“Fuck,” I whispered, head falling back against tile.
I hadn’t processed what happened between Reaper and me—how the man sent to kill me became the only person I trusted. How his touch cut through fear better than any safety ever could.
The heat awakened something—a ghost of sensation I thought lost in that cold room where I nearly died. My fingertips traced my collarbone, and suddenly I was back with him, remembering his body against mine. That first time was desperate—both clinging to something real in a world spinning out of control.
I hadn’t expected to feel desire again so soon. I hadn’t expected to feel anything after what they did to me, either. But here it was—raw and insistent—proof I was still alive despite everything they had tried to take.
My fingers drifted lower, tracing a bruise before sliding between my legs. I was already wet. The realization felt like victory—they had tried to erase me, but my body still remembered how to want. They had failed.
I circled my clit slowly, testing my response. A soft moan escaped as I pressed harder, establishing a rhythm that sent sparks up my spine. I quickly sank my teeth into my bottom lip, not wanting to let out any further noise. With my other hand, I cupped my breast, pinching my nipple. More tingles rushed through me, consuming me inch by inch.
“God, what is he doing to me?” I whispered into the steam. “One time and I’m already addicted…”
The shower door slid open with a sharp hiss. I jerked back, arms crossing over my chest, heart hammering.
Reaper stood there completely naked, steam curling around his muscled frame. Almost as if he had somehow read my mind or sensed my desire. I couldn’t tell. Nor did I care. All I knew was—I needed him. His eyes raked over me, hungry and deliberate. His cock was already hard, thick and jutting forward.
“I could hear your heart rate change through the door,” he said, voice low and controlled despite the naked hunger in his eyes. “Your breathing pattern shifted. I knew exactly what you were doing in here.”
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was frozen between shock and overwhelming desire.
“Your heart rate increased. Pupils dilated. You’re aroused looking at me.” His assessment was clinical, yet the intensity in his eyes was anything but detached.
“How can you...” I stammered.
“I can read every signal your body sends,” he continued, stepping toward me. I needed him closer.So much closer.“That flush across your chest… the way your nipples hardened… you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”
I swallowed hard, startled by this aspect of his abilities.
“Does it bother you?” he asked, suddenly hesitant. “That I can’t turn it off? That everything I know was meant for.”
“No,” I cut him off, stepping closer. “Use it. See me. All of me.”
My breath turned shallow as he stepped in, crowding me against the tile. Water streamed over his shoulders, highlighting every scar, every muscle. He was close but not touching me, and it was driving me crazy.
“Your micro-expressions change when you look at my scars,” he observed. “Not disgust. Concern. You want to know the story behind each one.”
“I do. I want to know everything about you. Who you were. Who you’re becoming.”
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, then hope. “I want that too. To be known. By you.”
I reached out, tracing a particularly vicious scar that ran along his ribs. “This one?”
“Knife wound. Lebanon. Three years ago.” He flinched slightly—not from my touch, but the memory. “At least, I think it was Lebanon. They… blur the details sometimes.”
The admission cost him. I saw it in the tightening around his eyes.
“Your breathing pattern changed. Shorter breaths. You want me to touch you here.” His hand moved suddenly, fingers finding my clit. The contact pulled a gasping moan from my throat as my hips jerked involuntarily. I tipped my head back, completely surrendering to his knowing touch. This was where I needed him…
“How did you...” I gasped, stunned by how he found the exact right spot. More pleasure drifted through me, circling from the base of my spine to my limbs.
His lips curved. “I was trained to read bodies before I kill them. Now I use it for something better.” Hisfingers circled slowly as his other hand pinned my wrists above my head. “Every micro-expression, every flush, every contraction—they tell me what you need. And I’ll give it to you.”
“I can take care of myself,” I challenged, even as my body responded eagerly, betraying me so shamelessly. The journalist in me refused to yield completely, even now. I was determined to hold back for as long as I could…until I was entirely at his mercy, and the ache became unbearable. Though, it didn’t feel like I was far from that point. Every breath, every touch, every moment rose me higher to that bliss.
His eyes darkened. “I know you can. You survived without me. But right now”, his voice dropped, “let someone else carry the weight.”
The words hit with unexpected force. The back of my eyes burned. He was right—for so long, I had been on my own. I had learned to take care of myself in every way that counted, but right now…it would be nice to surrender to someone entirely. To let them take care of me.
