.
Break her.
Force her to show obedience.
I bend my head and kiss her.
The first touch wipes almost all thought from my mind, and my body takes over. Her soft lips yield instantly. I cup the back of her neck as she opens up for me. A groan rises from deep in my chest.
She responds with an eager whimper that vibrates against my mouth. Her hands grab fistfuls of my shirt, tugging me closer rather than pushing me away.
I should stop and stick to my plan. Focus on the mission. Instead, I devour her mouth, one hand tangling in her hair and tilting her head back to deepen the kiss.
She tastes like sugar and nerves. Her body moves under my direction without hesitation.
Any remaining thoughts bleed out of my head. I surrender to the desire pulsing through me in time with her racing breath. Each inhalation pulls her sweet, light scent inside me. When my teeth graze her lower lip, she moans.
Her pliant body arches and shifts against mine. Anywhere my fingers graze, she reacts, twitching beneath me and angling for more.
There’s nothing but the raw, honest heat of her. Hands tangled in my shirt, fingers slipping through the gap between buttons. Her breasts pressed to my chest. Her real, dangerous warmth seeps through the cracks in my armor.
I can’t allow this.
I’ve seen what happens to men who let themselves feel. Men who lose control. They bleed out in back alleys, theirlives wasted and forgotten. My father died taking a bullet for Roman’s father.
Loyalty and love.
Both equally fatal.
Attachments get you killed. Only the job matters.
This is weakness.
I’m not just letting Roman Kozlov down. I’m spitting on my father’s grave while painting a target on my back. Every lesson I ever learned about survival is slipping through my fingers because of this woman’s lips against mine.
The snap back to the current moment is violent.
Her lips keep moving, her tongue seeking connection as her warmth draws me in.
I need to erase this.
Reestablish control.
I’m the predator, not the prey.
Time to change the paradigm.
This isn’t about a connection. It’s about power. I pull away just enough to see her dazed eyes, her pupils blown wide with desire.
Perfect.
I hook a thumb in the waistband of her pajama bottoms. “Ready?”
Her body jerks in surprise, but she doesn’t stop me.
I yank the bottoms down in one smooth motion.
