Page 103 of Whisper

The combination of hot water and her dedicated ministrations threatens to unmake me completely. When I finally reach the breaking point, when control becomes impossible, she takes everything I give her with the satisfied expression of someone who’s found her purpose.

“Perfect,” I murmur, helping her to her feet. “Absolutely perfect.”

We finish the shower in comfortable silence, hands exploring and caressing without urgency, just the simple pleasure of clean skin and shared intimacy. When I wrap her in one of the facility’s luxurious towels, she leans into me with the trust of someone who’s found her safe harbor.

“Bed,” I say, guiding her toward the bedroom.

“Cooper, you should rest. Skye said?—”

“Doc Summers said no activities that could tear my stitches.” I settle against the headboard, pulling her down beside me. “I’m not planning any activities that would risk my stitches.”

Understanding dawns in her expression, followed immediately by protest. “That doesn’t absolve me from worrying about your recovery.”

“No, but it doesn’t absolve you from serving either.”

The word “serving” hits her like a physical blow, sending heat racing across her skin and making her pupils dilate with want.Her fantasy, the one she confessed in that abandoned maintenance room, is one I intend to make real.

“Come here,” I say, patting my thighs. “This position puts all the control in your hands. You set the pace, you decide how deep, you make sure nothing gets damaged.”

She moves without hesitation, straddling my legs with grace, mindful of my bandages but unable to resist the pull of authority in my voice.

“That’s it,” I encourage as she settles over me, taking me into her body with agonizing slowness. “Take what you need.”

The position gives her complete control while still allowing me to guide and command, the perfect balance between dominance and physical limitation. When she begins to move, when she finds the rhythm that brings pleasure to both of us, the sight of her above me—hair wild, skin flushed, completely lost in sensation—burns itself into my memory permanently.

“Look at me,” I command when her eyes start to drift closed. “I want to watch you fall apart.”

She obeys immediately, her eyes locking onto mine as she rides me with growing confidence and desperation. The visual connection intensifies everything, making every sensation more acute and every sound more meaningful.

When she finally breaks, when pleasure takes her apart in my arms, she cries out my name like a benediction. The sound pushes me over my own edge, and we crash together in the kind of mutual release that rewrites assumptions about what physical intimacy can be like.

Afterward, she collapses against my chest, breathing hard, careful not to put pressure on my healing wounds. I hold her gently, one hand stroking through her damp hair, processing what happened between us.

“Cooper?” she says after several minutes of comfortablesilence.

“Yeah.”

“I’m not choosing facial reconstruction.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I want to stay. With the team. With you.” She lifts her head to look at me directly. “I want to be with you, but I also couldn’t give this up.”

“Give what up?”

Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “The man who commands me.”

The admission sends heat racing through my system. She’s not just choosing danger over safety, or even choosing me over security. She’s choosing the dynamic between us, the way I make her feel, the person she becomes when she submits to my authority.

“Whatever that means, whatever it looks like, I want to figure it out together.”

“Even knowing the risks? Even knowing Phoenix will keep hunting?”

“Especially because of that.” Her eyes hold mine steadily. “I spent my whole life hiding in safe places, and it nearly got me killed anyway. At least this way, I’m fighting back.”

“This way, you’re with me.”

“This way, I’m with you,” she agrees.