Slade wasn’t easily overwhelmed.

He’d been tortured, shot, set on fire, and dragged through war zones with nothing but adrenaline and grit keeping him upright. Control wasn’t just a preference—it was survival. A trained body, a sharpened mind. Precision, always.

But this?

This was something else.

Hands gripping the edge of the mattress, jaw tight, breath stuttering—not from pain, but from her. From the way she moved, the way she touched him like she knew exactly where to press, exactly how to unravel the man the world feared.

He wasn’t used to being taken apart.

And he sure as hell wasn’t prepared for how much he wanted it.