Page 26 of Stalking His Assassin

"Are you nervous about the job?" I can't see Eris being the type to get nervous about a job, though. Nothing about her is weak, and she's more than competent at what she does.

She scoffs. "No. This one is barely child's play."

"Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not," she says flatly.

She stalks off the elevator, obviously agitated. I follow close behind her to the armory. I've only seen the inside of this room once when she gave me the full tour of her space. It's just as impressive as I remember. She has every weapon imaginable neatly displayed. I watch her grab a well-used black backpack and start to fill it. I'm not surprised by most of it… leather gloves, her favorite mask, a lock-picking kit, two guns and several clips for each, a bevy of knives, and, to my surprise, explosives.

"Is that necessary?"

She shrugs. "Never know when blowing shit up is necessary."

"Fair enough."

She opens a smaller black bag and starts emptying it. It's a trauma kit that's obviously been picked through. I remember the thin pink scar on her thigh and anger flares in my gut. She was hurt on her last job. She could be hurt this time too. Even though I know she's the best at what we do—better than even me—I hate the idea of her in danger.

I watch her restock the kit with gritted teeth. I hate the thought of her without me there to watch her back. We should be a team. I want us to be a team. We're no longer lone wolves. Charging into danger doesn't just affect us alone anymore. There are someone else's feelings to consider now.

She stuffs the replenished kit in the bag and zips it up. She shoulders the bag, then wordlessly walks past me. Eris is in complete control right now. All the softness I've been privy to these last few weeks seems to have disappeared. She's completely shutting me out, and I won't accept that.

I silently follow her back upstairs. I wait until she sets her bag down, then I'm on her. I crowd her against the wall. Before she can protest, I wrap my hand around her throat. Her eyes flare with anger. The first show of genuine emotion she's given all day.

I'll take it. Anything is better than Grace shutting me out. To the rest of the world, she can be the cold, detached Eris, but not with me. I want the fiery, passionate woman with a gentle heart underneath the prickly exterior.

"Let me go," she demands, her tone dangerous.

I'm not holding her hard enough to hurt her, just enough to get her attention. We both know she could get out of my grip if she wanted to. That she's standing here, glaring at me, tells me more than she's willing to admit. She wants me to take control of the situation. She's feeling too much, and it's overwhelming her. It's not the first time since I got here that she's gotten lost in her head.

One day, she'll trust me enough to know she can show me vulnerabilities without fear. For now, I'll push her into letting go. I'll always be here to catch her; only time will prove that to her.

"Tell me what's wrong," I counter, adding pressure to my grip on her delicate throat.

Her hand latches onto my wrist, but she merely holds onto me.

"Nothing is wrong—" she starts.

"Don't lie to me, little wolf."

"I'm not," she snarls.

"Do you know what happens to liars?"

Her eyes flare with awareness. We've briefly touched on the idea of punishments. Mostly in jest, but her reactions to the threats have been tinged with interest. I've spanked her during sex to heighten her pleasure, and she liked the bite of pain. I think a good spanking is exactly what she needs to remind her that she's not on her own anymore. She needs to remember that I'm her partner, and her worries are my worries. Her joys are my joys.

"What happens?" she asks, breathless.

"I think you know, love. Bad girls who lie get punished."

A shiver rolls through her, and her muscles relax in submission. That's the only permission I need to take this further. I throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the living room. I set her on her feet and make quick work of pulling her jeans and panties down to her knees. She gasps when I spin her around and push her over the arm of the couch.

She shifts on her feet, rubbing her thighs together. I'm pleased she's turned on by the thought of being punished by me. Let's just hope that she still feels that way after I paint her ass red with my palm. I put a hand on her lower back, pinning her in place. Her breath gusts out, and she relaxes into her position.

My hand slaps down in a firm swat, not giving her time to overthink things. She gasps at the sharp sting but doesn't protest. I set a steady pace, alternating cheeks until both pale globes are an attractive shade of pink. Her thighs are clenched tight, and she wriggles her bottom between spanks as if asking for more.

"Are you ready to tell me what's going on in that beautiful head of yours?" I ask, rubbing her bottom roughly.

"Nothing's wrong," she says in a near moan.

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