Page 35 of Villainous Intent

No.

I stared at the word, not sure if I believed it. Not sure if I wanted to believe it.

Stolen glimpses are for boys who are grateful for scraps. I don’t want to steal a look at your body. I want you to stand in front of that window, knowing I’m there. I want your willing surrender.

So go ahead. Take your shower. I won’t look.

Not until you beg me to.

My phone screen dimmed, then went dark.

I sank down onto the edge of the bathtub, my legs suddenly feeling like they might give out, my breath coming too fast.

Willing surrender.

I’d spent my entire life since Halcyon building walls, creating systems, following rules. Control was survival, not just a preference.

And here was Cipher, casually suggesting I hand it over. To him.

I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the bathroom mirror. She had flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her lips slightly parted.

She looked alive. Awake. She looked present in a way I hadn’t been in years. I hadn’t felt like this since⁠—

Since never.

I turned the shower on, cranking the heat until steam billowed up to fog the mirror. The water hit my skin just shy of scalding, but I didn’t pull back. I welcomed the sting. I needed to burn the day off and scrub away the Keeper, the clipboard, the rules, the buttoned-up blouse, the endless, suffocating responsibility of being good.

For a moment, I just stood there, letting the heat soak into my muscles.

I want your willing surrender.

The words clawed at me.

Surrender.

That was the dirty secret buried under my efficiency ratings and my perfect attendance record. I was tired of managing. I was tired of always feeling the need to be perfect.

I wanted to be held down. I wanted to be overwhelmed.

My hand slid down my stomach. No more lies. No more safe fantasies about baristas who would ask permission and stop if I frowned. I didn’t want safe. I wanted the monster who watched me through the window.

My fingers found their target. I was already slick, my pussy wet for a man who represented everything I was sworn to fight.

I stared at the black square of the window through the steam.

Are you watching? You said you wouldn’t. But are you?

I hoped so. I leaned back against the tile, spreading my legs wider.

I closed my eyes and I imagined his hand on my throat. I imagined the weight of him pinning me to this wall, his voice dark and commanding in my ear.

My fingers moved faster. I was chasing the oblivion. I wanted to shatter the perfect, composed Annie Bishop and see what was left in the wake of her destruction.

“Cipher,” I whispered. It was a confession to the steam and the shadows and whatever surveillance equipment he’d pointed at my window.

I wanted him to take the control I held onto so tightly and crush it in his fist. I wanted him to make me beg. To make me break.

Look at me, the voice in my head commanded. Give it to me.