Page 107 of The Sniper

His hand settled on the small of my back. “You’re not who you were when we first met.”

“I know.” I turned, meeting his gaze. “I used to think sex needed a ring first. Like it had to fit in a moral box. A timeline.”

“And now?”

I bit my lip. “Now I want to know what it’s like to hand the reins to someone I trust completely. To you.”

His breath hitched, his gaze darkening. “I don’t need any of this,” he said, voice low. “I’d be just as happy watching TV tonight, your legs tangled in mine.”

“I know.” I cupped his cheek. “But I want to try.With you. Because I’ve never felt safer than when I’m yours.”

His fingers tightened on my hips. “You’ve always been mine.”

The air between us turned molten, heavy with promise. We paid in cash—I didn’t want to explain a receipt—and left with a black paper bag that felt like it might catch fire. I carried it, barely.

Back in the truck, Noah kissed my knuckles across the console. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

I met his eyes, heart pounding. “I’ve never been more sure.”

Back at Dominion Hall, the sun had dipped low. The black paper bag in my hand may as well have been glowing neon. I clutched it tighter as we slipped through the front doors.

Of course, we didn’t make it three steps before someone clocked it.

Marcus.

He lounged at the foot of the staircase, sipping something dark from a crystal glass, his expression all wicked mischief.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “That wouldn’t be from The Velvet Room, would it?”

Noah didn’t blink. “You want me to describe the contents?”

Marcus raised a hand. “Please don’t. I’m drinking.”

Claire breezed by, glanced at the bag, then at me, her grin devilish. “Two plates at dinner, or should we leave you to your sins?”

“We’re ordering in,” Noah called. “Plenty of fluids.”

Laughter erupted—Ryker in the kitchen, Isabel groaning a loudoh my God, Elias yelling about bleach for his eyes. But we were already up the stairs.

Noah didn’t wait for the door to close. His fingers tangled in my hair, his mouth crashed against mine, the bag hitting the floor as we stumbled toward the bed. His hands roamed my back, peeling off my shirt, my shorts, leaving me bare in seconds. I gasped into his kiss, my own hands tugging at his belt, his shirt, desperate for skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with hunger. “Tell me what you want tonight.”

I swallowed, voice trembling but sure. “You. All of you. No holding back.”

He growled low, lifting me onto the bed, his body pinning mine to the mattress. The black bag lay forgotten until he reached for it, pulling out the red cuffs we’d chosen. “Still sure?” he asked, voice rough.

“Yes,” I whispered.

He moved with deliberate care, wrapping the soft leather around my wrists, buckling them gently but firm, securing them to the headboard. The vulnerability sent a thrill through me, my pulse racing as he trailed a finger down my chest, between my breasts, to the heat pooling between my thighs. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his lips brushing my collarbone. “Mine.”

I arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping as he kissed lower, his mouth hot against my skin. He parted my thighs, his breath teasing me before his tongue found me, slow and deliberate, drawing gasps I couldn’t hold back. My hips bucked, the cuffs tugging at my wrists, the restraint heightening every sensation. He didn’t rush, savoring every shudder, every plea, until I was trembling, on the edge of unraveling.

“Noah,” I gasped, voice breaking. “Please.”

He rose, shedding his jeans, then settled over me. Hiseyes locked on mine, searching, ensuring I was with him. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, voice raw.

“I’m yours,” I breathed. “Always.”

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