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"Not yet," he commanded, his hand tightening at the base of my cock, staving off my release. "Wait for me."

"Holy shit, your metal cock is destroying me," I managed between ragged breaths, words fracturing as another perfect thrust hit that spot inside me. "Next time, add vibration for the full spa experience."

My internal therapist voice—the one that usually analyzed everything—had gone completely silent, replaced by a primal need that recognized only Luka and what he was doing to me.

Luka's rhythm faltered, a surprised laugh escaping him. "Did you just, in the middle of..."

"Multitasking," I panted, grinning despite the overwhelming sensations. "Very efficient."

"God, you're impossible," he groaned, but I heard the smile in his voice. His pace quickened, movements growing erratic. "Still think this is funny?"

"Hilarious," I gasped as his thumb circled the head of my cock. "I'm having a ball, two actually."

"Shut up and come," he growled, but there was no heat in it, just desperate need as his control slipped.

"Make me. "

"Fuck, Vince," his words disintegrated into incoherent sounds, his body tensing.

His release triggered mine, pleasure detonating through me like a carefully placed explosive.

My body convulsed, muscles spasming as my vision whited out behind the blindfold.

I bit down on my lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to muffle the embarrassingly loud sounds tearing from my throat.

Through the thundering of my pulse and the electricity sparking along every nerve, one crystal-clear thought surfaced: This is what it means to come completely undone.

He collapsed against me, his weight a welcome anchor as I drifted, untethered from reality. Somehow, I'd rolled onto my back. His fingers fumbled with the blindfold, peeling it away. I blinked against the sudden light, eyes gradually focusing on his face above mine.

What I saw stole my breath. His carefully constructed walls had crumbled completely, leaving something raw and naked in his expression. Gone was the calculated assassin, the practiced seducer. In his place, just Luka.

This was categorically different from every encounter I'd ever had.

The men I'd dated before had only played at danger.

Their risk was controlled, sanitized. Theatrical.

Luka was something else entirely. Real danger.

Real vulnerability. Both capable of terrible violence and desperate tenderness.

He didn't need to perform danger; he lived it.

And somehow, that made this intimacy infinitely more meaningful.

"You okay?" he asked, voice gentler than I'd ever heard it.

"Better than okay," I assured him, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "Five stars. Excellent service. The piercings are worth the price of admission alone."

He snorted, pressing his forehead against mine. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it," I countered, enjoying the way his eyes widened slightly at the word 'love.'

He carefully rolled to lie beside me. For a moment, we just breathed together, processing what had just happened between us. Then, to my surprise, he pulled me against him, tucking my head under his chin in a gesture that shocked me with its intimacy after the intensity of what we'd just shared.

"Luka," I started, not sure what I wanted to say, but feeling like something needed acknowledgment.

"I know," he murmured, his hand stroking down my spine. "Me too."

We lay like that for a long while, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

I marveled at the contradictions of this man—capable of such violence yet such tenderness, so fiercely independent yet so desperately needing connection.

A man who had been broken but had used those breaks to become something new and beautiful, like those Japanese plates repaired with gold.

A harsh buzzing sound broke the peaceful silence. Luka tensed beneath me, then relaxed with a soft laugh.

"Food's here," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before sliding out of bed. He pulled on his discarded clothes, then turned back to me with a grin. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

As I watched him leave, the transformation struck me.

His shoulders sat lighter, his movements flowed easier, as if some invisible weight had temporarily lifted.

I stretched languidly, feeling the pleasant ache in muscles I hadn't used in quite a while.

My mind, usually buzzing with analysis and overthinking, had fallen blissfully quiet.

Tomorrow we'd face Prometheus at Michael's funeral.

Tomorrow we'd step into the line of fire, gambling everything on a desperate plan.

The thought sent a chill down my spine despite the lingering warmth of Luka's touch.

I glanced at the door Luka had meticulously secured earlier, the windows he'd checked three times, remembering how he'd handled his gun at the range.

We'd need every bit of that deadly skill tomorrow.

A tightness formed in my chest. How many hours of peace did we have left?

How many minutes before bullets replaced kisses?

I pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the revelation that had struck me as I came apart in his arms: my careful boundaries and professional distance hadn't protected me at all.

Somewhere between therapy sessions and gunfights, between professional curiosity and primal need, I'd fallen headfirst into something I couldn't diagnose or treat.

Something that felt terrifyingly like love.