Once she was secured, spread out like an offering, he sat beside her, letting his fingers drift in a languid path from the hollow of her throat down to the center of her chest. Her breath caught with a soft gasp, the cool contrast of his touch against the heat of her skin making her nipples tighten into stiff peaks.A flush bloomed across her chest as her back arched slightly, instinctively reaching for a contact he hadn't yet given, her need laid bare in the trembling rise of her breasts.
"You crave control," he murmured, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "But what you need is freedom. The kind only surrender can give you." She needed to understand that submission was not a sign of weakness.
A soft whimper slipped from her lips, a primal sound that clawed at his chest and dragged a hot pulse of need down his spine, knotting hard behind his navel, a pulse of hunger and tension that twisted through him like a drawn wire.
He leaned in, pressing a trail of heat along her neck with his lips before lowering to her chest. His mouth claimed her left nipple, the tender flesh yielding beneath his tongue. He flicked it slowly, teasing with the edge of his teeth, until she arched in response, a wordless offering of need. Moving to the right, he kissed a warm path across her chest, lips and breath feather-light until he reached her other nipple. He circled it with his tongue, then captured it between his teeth in a gentle tug, the soft scrape making her shudder, breath catching on a moan that made his blood thrum with dark satisfaction.
Her hips arched off the bed in a slow, desperate roll, her body aching for contact, the cool air dragging across her overheated skin as if mocking the need building inside her. He anchored her in place, his grip firm and unyielding. A shiver of restraint licked down his spine, sharp as a blade kissed by flame. The anticipation wasn’t just tension—it was torment, an exquisite ache that thrummed in his veins and pulsed against the rigid line of his control, threatening to snap with every breath she took.
He kissed a line down her belly, his hands holding her hips in place as she squirmed beneath him. Each brush of his lips sent her breath stumbling, her chest rising in a quickening rhythm, heart pounding wildly beneath the flush of her skin. Themuscles in her abdomen jumped at each brush of his lips, the anticipation clawing up her spine, begging for more. Her thighs trembled with the effort of staying still, her need building with every second he lingered just out of reach. She wanted to move, to beg—but the burn of restraint only made the tension sweeter, the ache sharper as she writhed.
When he finally settled between her thighs, he paused, letting the charged air pulse between them. The warmth of her skin radiated against his chest, heat rising like a tide as her scent flooded his senses—jasmine, lust, and something uniquely Evangeline. He looked up, locking eyes with her as if anchoring them both to that single electric thread.
"Keep your eyes on me," he commanded, voice low and rough, more growl than whisper, a promise of what was to come.
She did, even as he parted her folds with his fingers, baring her slick heat to the cool air, then dragged his tongue over her clit in long, deliberate strokes. The sensation was a slow burn—wet silk over raw nerve—that had her gasping, spine bowing as she strained against the cuffs, every moan a plea for more, her body a prayer written in tension and want.
He drew it out, savoring the taste of her, exploring her slick folds and probing her entrance with his tongue. He discovered what made her cry out, what made her tremble. He brought her to the edge three times and pulled back each one. Her legs quaked beneath him, every muscle taut with strain, her breath ragged, and skin glazed with a sheen of heat and longing.
"Dawson, please—" His name on her lips was a desperate plea, a broken whisper that sent a surge of lust through him.
He moved up her body, cupping her face, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that promised forever. "You’re mine now, Evangeline. And I take care of what’s mine."
He freed her wrists, guiding her onto her belly with a tenderness that belied the hunger churning beneath his skin.He lifted her hips until they arched high, her back curving in a perfect line of invitation and surrender. The sight alone stole his breath. He pressed forward, the thick, rigid heat of him aligning with her soaked entrance, teasing the swollen folds before he thrust into her in a single, deep stroke that stole the air from both their lungs.
She cried out, a raw, desperate sound that drove straight through him, tightening his grip on her hips as he began to move. Each thrust was slow, powerful, deliberate—not punishing, but claiming, anchoring them both in something primal and consuming. Her skin flushed under his hands, her body rocking into his with every thrust, her moans turning to broken pleas as he gave her exactly what she didn’t know she needed.
She took everything he gave, surrendering to every relentless thrust, every heated demand. Her body bowed, trembling, as she climaxed again and again beneath him—each release a gasp of pleasure and longing. He held himself back until the pressure clawed up his spine, a beast unleashed, and then he let go. The moment shattered him—hot and brutal and staggering—more than lust, more than release. It was possession laced with a terror he couldn’t shake. Not fear for her. For himself. For how much he wanted—needed—her. He groaned into the crook of her neck, his body shaking, hips jerking, overwhelmed by the force of it, undone by the woman who had become his weakness and his want all at once.
When it was over, he gathered her close, wrapping the blanket around them both. Her skin, still warm from his touch, pressed into his chest like a lifeline. Her breath, slow and steady, whispered against his collarbone, syncing with his own in a rhythm that felt carved into the marrow of him. She didn’t just curl into his side—she fused to him, filling an emptiness he’d long stopped acknowledging. The way she fit there—effortlessly,irreversibly—rattled something buried deep, cracking open the fault line he’d spent a lifetime sealing shut.
He pressed a kiss to her temple.
He’d crossed the line.
And there was no going back.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sharp vibration slicing through the charged silence like a detonator’s trigger—sharp, jarring, and final. The intimate quiet they’d created cracked open, the afterglow disintegrating into a rush of instinct and alarm. Dawson's muscles tensed instantly, a knot winding in his gut, every protective instinct snapping to life.
He reached for her phone and studied the screen.
Blocked number.
No message, just a photo.
Peter Rhodes, slumped over his desk, eyes wide and glassy in death. A letter opener jutted from between his shoulder blades, the handle slicked dark with blood.
Dawson’s jaw tightened. Without a word, he turned the screen toward her.
The haze of post-release intimacy vanished in a blink, replaced by the sharp, cold clarity of threat. Danger wasn’t just looming—it had struck. And now it was staring her in the face.
9
EVANGELINE
The chill in the loft was the first thing she noticed—sharp, slicing through the warmth of sleep like a blade of ice. It wasn’t just the temperature; something about the silence felt... wrong. Too still. Too clean. Her skin prickled with a quiet foreboding, the kind of instinctive warning that had no voice but rang loud all the same.
The air felt still, too still, carrying a faint, metallic tang laced with something chemical and unfamiliar. It teased her nose—unsettling in a way she couldn’t quite name. A whisper of instinct raised goosebumps along her arms as her body stirred, her mind slow to bridge the distance between the comfort of dreams and the quiet, uneasy emptiness surrounding her.
