17. Sixteen
The moment we stepped into our suite at the Ritz Paris, I knew we were in trouble. Not because of anything mission-related. The suite was perfect for our cover as newlyweds with too much money and too little sense. No, the trouble was the way Ash's eyes darkened as he watched me explore the space, his handler mask slipping just enough to reveal the predator underneath.
Xavier's name lit up my phone again with another FaceTime request. I watched it ring out, guilt churning in my gut. This was day two of dodging his calls, sending nothing but quick texts about "crazy intern schedules" and "networking events." But I couldn't risk him reading anything in my expression. My brother's empathy was too sharp, his ability to see through my masks too accurate.
Xander
Sorry, back-to-back meetings. Living the dream! Miss you.
Xavier
Call Papa. He's worried.
Xander
Just busy! Tell him I'll call next chance I get.
The lies were getting easier. I wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
I turned back to the room, lowering my phone.
"This will do nicely," I purred, trailing my fingers along the gilded furniture. I made sure to add an extra sway to my hips as I moved toward the bedroom, my BPD brain already cycling between wanting to provoke a reaction and terrified of pushing too far. "Though I have to wonder who you're trying to impress—Roche, or me?"
Ash's hands caught my waist from behind, his grip bruising. "Careful, Baby. I'm a jealous sort of man."
I leaned back against his chest, tilting my head to expose my throat. The position made me feel vulnerable in ways that should have terrified me. "I was just admiring our accommodations."
"You never 'just' do anything." His teeth grazed my pulse point. "And we both know exactly what game you're playing."
He was right. I'd been pushing his buttons since we left the airport, wearing clothes designed to draw attention, letting my accent slip just enough to make heads turn. Testing his control. Seeing how far I could push before the darkness I glimpsed in his eyes took over completely.
"We should unpack," I murmured, though I made no move to leave his embrace. "Check our equipment. Go over the—"
"First," Ash's voice dropped to that commanding register that never failed to make me shiver, "we're going shopping."
I turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Shopping? That's not in the mission brief."
"Consider it prop acquisition." His thumb traced my lower lip, rough calluses catching on sensitive skin. "If you're going to play the pampered spouse in those clubs, you need to look the part. Besides," his smile turned predatory, "I want to see you in something special. Something that reminds you exactly who you belong to now."
Heat pooled in my belly. I knew that look. That was the look that meant I'd be wearing bruises under whatever pretty things he bought me.
"What did you have in mind, handler?"
"You'll see." He released me, stepping back. "Get changed. Something subtle but expensive. We're going to Avenue Montaigne."
My heart skipped. Avenue Montaigne wasn't just any shopping street. It was where Roche's flagship store was located. "Are you sure that's wise? If someone from their circle sees me..."
"We're not going anywhere near Roche's store." Ash's tone left no room for argument. "This is about making sure everyone at those clubs knows exactly how precious you are. How thoroughly you belong to someone." His eyes raked over me. "Even if they think it's Asher Verity doing the claiming. We need the right kind of attention from Roche's circle."
I swallowed hard, my BPD brain immediately spiraling between craving that possession and terrified of how much I wanted it. "Yes, daddy."
He stepped back, professional mask sliding into place. "You have fifteen minutes."
I hurried to the bedroom, heart racing. As I opened my suitcase, my fingers brushed against the false bottom where my weapons were concealed. A reminder that this wasn't just a kinky Parisian getaway. We were here to do a job.
But as I slipped into my most expensive casual wear—a silk shirt that cost more than my first car—I couldn't help but thrill at what was coming. Because while Ash might be focused on marking his territory before we hit the clubs, he wasn't the only one with plans.
After all, the best honeypots knew how to make their handlers just as desperate as their targets.
Avenue Montaigne glittered in the late afternoon sun, designer storefronts competing for attention like jewels in a crown. I kept my stride loose and confident, channeling the pampered trust fund baby I was supposed to be. But inside, my heart was racing. Not from nerves. I'd pulled off far more dangerous covers than this. No, it was the way Ash's hand rested possessively on my lower back, guiding me past Roche's striking window display without even a glance.
The mannequins wore Roche's latest collection—all flowing fabrics and bold lines that blurred the boundaries between masculine and feminine. I'd studied every piece, preparing for this mission. But Ash steered me firmly toward a different boutique, one that made my breath catch.
Maison de Nuit was infamous in certain circles, the kind of place that catered to Paris's most exclusive clubbing scene. The window display mixed high fashion with subtle hints of something darker: leather harnesses peeking out from under designer jackets, silk shirts with strategic cutouts, accessories that could double as restraints. Everything spoke of money and very specific tastes.
"Really?" I arched an eyebrow at Ash. "Shopping here in broad daylight?"
His answering smile was pure sin. "Problem, baby?"
The shop assistant who greeted us was perfectly coiffed and professionally discreet, exactly what you'd expect from a high-end Parisian boutique. She took one look at at the way Ash's hand stayed firmly on my back, at my carefully curated outfit and launched into rapid-fire French.
I caught maybe one word in ten, something about collections and welcome, but Ash's answering French was flawless. His voice took on a deeper timbre in the foreign language, each word precise and controlled. The sound made all my blood rush south, even though I couldn't understand what he was saying.
The assistant—Marianne, according to her nameplate—lit up at his perfect accent. They went back and forth for a moment while I stood there, feeling increasingly out of my depth. It was a reminder of how much control Ash had over this situation, how completely I had to trust him.
Finally, he switched to English, though his hand never left my back. "My husband needs a complete wardrobe for the clubs," he told her. "Both the outer layers and what goes underneath. Something that draws the right kind of attention but..." His eyes met mine in the mirror, dark with promise. "Makes it clear he belongs to someone."
Marianne's smile turned knowing as she replied in accented English. "But of course, monsieur. We have several collections that would be perfect for such... intentions. Shall we start with the clubwear or the more intimate pieces?"
The way she said intimate made it clear she understood exactly what kind of claiming Ash had in mind. I shivered slightly, and his grip tightened in response.
"Show us the club pieces first," Ash decided. "We'll need to build the looks from the outside in."
The next two hours were exquisite torture. Marianne brought out ensemble after ensemble, designer pieces that walked the line between high fashion and fetish wear. I gravitated toward a rack of dresses that caught my eye.
"This one." I ran my fingers over a black dress that would hit mid-thigh, constructed of a material that somehow managed to look both liquid and lethal. The neckline was a study in strategic vulnerability, while the cut would emphasize every line I'd earned through years of training.
Ash's eyes darkened as I held it up. "Try it on."
In the dressing room, I slipped the dress over my head, feeling the familiar rush of power that came with transformation. This was my armor—silk and steel wrapped in a package that made people underestimate me right up until I struck. The mirror reflected back exactly what I wanted the world to see: danger wrapped in beauty, a blade hidden in silk.
"Let me see." Ash's voice held that edge of command that I was growing to love.
His sharp intake of breath as I stepped out was deeply satisfying. I did a little turn, smirking back at him over my shoulder.
"We'll need more like that," Ash decided, his voice rough. He turned to Marianne, switching back to French. Whatever he said made her smile knowingly before disappearing into the back.
She returned with an array of pieces that made my heart race: minimalist dresses with architectural details that could hide a multitude of weapons, skirts that would allow free movement while still maintaining the illusion of vulnerability, tops that played with gender in ways that would appeal to Roche's aesthetic.
"This one too." I selected a deep green mini skirt that would pair perfectly with the mesh top we'd already chosen. The combination would read as both powerful and precarious, exactly the type of prey Roche preferred.
Ash watched me move through the selections, adding his own choices with careful precision: the black dress, the green skirt, a blood-red dress that whispered of sin, leather pants with lacing up the sides, tops that ranged from severe to seductive. Each piece was a weapon in its own right, chosen for maximum impact.
"The red silk would look particularly striking under this," Marianne suggested in her careful English, holding up a sheer black top that would expose strategic glimpses of the lingerie beneath. The combination was perfect—feminine enough to draw attention while maintaining the edge of danger I needed.
"Try it on," Ash commanded.
In the changing room, I took my time with the transformation. The silk lingerie went on first, followed by the skirt and top. The mirror reflected exactly what we needed, someone who looked both claimed and available, dangerous and vulnerable all at once. The kind of contradiction that would catch Roche's eye.
"Show me," Ash said again.
I stepped out, watching his reflection in the mirrors as his eyes darkened. He rose from his chair, circling me slowly. His fingers traced one of the shirt's cutouts, finding the silk beneath. The touch sent electricity racing through my veins.
"Beautiful," he murmured, then louder, "We'll take all of them."
Marianne smiled. "Excellent choice. Shall I wrap everything, or will monsieur be wearing any pieces out?"
Ash's hand settled on my hip, possessive. "Wrap the clubwear, but..." His eyes met mine in the mirror. "The red silk stays on."
Heat flooded my cheeks. I'd have to walk back to the hotel wearing silk and sin under my clothes, feeling it with every step. Knowing what it was doing to him.
"Of course," Marianne said smoothly. "I'll have everything ready while monsieur changes."
The walk back onto Avenue Montaigne was an exercise in controlled torture. The silk shifted with every step, a constant reminder of what I wore beneath my expensive clothes. Of who I was wearing it for.
Ash's hand stayed firmly on my lower back, but now his fingers would occasionally dip just low enough to brush where he knew the silk began. Each touch sent sparks of electricity through my body.
"Hungry?" he asked, his tone casual despite the heat in his eyes.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. We had dinner reservations later at some fancy restaurant—part of our cover as honeymooning tourists—but that was hours away.
"Good." His smile held a promise that had nothing to do with food. "Because I think it's time we went back to the hotel. I want to see how that pretty silk looks spread out on our sheets."
My breath caught. "The mission—"
"Can wait." His grip tightened possessively. "Right now, I need to remind my asset exactly who he belongs to."
The way back to the hotel passed in a blur of anticipation. Ash kept me close, his touches growing bolder with each block. By the time we reached our suite, I was practically vibrating with need.
The moment the door closed, Ash pressed me against it. His hands were steady as they found my waist, but his voice betrayed his hunger. "Show me," he ordered. "I want to see if it looks as perfect on you as I imagined."
I met his eyes as I slowly unbuttoned my shirt, letting him see how much I wanted this, too. The silk came into view inch by inch, exactly as we'd planned when we'd picked it out. His breath hitched at the sight, fingers tightening on my hips.
"Even better than in the store," he murmured, running one finger along the delicate edge.
"I wanted to feel sexy for you," I admitted. The vulnerability in my voice surprised even me.
"You're always sexy." His voice turned harder, more commanding, as he pressed closer. "And you're mine." His fingers traced where silk met skin. "But seeing you in what we chose together... knowing you've been wearing this since we left the shop..."
I moaned as his teeth grazed my lower lip. "Ash, please—"
"Please what, baby?" His fingers traced the straps, following their intricate patterns across my skin. "Tell me what you need."
The words caught in my throat as his hand slipped lower, teasing. Soon I'd have to play the seductive honey trap in those clubs, catching Roche's eye while appearing safely claimed. But right now, I was exactly where I wanted to be, wearing pretty things for the only person I wanted to own me.
"Your test results came back negative," he growled against my throat, teeth scraping skin. "So I'm going to fuck you without a condom. I want you to feel my cum dripping out of that tight hole when I'm done."
"God, yes," I moaned, grinding against him shamelessly. "Please, I need that. Need to feel you marking me from the inside."
"Get on the bed," he ordered, voice rough with need. I moved to obey, but he caught my wrist. "Strip. Everything but what we bought today. I want you in nothing but that crimson silk when I take you apart."
My hands shook slightly as I undressed, his hungry gaze following every movement. The silk felt decadent against my skin, knowing we'd chosen it together, knowing exactly what he'd planned when he saw it in the store.
"Fucking perfect," he growled, stalking toward the bed. "Spread your legs. Show me what's mine."
I let my thighs fall open, watching his eyes darken at the sight of silk stretched tight over my cock. He undressed and settled between my legs, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise.
"I'm going to mark you so thoroughly," he promised, teeth grazing sensitive skin, "everyone is going to know you belong to someone. To me."
"Please," I gasped as he bit down hard on my inner thigh. "Mark me up. Make me yours."
He took his time, leaving a constellation of bruises across my thighs. Each mark was placed deliberately where it would press against clothes, where I'd feel it with every movement. His stubble scraped against sensitive skin as he worked, adding another layer of sensation that made me writhe.
"Look how hard you are," he murmured, mouthing at my cock through the silk. "Getting off on being marked up like this. On being owned." His tongue traced the wet spot forming on the fabric. "I can taste how much you want it."
"Fuck, Ash, please." I tried to buck up, but his grip held me firmly in place. "I need more."
"More what?" His teeth scraped over silk-covered flesh. "Tell me exactly what you need. I want to hear you beg for it."
"I need your big cock," I pleaded shamelessly, grinding against him. "I need you to fuck me, Daddy. Please, I've been thinking about it all day."
He growled, moving up to claim my mouth in a bruising kiss. "You have been good," he agreed roughly. His fingers found the edge of the fabric, pulling it aside. "Now I'm going to give you exactly what you've been asking for."
He growled, mouth finding my throat. His teeth sank in as he sucked hard, making me arch beneath him. My cock throbbed against the silk as he marked me, each bruise sending jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
"Look how much you love being marked up," he murmured, admiring the dark purple blooming on my skin before moving lower. "Your cock is dripping just from me claiming you like this."
"Fuck," I gasped as he sucked another bruise into my collarbone. My hips bucked desperately, seeking friction. "Daddy, please. If you don't stop marking me up and fuck me soon, I'm going to come in my panties."
He chuckled darkly against my skin. "Maybe that's what I want. To make you come just from marking what's mine." His teeth found a particularly sensitive spot on my neck. "Then fuck you while you're still oversensitive."
"Please," I whined as he sucked another bruise into my throat, my cock leaking steadily now. "I need your cock. Need you inside me when I come."
"So needy," he growled, biting down hard enough to make me cry out. "Love how desperate you get just from being marked up. How your cock twitches every time I leave another bruise."
His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of claiming marks down my chest. Each new bruise had me squirming, the silk of my underwear soaked through with pre-cum. When he latched onto my inner thigh, sucking hard enough to leave what I knew would be a deep purple mark, I nearly sobbed.
"Daddy, please," I begged, hands fisting in the sheets. "I can't... I'm going to..."
"Not yet," he ordered, pressing his thumb hard against my base of my cock through the silk. "You don't come until I'm inside you. Until I can feel you squeeze my cock while I mark you up even more."
His fingers pushed inside me, the stretch already making me gasp. Even two of his thick fingers felt like more than most men's cocks, and the thought of taking all of him made my heart race. His mouth kept working bruises into my thighs while he opened me up, each mark sending jolts straight to my cock.
"Come on, Daddy," I whined, pushing back against his hand. "I'm ready. I need more than just your fingers."
He bit down hard in warning. "Patience. I'm not going to rush this and hurt you."
"Maybe I want it to hurt." I clenched deliberately around his fingers. "Maybe I want to feel that monster cock split me open."
"Brat," he growled, but added a third finger anyway. The stretch was intense now, bordering on too much. "Keep running that mouth and I'll make you wait even longer."
"Fuck, please," I gasped as he twisted his fingers. "I can take it. I need it."
His fingers withdrew, leaving me empty and desperate. When I felt the head of his cock press against me, my breath caught. He was so much bigger than anyone I'd ever taken before. Just the tip felt impossible.
"Still sure about this, baby?" He teased the head against my hole. "Sure you can handle all of me?"
"Stop teasing and fuck me," I demanded, trying to push back. But his grip on my hip held me firmly in place. "I swear to god if you don't—"
My words cut off in a choked gasp as he pushed inside. The stretch was overwhelming, far more intense than his fingers had prepared me for. Each inch felt like being split open in the best possible way.
"Fuck," I panted as he kept pressing deeper. "So big. You're so fucking big."
"That's it," he growled, pausing to let me adjust. "Take all of Daddy's cock." His mouth found my throat, sucking another mark as he pushed the final inches in.
When he bottomed out, I could barely breathe. I'd never felt so completely filled, so thoroughly claimed. His cock felt huge inside me, almost too big, too much.
"Move," I begged after a moment. "Please, I need you to move."
"So demanding." He pulled back slowly, letting me feel every thick inch before slamming back in. The force of it knocked the breath from my lungs. "Is this what you wanted? To be split open on my cock?"
"Yes," I moaned as he set a brutal pace. "God yes. Harder, please. Mark me up more while you fuck me."
He obliged, adding new bruises to my collection as he claimed me. Each thrust felt deeper than the last, his size making me see stars. The silk of my underwear was soaked through, dragging against my cock with every movement.
"You feel so fucking perfect around my cock," he growled, driving deeper. His teeth found my throat again, sucking new marks into already bruised skin. "Fuck, the way you clench around me every time I mark you up."
I could only moan in response, lost in the overwhelming sensation of his size stretching me open while his mouth claimed me. Each thrust pushed me closer to the edge, his cock hitting spots that made my vision blur.
"Please," I gasped as he bit down particularly hard. "I'm close. So fucking close."
"Not yet." His grip tightened on my hip, pace turning brutal. "You don't come until I say. Not until I've marked you up exactly how I want."
"Daddy, please," I begged, trembling. "I can't... fuck, you're so deep. Need to come. Please let me come."
"Since you asked so nicely." He shifted angles and my lips parted in a silent O. "Come for me. Show me how much you love being claimed like this."
His teeth sank into my shoulder as he slammed in hard. And that was it. I came with a broken cry, clenching tight. The intensity of it had me seeing white, pleasure crashing through me in waves.
"Fuck," he groaned against my neck, hips stuttering.
He ground in deep as he came, and I could feel every pulse of his release. His mouth found my throat one last time, sucking hard enough to leave what I knew would be a deep purple mark.
We stayed like that for long moments, both trembling with aftershocks. I winced slightly as Ash eased out of me, oversensitive and aching in the best way. His cum leaked down my thighs, marking me just like he'd promised. The silk of my underwear was ruined, soaked through with sweat and release.
"Don't move," he murmured, kissing my neck where he'd left the deepest marks. "Be right back."
He returned with a warm washcloth, cleaning me up with surprisingly gentle hands. His fingers traced over the bruises blooming across my skin, looking satisfied with his work.
"Fuck, these are dark." He pressed one particularly vivid mark on my throat. "You okay?"
"Mm." I stretched, enjoying the burn. "More than okay."
A smirk tugged at his mouth as he carefully eased the ruined silk down my legs. "Pretty sure we destroyed these."
"Worth it." I grabbed his wrist, tugging him back into bed. "We can always buy more."
He settled behind me, arm wrapping around my waist as he nuzzled into my neck. His fingers kept exploring the marks he'd left, touch possessive but gentle. "You sure I wasn't too rough?"
"God no." I pressed back against him. "That was fucking perfect."
His grip tightened slightly. "Never done it like that before," he admitted quietly. "Not with anyone."
I turned to face him, catching the uncertainty in his eyes. "Hey." I touched his face. "It was good. You were amazing."
"Yeah?" Something vulnerable crossed his features.
"Yeah." I curled closer, letting him feel how relaxed I was. "Nobody's ever made me feel that good."
He pulled the blankets over us both, tucking me against his chest. One hand kept stroking over my marked skin while the other played with my hair. The gentle touches felt perfect after everything.
"Get some sleep," he murmured. “We have a few hours before we have to be at the club.”
I was already drifting off, content in his arms. We'd deal with missions and danger later. Right now, this was exactly where I needed to be.