Page 16 of No Words

“They’ll try to confuse you,” I continue, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer touches.

“Pleasure and pain. Kindness and cruelty. Until you can’t tell the difference anymore.

Until your body responds to both equally.

” I trail my fingertips along the inside of her thigh, feather-light, then without warning, deliver a sharp slap to the sensitive skin.

She gasps, her body jerking against the restraints.

“Your mind might want to resist,” I soothe the reddened skin with a gentle touch, “but your body will betray you. See how you’re already responding?

” I brush my fingers over her center, finding her even wetter than before.

“Pain becomes pleasure. Resistance becomes surrender. That’s how they break you. That’s how I’ll break you.”

I work systematically. A sharp pinch to her inner thigh followed by a soft stroke along her stomach, a bite at her neck eased by the soothing warmth of my tongue. Her breathing becomes ragged, her body arching toward me even after the sharper sensations.

“What do they want to know?” she asks, voice strained.

“Everything. Where the evidence is, who else knows, what you’ve told the prosecution?” I lean closer; my lips brush her ear. “But most of all, they will want to break you. Make you theirs.”

I slide my hand between her thighs. “Like I’m going to make you mine.”

I take my time, methodical in my approach, a man with all the time in the world despite the countdown ticking in the back of my mind. I map her body, learning which touches make her gasp, which make her moan, which make her beg.

“Where are the files hidden?” I ask, my fingers teasing her entrance without penetrating.

“I don’t, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pants, playing along.

“Wrong answer.” I pull away entirely, letting the cool air hit her heated skin. She groans at the loss. “Let’s try again.”

I push her to the edge again and again, building her arousal with relentless focus, only to deny her release at the crucial moment. Each time she approaches orgasm, I pull back, leaving her trembling and desperate.

“Tell me about the witnesses,” I demand, my fingers curled inside her, finding that spot that makes her back arch off the bed.

“There... there aren’t any...” she gasps.

“Good girl,” I murmur, my voice rough with desire.

I shift my position, trailing kisses down her body.

“Sometimes they’ll use pleasure you can’t resist,” my breath heating her inner thigh, before sinking my teeth into it, pulling a cry from her mouth.

“The kind that makes you forget everything except sensation.”

I lower my head, circling her clit lightly with my tongue before sucking her clit into my mouth.

Her reaction is immediate and powerful, back arching off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as pleasure courses through her.

I grip her hips firmly, controlling her movements as she tries to press closer, desperate for more contact.

I set a rhythm designed to drive her wild without pushing her over the edge.

Moments of focused attention on the most sensitive spots alternating with teasing retreats that leave her gasping.

“Focus,” I command against her heated skin. “Remember who you belong to.” I feel her thighs trembling against my shoulders, her body responding to every touch with increasing urgency. Her breathing fractures into desperate pants and half-formed pleas.

When I finally pull away, she’s trembling, incoherent with need.

“Please,” she gasps. “I can’t. I need.”

“Not yet,” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Not until you’ve earned it.”

I shed my clothes and position myself above her. The sight of her, bound, blindfolded, utterly at my mercy, sends a wave of possessive need through me that’s almost overwhelming.

“Sometimes interrogation becomes... intimate,” I explain, my voice rough with hunger. “This is when you’re most vulnerable, when your body’s needs override your training.”

I rub the head of my cock up and down her slit, coating myself in her wetness before sliding into her slowly, deliberately, savoring her gasp as our bodies join.

My weight settles over her, pinning her to the mattress, reinforcing her captivity even as I claim her most intimately.

I establish a rhythm, studying her reactions carefully to calibrate my approach.

Each movement is adjusted for maximum impact, sometimes slow and deep, letting her feel every inch, sometimes hard and fast, overwhelming her senses.

All designed to bring her to the edge without letting her fall over.

I study her responses like a hawk, learning which angles make her breath catch, which pace makes her strain against the restraints, which depth makes her moan my name. She feels so fucking good.

“This is how they break the most resistant agents,” I murmur against her ear. “Not with pain, but with pleasure so intense it becomes its own form of torture.”

When she approaches climax, I stop completely, denying her release. “Focus,” I remind her, my voice firm despite my own ragged breathing. “This is how they’ll break you. They’ll use your body against you.”

I withdraw almost completely, then drive back in with deliberate force. Her back arches, a moan escaping her lips.

“Who sent you?” I demand, maintaining the interrogation scenario while driving back into her again.

“No one,” she gasps, playing along despite her obvious arousal. “I was alone.”

“Wrong answer.” I still my movements entirely, denying her the friction she craves. Her hips buck upward, seeking contact, but my weight holds her in place.

“Please,” she finally begs, all pretense abandoned. “Please, Cole.”

The interrogation intensifies, each technique more intense than the last. I move from deep, measured thrusts to teasing her with just the tip, finding what breaks her concentration. The professional facade I’ve maintained starts to crack as my desire takes over.

“Tell me who you belong to,” I demand, my voice lower, darker than before. My movements become more possessive, more commanding, as I thrust into her with renewed purpose. “Say it. I want to hear you admit it.”

She resists, part of her still clinging to the pretense of training. I increase the pace, the intensity, watching her face as she struggles between stubborn resistance and overpowering sensation.

“Look at me,” I order, waiting until she turns her blindfolded face toward my voice. “Even without seeing, I want you looking at me when you tell me.”

Her resistance is crumbling, breath coming in quick gasps. “You,” she finally whispers. “I belong to you.”

“Again. Louder.”

“You,” she gasps. “I am yours.”

I lean in close, my lips at her ear, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

“Do you know what happens to things that belong to me, Molly?” My hand closes around her throat, applying just enough pressure to restrict her airflow, but not enough to cut it off.

A reminder of her vulnerability, of my control.

“I protect what’s mine. I kill for what’s mine. ”

Her pulse races beneath my palm, her body reacting to the threat and promise in equal measure.

“If they touch you—” My grip tightens fractionally, “—if they hurt you, I will tear them apart. And I’ll make you watch.” I press my lips to hers; she responds fiercely. I allow her that small grace before pulling away again. “So you never forget the price of belonging to me.”

“Again,” I command, returning to my earlier demand.

“I belong to you, Cole.”

I increase the pressure around her throat, and the relentless pace of my cock. “And if they catch you? If they try to make you talk?”

“I’ll...” She’s struggling to form words now. “I’ll think only of you. Only answer to you.”

“Good girl.” I reward her with exactly what she needs, watching as she comes beneath my hands, her body arching, straining against the restraints.

In her surrender, I see something I’ve been searching for since I first laid eyes on her: complete trust, complete submission, despite knowing exactly what kind of man I am. Perhaps because of it.

I don’t stop there. I push until she’s begging, until her resistance crumbles and all that’s left is need.

Until she’s come so many times she’s lost count, her body answers to my touch like an instrument I’ve mastered.

Until she’s so hoarse from crying out my name, her voice breaks on each syllable.

Until the line between pleasure and pain blurs into meaninglessness, and she accepts both equally from my hands.

Until I’m certain that she’s mine in every way that matters, body, mind, and something deeper that neither of us is ready to name.

Only then do I untie her, remove the blindfold, gather her trembling body against mine.

“Four hours,” I murmur into her hair, checking my watch. “You lasted four hours of intensive training without using your safe word once.”

She stirs against my chest. “Is that good?”

“It’s exceptional. Most people break in the first hour.” I stroke her hair gently. “But Borsellini’s team will have drugs, will use methods I won’t. The actual test will be different.”

“But this helps?”

“This helps,” I confirm. “You know now that you can endure more than you thought possible. When they try to break you, you’ll have something to hold on to.”

She nestles against my chest, totally spent. “Was any of that actually about interrogation resistance?”

I smile against her temple and press a gentle kiss. “About thirty percent.”

She laughs softly, then grows serious. “What happens when they come?”

“We have a choice,” I say, pulling her closer. “We can run, try to stay ahead of them. Or we can make a stand here.”

“And if we run?”

“They’ll keep hunting. Forever.” I meet her eyes. “If we make a stand and win, this ends.”

She’s quiet for a moment, processing. “And the people in the network?”

“Safe if you can keep their locations secret. That’s why tonight mattered. You proved you can protect them.”

Her hand finds mine in the darkness. “Then we make a stand.”

I tighten my arm around her. “Then we fight.”

She drifts off to sleep against me, exhausted from our “training session.” I hold her, watching shadows lengthen across the floor as evening approaches. By the end of tomorrow, blood will be shed. Lives will end. But it won’t be ours.

I press a kiss to her forehead. The predator in me, the part I’ve kept caged for so long, stirs in anticipation. One day until I embrace what I’ve always been, until I kill for her without hesitation or regret. And God help anyone who tries to take what’s mine.