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Sophie DuBois isn’t a woman who panics. She’s a French cop out of Lyon with deep ties to Cerberus, clean record. If she’s sending a warning, it means the play is already unfolding.
And we’re standing in the middle of the board.
“Nick?” Cherise steps forward.
I look at her, really look. Everything we’ve been trying to keep from spilling over? It’s about to flood.
13
CHERISE
Nick stands across the room, tall and quiet, his body humming with restraint. His fingers twitch once at his side before stilling. That little movement tells me everything. He’s on edge. Has been since we walked into this place. Since the sting... since Fortier... since me.
I pad toward him slowly, the cool floor biting at my bare feet, the oversized black shirt I stole from him brushing my thighs. He watches my approach like a man tracking an incoming storm.
"You're still wound tight," I murmur, my voice barely more than a breath as I step into his space, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. My fingers hover just above his chest, not touching yet, waiting for that final invitation. The air between us hums—charged, dangerous, filled with all the things we haven’t said. I see it in his eyes, that dark flicker of need he keeps buried under layers of control. He’s holding on by a thread, and we both know it’s about to snap.
He doesn’t answer. Just lifts his gaze to mine, dark and unreadable.
"Let me help," I whisper.
His jaw ticks, the tension in his body vibrating just beneath the surface. "This isn’t the time," he says, but his voice betrays him—low, tight, full of strain. It’s not a rejection. It’s a warning. A final barrier he doesn’t have the strength to hold much longer.
I close the distance, press my palms to his chest. His heart pounds beneath my hand like a war drum. "Then tell me when it is," I say, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. "Because I’m tired of you pretending you don’t want this as badly as I do."
His hand comes up, fingers brushing the edge of my jaw, slow and possessive. He cups my face, thumb grazing my cheekbone.
"You’re dangerous when you’re like this," he murmurs. "Soft. Willing. Beautiful."
"I’m yours, Nick. You already claimed me in front of a man who could’ve gotten us both killed. Don’t pretend this is something you can ignore."
Something shifts in his eyes. He moves with the speed and predatory grace of a wraith. In a blink, I’m off the floor, in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist as he walks us across the room like he owns the very ground we move over. Every step is measured, predatory, his grip sure and commanding, as if surrendering to him is the only option that ever existed. My breath catches as I cling to him, heart hammering in my chest, the silk of his shirt brushing my bare thighs, igniting my skin. The movement is effortless. Controlled. Possessive. Dominant.
He places me on the bed; the mattress dipping beneath me, but he doesn’t let go. One hand pins my thigh to the sheets. The other curls around my throat, thumb resting against the rapid flutter of my pulse.
“You want to surrender?” he asks, voice low, rough, like gravel laced with heat. “Then say it—say the words so I can take what’s already mine.”
My breath hitches. "Yes."
His gaze darkens. "To me."
His voice is like velvet-wrapped steel, and it sends a fresh wave of heat surging through me. He holds my gaze, daring me to look away, but I don’t.
"To you... only to you."
His grip tightens, fingers pressing into the sides of my neck with deliberate control—not painful, but firm, a claim as much as a question. "And the rules?" His voice wraps around me like a velvet leash, coaxing obedience with nothing more than tone.
My breath catches, thighs clenching, nerves crackling with anticipation. He doesn't move, just waits, dominance etched into every line of his body. The weight of his control settles over me like an impenetrable veil, inescapable and wanted.
My body arches into him instinctively. "Yours."
He groans low in his throat and captures my mouth with his. It’s not a kiss. It’s a taking. His tongue claims me, his body presses down, every inch of him demanding. His knee parts my thighs, spreading me wide as he settles between them.
“Don’t move,” he growls, dragging his mouth down my neck. “Hands above your head.”
I obey.
The shirt I’m wearing rides up as he pushes it higher, exposing my breasts. He palms one, thumb teasing the nipple until I whimper.