Page 91 of Protect Thy Enemy

The heat in his eyes darkens, his jaw tightening as he watches, and the look on his face is enough to unravel me completely.

This is dangerous. This is wrong.

And I’ve never wanted anything more.

The tension between us is unbearable, suffocating. He doesn’t move, doesn’t touch me, but his presence consumes the room. His command lingers in the air, heavy and intoxicating.

“Slower,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, and I feel the heat of it everywhere.

My hand trembles as it moves beneath the water, and I bite my lip to hold back the sound building in my throat. His gaze never wavers, locked on me like he’s daring me to stop, daring me to defy him.

“Don’t hold back,” he says, his tone dipping into something darker. “Let me see you.”

My breath catches, and I hate the way my body listens and how it responds to him as if it’s not my own. I close my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, to the memory of his hands on me, his mouth, his voice.

“Eyes on me,” Holden growls, and my eyes snap open, meeting his.

The intensity in his stare sears through me like a physical touch. It’s possessive and all-consuming, sending a rush of heat through my body that has nothing to do with the bathwater.

His jaw tightens, and his hands flex at his sides, but he still doesn’t move. He stands there, watching, commanding without lifting a finger. The tension coils tighter and tighter until it’s almost unbearable.

“Just like that,” he says, his voice softer now but no less dangerous. “Good girl.”

The words hit me like a shock wave, and I gasp his name on my lips, my body shuddering as the pleasure overtakes me. My hand stills, and for a moment, the only sound in the room is my ragged breathing.

When I finally meet his eyes again, the look he gives me is devastating. It’s not just lust or possession, it’s somethingdeeper, darker. Something that feels like it’s branding me from the inside out.

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. The moment stretches into eternity, his gaze scorching me until I can’t take it anymore.

“Get dressed,” he says finally, his voice calm and composed, as if he hadn’t just stripped me bare in every possible way. Then he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him echoing in the silence.

I take my time getting ready, letting the shower's hot water rinse away the remnants of the bath and the memory of his eyes on me. But no amount of scrubbing can erase the way he made me feel—exposed, vulnerable, andalive.

The gala demands more effort than I’ve given in months. My usual tactical gear is replaced with a sleek black dress that hugs every curve. The smooth fabric is cool against my skin, and the slit up the side is high enough to make even me blush. My hair is swept into an elegant chignon, with a few loose curly strands framing my face.

It’s been too long since I’ve gotten dressed up like this, since I’ve looked in the mirror and seen someone other than the agent or the fighter. For a moment, I almost don’t recognize myself.

When I step into the hallway, Holden’s low intake of breath stops me in my tracks.

He’s leaning against the wall, and his suit is immaculate, but something is raw in his expression as he takes me in. His eyes trail over me slowly, lingering on the curve of my waist, the slit in my dress, and finally, my face.

“You clean up well, Williams,” he says, his voice rougher than usual.

My cheeks heat under his gaze, but I force myself to hold his stare. “Don’t get used to it.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, almost like a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He steps closer, pulling something from his pocket—a ring.

“For the charade,” he says, slipping it onto my finger. Its weight feels heavier than it should, the simple silver band cool against my skin.

“It feels… weird,” I murmur, glancing down at it.

“It’s supposed to,” he says, his tone unreadable. His fingers brush against mine as he pulls back, and the brief contact sends a jolt through me.

The ride to pick up the senator is quiet, the tension from earlier simmering just below the surface. When Fallon slides into the back seat, his gaze flicks to me, and his brows lift slightly.

“You look absolutely riveting, Mrs. Smith,” he says, face full of shock. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I genuinely can’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult.

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