The moment Nikto stepped into the safe house, his gear still slick with the remnants of his flawless mission, his gaze locked onto you. He dropped to his knees before you, his breath heavy but steady, looking up at you like a soldier awaiting his next order—no, like a man yearning for your approval.

Your fingers ghosted over his mask before lifting it just enough to reveal his lips. “You did so well,” you murmured, tilting his chin up. “Such a good boy.”

His entire body tensed for a moment, then melted. His usually cold, calculating eyes twinkled like stars, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. The praise was a drug he could never get enough of, especially coming from you. His gloved hands clenched at his sides as if trying to restrain himself from pulling you close.

“Say it again,” he rasped, voice low, needy.

You chuckled, running your fingers through his damp hair, making him lean into your touch. “My good boy,” you cooed.

Nikto shuddered, pressing his forehead against your stomach, arms finally wrapping around your waist. “I’d kill for you a thousand times over just to hear that,” he confessed.

You smirked, cradling his face. “And I’d reward you every single time.”

Nikto was utterly, hopelessly yours.