My hand trails between her legs, fingers sliding through her wetness. She gasps, pushing back against my touch.
"So eager." I withdraw my hand, bringing my fingers to her mouth. "Taste yourself. Taste what you do to me."
She opens obediently, sucking my fingers clean. The sight makes my cock throb painfully against my zipper.
I strip quickly, freeing myself, and position behind her. But I don't enter. Not yet.
Instead, I lean down, pressing my tongue against her. She cries out, the sound echoing in the room, and I devour her. Licking, sucking, pushing my tongue inside while she writhes in her bonds.
"Nathan—sir—please—"
"Please what?" I pull back, replacing my tongue with two fingers. "Tell me what you need."
"I need you inside me." She's sobbing now, desperate. "I need to feel owned. Claimed. Please."
I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her heat. "You are mine," I say, pushing in slowly. "Every inch of you belongs to me."
She screams as I fill her, the sound pure pleasure. I bottom out, my hips flush against her ass, and pause.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You. God, move. Please move."
I withdraw and slam back in, setting a brutal pace. The bench creaks with each thrust, and Eve's cries fill the room, mixed with my grunts and the obscene sound of skin meeting skin.
"This is what you needed," I growl, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. "To be taken. To be used. To forget everything except this."
"Yes." She's crying again, but these are tears of release. "Yes, sir."
I spank her, one, two, three times as she cries out. Her ass is red already. I love it.
I reach around, finding her clit, and she detonates. Her orgasm clenches around me, pulling me deeper, and I follow her over the edge with a roar.
We stay connected, both shaking, while I carefully untie her bonds. Then I lift her, carrying her to the leather sofa, and cradle her against my chest.
"You're perfect," I murmur, stroking her hair. "So fucking perfect."
She sighs, exhausted, and it makes my chest tighten.
"I will give you more soon. But not today," I say, though my body is screaming to take her again already. "Today, you also need to learn something else."
***
The shooting range is underground, private, the kind of place that doesn't officially exist. Eve is nervous as we descend in the elevator, her hand in mine, her pulse racing where my thumb presses against her wrist.
"Why am I here?" she asks as we step into the concrete corridor.
"Because you need to know how to protect yourself," I say simply. "Bjorn and his team will keep you safe. But I want you to have a backup."
The range instructor greets us with professional courtesy, providing ear protection and explaining basic safety protocols. Eve listens with that focused intensity she brings to everything, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Then he places a gun in her hands.
She holds it carefully, respectfully, the weight of it clearly registering. I move behind her, my body bracketing hers, my hands coming around to adjust her grip.
"Like this," I murmur in her ear. "Firm but not tight. Let the gun become an extension of your arm."
She shivers at my closeness, and I feel the heat of her back against my chest. The smell of her shampoo mingles with the sharp tang of gunpowder, and it's intoxicating.
