Page 71 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

“Say you want this.” His mouth finds my ear, breath hot beneath the water. “Say it.”

“I want—” The words catch. I hate how true they are. “I want you to shut up and fuck me.”

His hand comes down on my ass once, sharp enough to sting and bloom heat across my skin. I gasp, clenching around nothing.

“Again,” I say. “Do that again.”

He does—opposite cheek, harder—and then his hand wraps around my hip and he guides himself to my entrance and pushes in.

One deep, relentless stroke that punches the air out of my lungs.

“Fuck—Cara—” His forehead drops against the back of my skull. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

“Don't stop.” I push my hips back into him, taking him deeper, and we both groan. “Don't you dare stop.”

He doesn’t. He pulls almost all the way out and drives back in, setting a pace that's punishing from the first thrust. Each one shoves me against the wet tile, and my palms slip before I brace harder. Water runs into my mouth, my eyes. I don’t care. His hips snap against my ass, and the thick head of him drags across that spot inside me with every stroke until I'm shaking.

“Yes,” he says, ragged. “Take it. Take all of it.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.” His hand slides from my hip around to my front, fingers finding my clit, and he circles it in time with his thrusts. “Hate me all you want. Your cunt doesn’t.”

That’s filthy. That's disgusting. That makes me clench so hard around him, he swears in Russian.

“There,” he breathes. “Right there. You’re so tight. So wet for me.”

“Shut up⁠—”

“Make me.” He thrusts harder, and his fingers press faster, and my thighs are trembling so badly the only thing keeping me upright is his body pinning me to the wall.

The orgasm builds like a blade sliding home. I push back into every thrust, chasing it, hating him, needing him, and when it breaks I come with a sound that's half scream, half sob. I clench around him in waves, and my knees buckle.

His arm locks around my waist, holding me up. “Yes. Fuck, yes. Good—so good⁠—”

He keeps thrusting through my orgasm, drawing it out until I’m twitching and oversensitive, and then his rhythm turns ragged. Desperate. His fingers bruise my hip.

“Inside,” I say. “Come inside me. Now.”

He drives deep one last time and holds there, his body locked behind mine, and I feel every hard pulse of him as he comes with a broken groan against my wet shoulder. His breath comes in harsh, broken gasps against my neck.

For a long moment, there’s only the sound of the shower and our breathing.

Then he presses his mouth to my shoulder. Not a kiss. Just contact.

“You’re still angry,” he observes.

“Obviously.” I brace against the tile, water still running down between us. "That didn’t fix anything."

“No.” His hand slides slowly up my ribcage, and the gesture is so gentle after all that brutality that it makes my chest hurt. “But you’re here.”

16

DMITRI

Abramov sends the message before I leave the north wing.

Cara O’Connell’s status has changed from contained guest to active investigation asset. Two routes have been logged between her quarters and the secure annex within the last hour. Staff exposure has increased. The escort protocol needs revision.