The words were like a firebrand. A confirmation. A final, terrifying acknowledgment of his victory.
I woke up a few hours later in the dead of night, his arm still draped over my hip.
For a heartbeat, I was disoriented. The silk sheets were a cool caress against my bare skin, and the room was bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moon filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was beautiful, and it was a lie.
Just like him.
Just like me.
My body ached, a bone-deep throb that was a constant, visceral reminder of his brutal possession. My pussy was tender, my ass was still warm, and my mind was a battlefield of shattered control and a grudging, humiliating satisfaction.
I lay there for a moment, listening to the steady, even rhythm of his breathing. He was asleep. The predator was finally sated, his guard down.
Slowly, carefully, I untangled myself from his arms. His grip loosened and he stirred, a soft murmur escaping his lips. I froze, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. When he settled back into a deeper sleep, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I slipped from the bed, my bare feet silent on the cool marble floor. The penthouse was vast. The city lights bled through the windows, painting the room in shades of blue, gold, and silver.
I found my purse where I’d dropped it by the door. My fingers trembled slightly as I unzipped it. Not from fear, but from a cold, simmering anger. Anger at him for what he’d done, and anger at myself for how shamefully I’d responded, what I’d let him do.
Inside, nestled in a small, velvet-lined compartment, was a slim silver case. I opened it. The auto-injector lay on a bed of black foam. It was filled with a fast-acting, non-lethal sedative, a chemical cocktail designed to induce a deep, dreamless sleep for hours. It was silent, efficient, and left no trace.
Perfect for my needs.
I crept back to the bed, the injector cool and heavy in my hand. Roman was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way it hadn’t been when he was awake. He looked almost innocent, a stark contrast to the dominant, commanding man who had just spent the last few hours methodically breaking me with one orgasm after the next.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of a feeling I didn’t want to name. Guilt? Regret? No. It couldn’t be. It was just… a moment. A human connection to the man lying vulnerable before me. The man who had fucked me like I’d never been fucked before.
I shoved it down. Buried it deep.
This was the mission. This was the job.
He was simply a target.
I leaned over him. The scent of him—smoky, expensive, and undeniably masculine—filled my senses. I carefully pushed the dark hair back from his neck, my fingers brushing his skin. It was warm, alive.
I pressed the injector against the side of his neck.
A soft hiss. A barely there prick.
He flinched, a small, involuntary movement, then stilled. The drug worked fast. Within seconds, his breathing deepened, his body going even more limp. He was out.
I straightened up, my hand steady. The silence in the room was now heavy and overwhelming.
I looked at him lying there, helpless. A part of me, the part that he had just fucked into submission, wanted to crawl back into bed with him, to feel his arms around me, to lose myself in him one last time.
But the other part, the cold, calculating part that was the real Kara Lennox, was already thinking ahead.
The data.
The mission was not over.
I pulled my dress down over my hips, the lace whispering against my sensitive skin. I found my panties by the bed, a discarded, insignificant piece of lace. I pulled them on and lifted my chin. A small, petty act of defiance. A reminder of the night. I found my Louboutins and slipped them on, the familiar pinch a grounding sensation. I had no idea when I’d kicked them off, but I didn’t waste any time thinking about it.
I took a moment to compose myself in the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror was a stranger. A woman with wild, tangled hair and swollen lips. A woman who had just been thoroughly fucked.
I smoothed down my dress, ran a hand through my hair, and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. It was a dark, bold red. The color of blood. The color of war.
I was ready.
