He leaned down, his voice a low, masculine rumble. “Good girl.”
The words were a final, branding mark, a confirmation of his victory, but they were a lie.
I wasn’t a good girl.
I was a spy, a weapon, a woman who had just lost control in the most spectacular way possible.
But in that moment, with his weight on me, his scent in my lungs, his claim on my skin, I almost believed him.
He rolled off me, but only for a moment. He was back quickly, a warm, wet cloth in his hand. He cleaned me with a gentleness that was more disarming than the rough, dominant fucking had been. It chipped away at the walls I was trying to rebuild around my heart.
Then he pulled the silk sheets over us, his arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against him. My back was to his chest, his body a firm, solid presence against my spine. His hand rested on my hip, a territorial gesture.
The city lights twinkled outside the windows, a silent, indifferent witness to my undoing.
I should have been thinking about the mission. I should have been planning my next move, figuring out how to get to the office, how to extract the data, but my mind was wiped clean by pleasure, my body a traitor, humming with a satisfaction that felt dangerously like contentment.
“What are you thinking about?” he whispered in my ear.
“Nothing.”
He chuckled quietly behind me. “Liar.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I do know you, Kara-with-a-K,” he murmured, his hand tracing idle patterns on my stomach over the fabric of my dress. “Better than you think.”
My breath hitched. The intimacy of this moment was more threatening than any of the fucking had been. It was a slow, creeping invasion, a quiet conquering of territory I hadn’t even realized I was defending.
“Go to sleep,” I said, my voice a weak attempt at regaining control.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m not done with you.”
He rolled me over, his body covering mine, his eyes dark in the dim light. He looked down at me, a devious smile spreading across his face. “You thought we were finished?”
“I was hoping.”
“Poor little Kara,” he sighed. “Still thinking she’s in charge.”
He leaned down, his mouth finding my ear again. “I’m going to fuck you again,” he whispered threateningly. “And this time, you’re not going to fight it. You’re going to take it. You’re going to beg for it.”
He wasn’t asking. He was telling.
His eyes burned into mine as he slowly moved back and removed one of my stilettos and then the next, tossing them aside so that they clattered on the floor. Then he roughly pulled my dress up and over my head, throwing it on the floor alongside my designer heels. I wasn’t wearing a bra, so that left me completely naked.
He kicked off his own shoes, took off his pants, and climbed back over me. Then he shifted his hips, the thick head of his cock nudging against my entrance. He was already hard again. I should have been scared. I should have been planning my escape.
Instead, a fresh wave of arousal washed over me, a traitorous, undeniable heat that pooled between my legs.
He drove into me with a single, powerful thrust, stealing the air from my lungs. He filled me completely, stretching me, claiming me all at once.
I arched beneath him, a strangled cry tearing from me, but it didn’t slow him down, not even in the slightest.
He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against mine, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. He was a man possessed, a predator claiming his prize, and I was the prey caught in his sights.
“You feel so good,” he grunted. “So tight. So wet for me.”
I couldn’t answer. I could only whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound that was completely out of character. I soon realized that my body was no longer my own.
