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“You did not just Daddy-drop me like that,” I whisper.

He doesn’t smile, but I think his mouth twitches. Just once.

“That a problem?” he asks.

I step closer. Hips swaying. Heart doing ridiculous things.

“No, Daddy,” I say, voice syrup-sweet and entirely unrepentant.

And okay, yes, that probably made my thighs clench in ways that should be illegal.

“I’m uncuffed,” he says simply. “And I’m not leaving. That means you either trust me now... or you need to find stronger cuffs.”

“You think I should trust you?” I ask.

He stands.

God, he’s tall.

He moves like he was carved out of war and solitude, all lean muscle and scarred skin and quiet violence. No wasted steps. No wasted anything.

“I think you already do,” he says, stopping just in front of me. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be in here half-naked with no backup.”

“Oh, I have backup,” I whisper, staring up at him.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing a finger under the hem of Evan’s shirt. “Where?”

I take a breath. Feel it stick.

He leans in, just enough that I can feel his voice more than hear it. “I’ve watched you watch me,” he says. “You were never scared. Just patient.”

I nod, breathless. “You were the one I wasn’t sure I could seduce.”

“You still can’t,” he says. And then his hand slides to the back of my neck and pulls me into the kind of kiss that feels like a locked vault slamming open.

It’s not slow. It’s not sweet. It’s claiming.

His mouth takes mine like he’s been saving this, planning this, and every second of restraint is now breaking loose all at once.

I moan, melt, clutch at his shirt, but he holds me in place like I’m his anchor and he’s mine, and everything else is noise.

When he finally pulls back, I’m trembling.

He doesn’t look smug. He looks ready.

“I’m in,” he says. “All the way. But this doesn’t work unless we’re smart.”

“We are,” I breathe. “We’re really fucking smart.”

“I want to see the full layout. The cameras. The perimeter. I want a rotation. Weapons check. You’ve done the hard part,” he says. “Now let me help you keep it.”

I nod again, still dazed. Still wet. Still completely ruined by a man who probably hasn’t kissed anyone in years and just managed to short-circuit my soul.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. “This bunker’s not gonna survive you.”

He leans in again. “Then you’d better reinforce the damn walls.”

He doesn’t move fast. He doesn’t rush. He just takes a step closer, then another, and I swear the air changes like the bunker itself knows something dangerous is about to happen.