Page 106 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The SOMA streets blur past as I drive too fast toward his converted warehouse. My thighs keep pressing together, underwear already soaked through.

Fuck. Can't even make it an hour.

His building looms ahead—all exposed brick and steel that somehow suits him perfectly. The garage bay is already opening. Of course he's been watching for me.

I park beside his ridiculous collection of perfectly maintained vehicles. The freight elevator hums to life before I even reach it.

Tracking my every move. Probably has been since I left.

The elevator rises, and his scent is everywhere—motor oil and clean sweat soaked into the metal walls. My pussy clenches before I can stop it.

Already wet. Already wanting. Have been since the briefing ended.

The doors open directly into his space. Industrial beams, exposed brick, everything tactical and organized.

"Mira." He emerges from the kitchen area, hair still damp from a shower, wearing dark jeans that hang low enough to show those cut lines that lead straight down. No shirt. Every lean muscle earned through years of hard work on display. "I wasn't sure you'd actually come."

Come. Poor choice of words when I've been imagining his face between my legs for the past hour.

"We need to debrief."

"Bullshit." He moves closer but stops just outside my reach, hands twitching at his sides. "You're here because of what happened today. When I—fuck, when I actually did it right for once and you looked at me like..." He runs a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up worse. "Like maybe I wasn't completely useless for the first time in my pathetic life, which is saying something because I screw up literally everything I touch, including—"

"You weren't useless." I set my tactical bag by the door with deliberate precision. "Your performance exceeded baseline parameters."

"Baseline parameters." His laugh comes out shaky, fingers starting that nervous drumming against his thigh. "Is that what we're calling it when you made me feel like I could conquer the fucking world? Because that sounds like corporate speak for 'not terrible' and I was hoping for something a little more—"

"Your coordination was adequate."

"Adequate." He stops moving, something shifting in his expression. "Right. Adequate. Like a performance review."

That stung. Good.

"Get in the bedroom." I move toward the stairs. "Need to remind you who's in charge."

Professional boundaries. Right. That's why you went bare under tactical pants.

"Wait, Mira—" He follows anyway, because that's what he does. Follows, protects, devotes himself completely. "We should talk about tomorrow's mission and how the tactical coordination might affect—"

"No talking."

We reach his bedroom and I spin to face him. His pupils are already blown wide, chest rising and falling faster. The nervous energy cranks higher, hands opening and closing at his sides like he can't decide what to do with them.

"Strip."

His hands shake as they go to his belt. "I need to—Christ, when you look at me like that I can't even think straight, and thinking straight is pretty much the only thing I'm supposed to be good at besides driving, so if you could maybe not stare at me like you want to eat me alive while I'm trying to—"

"I said strip, not ramble."

The belt comes free and his jeans drop. No underwear. His cock springs free, already hard and making my mouth water.

I want to taste him. Want to swallow him down until he begs.

"All that nervous energy." I circle him slowly, predator stalking prey. "All that desperate need for approval. You'd do anything I told you right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." No hesitation. "Fuck, yes. Whatever you want."

Whatever you want. Dangerous words.