Page 15 of Hero Worship

The whiskey was still waiting downstairs, but I didn't bother. No amount of alcohol could drown out the truth I'd been running from.

I wanted Xander. Wanted to own him, possess him, make him mine in every way possible. And that terrified me. Not because he had a dick—that revelation seemed almost secondary now. But because the darkness I saw in him called to something equally dark in me. Something I'd spent my whole life pretending didn't exist.

Well, fuck.

I was in trouble. Real, serious trouble. Because Xander wasn't just some kid I could ignore or push away. He was my responsibility now. My trainee. Mine to shape and mold and protect.

Mine.

The possessive thought scared the hell out of me.

Tomorrow, I'd have to face him again. Watch him push himself to his limits, desperate for my approval. And I'd have to pretend I wasn't fighting the urge to bend him over the nearest surface and show him exactly what that kind of submission earned.

But for now? For now, I let myself imagine what it would be like to give in. To take what I wanted, consequences be damned.

After all, some monsters were born to hunt. Others were born to own.

The truth was, I'd never been normal. Normal men didn't spend their careers hunting monsters while fighting the urge to understand them too well. Normal men didn't dream about possession and control, about owning someone so completely they became an extension of your will. Normal men didn'tinherit millions in blood money that they couldn't bring themselves to spend because every dollar was earned through breaking someone's spirit.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe I'd spent so long trying to prove I wasn't like my father that I'd forgotten there might be a middle ground. A way to channel these urges into something that wasn't destructive. Because, unlike my father, I didn't want to break Xander. I wanted to protect him, to give him the structure and validation he so desperately craved. To possess him, yes, but in a way that made him stronger rather than crushing his spirit.

The real question was whether I could trust myself to find that balance, and if I could give Xander what he needed without becoming the very thing I'd spent my life fighting against.

My head throbbed whileI tried to focus on Ash's mission briefing. Each word hammered against my skull like a nail. The hangover from last night clung to me like a second skin, bringing out the worst of my BPD symptoms. Every muscle screamed from running his fucking obstacle course again and again until I felt ready to shatter into a million pieces. But maybe that was what I wanted: to break apart under his hands so he could put me back together stronger.

I shifted in my seat, trying to find a position that didn't make me want to crawl out of my skin. The familiar spiral started, too much, too fast, too real. That gnawing emptiness in my chest hadbeen there since before I could remember, making me chase any kind of connection, any hint of validation. Papa would say I was chasing ghosts again, looking for love in all the wrong places. But what did he know about wanting someone so badly it felt like drowning?

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to ground my scattered thoughts. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like angry wasps, each flicker sending fresh spikes of pain through my skull. Tatty’s voice echoed in my head, lectures about impulse control and healthy coping mechanisms blending with memories of late-night conversations over tea and cookies. She'd taken one look at my diagnosis and decided I needed saving, like I was just another broken thing she could fix with enough patience and tough love.

But she didn't understand that sometimes the breaking was the point. Sometimes you needed to shatter completely before you could figure out which pieces were worth keeping. The anxiety medication I'd forgotten to take this morning sat heavy in my pocket, a constant reminder of all the ways I was supposed to be managing myself better. Being better. Doing better. Always fucking better.

Ash's voice faded into white noise as my eyes tracked his movements, cataloging every detail like I was profiling a mark. The way he favored his left leg, pain flickering across his face when he thought no one was looking. The precise way he gestured when making a point. Even injured, he moved like a predator. The kind of man who knew exactly how dangerous he was and chose restraint anyway.

I caught myself staring at his hands, imagining them around my throat, and forced my gaze away.Focus, you disaster. This was supposed to be about proving yourself. Sure, the daddy dynamic scratched a particular itch, but it wasn't the only way I connected with people. I thought of Kim, the artist I'd dated lastyear who'd seen past my chaos to the person underneath, who'd painted my portrait a dozen different ways and never tried to make me be just one thing. But this wasn't the time for gentle connections or artistic exploration. This was about the mission, not adding another complicated relationship to my collection of bad decisions.

But it was impossible not to notice how his tactical pants hugged his thighs, how his shirt stretched across broad shoulders that could probably pin me down with terrifying ease.

The space between us felt charged with possibility. Or maybe that was just the sleep deprivation and comedown talking. Either way, I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't handle another second of him acting like I was just another recruit to be trained, just another burden to bear.

My body operated on autopilot as I crossed the room and straddled his lap, pressing close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. For a fraction of a second, everything stopped. My breath, my heart, the whole fucking world narrowing down to the shock in his storm-gray eyes.

"Xander." My name was a growl in his throat, rough and dangerous. His hands caught my hips in a bruising grip, but he didn't push me away. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

I grinned, riding the razor's edge between terror and exhilaration. This close, I could smell his aftershave, could see the exact moment his pupils dilated. "Getting your attention, Daddy. Is it working?"

Something dark flickered in his eyes. Possession, hunger, rage. His fingers dug into my flesh hard enough to leave marks, and fuck if that didn't send electricity straight to my cock. "This isn’t acceptable behavior," he said, voice dropping to that register that made my whole body shiver. "Get. Off."

I leaned in closer, letting my lips brush his ear. "Make me."

The world tilted sharply as he moved, too fast for me to track. One second I was on his lap, the next my back hit the training room floor hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Ash's weight pinned me down, one hand wrapped around my throat while the other caught both my wrists above my head.

Fear and arousal tangled in my gut as I tested his grip, finding no give. He had me completely immobilized, using his size and training to keep me exactly where he wanted me. The pressure on my throat wasn't enough to restrict breathing, just enough to remind me who was in control.

A whimper escaped my lips, my hips bucking up instinctively. But Ash was already shifting his weight, denying me the friction I desperately needed. Bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

The weight of him pressed me into the floor, forcing me to be still, to be present in my own skin for once. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything except the sound of his breathing and the distant hum of the building's ventilation system. This was what I'd been chasing. Not just the physical contact, but the absolute certainty of being held together by someone stronger than my own chaos.

Through the haze of adrenaline and need, I caught the way his eyes softened for a fraction of a second before hardening again, like he was fighting against his own instincts. He wasn't just another daddy type to add to my collection. He was something far more dangerous. Someone who could see straight through my defenses to the desperate, lonely thing underneath.

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