Page 47 of Hero Worship

"You know," I said quietly, "I used to wonder what was worse. Having a father who didn't know you existed, or one who rejected everything you are." I closed my eyes, breathing in Ash's familiar scent. "After tonight, I don't have to wonder anymore. At least I never had to watch someone try to force me into a box that didn't fit. Never had to see disgust in a parent's eyes when I started exploring who I really was." I thought about the years I'd spent finding my balance between masculine and feminine, the freedom in finally rejecting the need to choose just one. "Misha didn't get that choice. He knew exactly who he was, but Viktor made him choose between his truth and his family."

"At least you know where you stand," Ash said softly, his arms tightening around me. "Viktor's caught between his prejudice and his instinct to protect his child. That kind of internal conflict makes people unpredictable. Dangerous."

"You think he'll warn Roche?"

"No." Ash's voice held the certainty of someone who'd spent decades reading human behavior. "But he might try to extract Misha himself. Try to prove he can handle it without outside help. Without having to acknowledge why he really wants to save him."

I turned that over in my mind as Paris glittered past our windows. The city of lights lived up to its name, each boulevard a river of gold in the darkness. Somewhere out there, Roche was probably planning his next club appearance, selecting his next victim. And Misha... Was Misha looking out different windows right now, wondering if anyone was coming to save him? Or had he given up hoping his father might choose him over his precious traditions?

"We'll get him out," Ash promised, as if reading my thoughts. "Whatever it takes."

I leaned into his solid warmth, grateful that at least one person saw all of me–the beauty and the blade, the feminine and the fierce–and wanted every piece. Tomorrow we'd start working the clubs, begin the dangerous dance of catching Roche's eye. But for now, I let myself be held, let myself believe that sometimes love really could transcend everything else.

Even if that love came from unexpected places.

Viktor's disgust still clungto my skin like cigarette smoke as we entered our hotel suite. Below us, Paris sparkled like scattered diamonds, the golden glow of streetlamps casting warm halos in the misty evening air. The Eiffel Tower stood as a sentinel in the distance, its lights a defiant beacon against the gathering night. But Ash's hands on my shoulders were already washing Viktor's judgment away, his touch reverent as he turned me to face the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

"Hold still," he ordered, his voice dropping to that low tone from our training sessions. "Let me look at you."

I caught my reflection in the mirror and froze, really looking at myself. The dress hugged my frame perfectly, the cut chosen specifically to soften the breadth of my shoulders and complement the line of my jaw. I'd learned long ago that androgyny wasn't about hiding features, but about finding the sweet spot where masculinity and femininity blurred into something uniquely mine. My brain immediately started cycling through possibilities. Was that what Viktor had seen? Just another disappointment to the family name? Would Ash eventually see the same thing and leave?

But no, there was something else in the mirror. The graceful curve of my neck, the perfect arch of my brows, the way the dress emphasized rather than denied the strength in my body. Neither fully masculine nor traditionally feminine. Both. Neither. Something entirely my own. In a country where politicians argued about whether people like me should even exist, every time I stepped out dressed as myself felt like an act of defiance. But it wasn't defiance that made me choose flowing silks over sharp suits, or delicate lace under tactical gear. It was simply the truth. My truth, hard-won and carefully protected.

"Hey," Ash murmured against my neck, hands sliding to my hips. "Stay with me, baby. Right here. Just feel..."

His fingers found the zipper of my dress, drawing it down slowly. The whisper of fabric against skin grounded me, pulled me back from the edge of dissociation. This wasn't like all those times in club bathrooms, desperately trying to feel something real through chemical haze and stranger's touches. This was Ash, my handler, my protector.

"Look," he murmured as the dress slipped down. His eyes met mine in the reflection. "See yourself how I see you..."

The black lace beneath was delicate against my skin, a contrast to the knife holster still strapped to my thigh. In the mirror, I was a study in contradictions: deadly and soft, masculineand feminine, strong and vulnerable. The lingerie I'd chosen for tonight's mission felt like armor now, each piece carefully selected to draw the right kind of attention in the clubs where we thought we'd be working.

Ash's hands settled on my hips, thumbs brushing the knife holster with possessive intent. "Do you know what you look like?" His voice was rough with desire and something deeper. "How perfect you are like this? How much I want to taste every inch of you?"

"Show me," I challenged, letting my head fall back against his shoulder. In our reflection, I watched his pupils dilate. For the first time all evening, I felt completely, unshakably certain in my own skin.

"Perfect," he growled, one hand sliding up to wrap loosely around my throat while the other teased along my inner thigh. His eyes were dark with hunger. "Fucking perfect." His fingers found the hilt of my knife, drawing it from its sheath with practiced ease. "Want me to show you what that does to me?"

The blade whispered against my skin as he traced it along my collarbone. Not enough pressure to cut but enough to make my breath catch. This was nothing like training. This was pure possession, pure worship. Every touch was a prayer, every brush of steel against skin a benediction.

"Hold still for me," Ash murmured, his breath hot against my ear as he slipped the blade under the strap of my bra. "Let me unwrap my present properly."

The lace parted like silk beneath the sharp edge, falling away to reveal more skin for Ash to explore. Each cut was precise, controlled, just like everything about him. Just like how he'd cut through my defenses, my carefully maintained walls, until I had no choice but to trust him completely.

"You're trembling," he observed, voice dark with possession as he traced the flat of the blade down my sternum. "Are you afraid?"

"No," I breathed, watching the knife's path in our reflection. And it was true. I wasn't afraid. Not of Ash, not of the blade, not of how completely I belonged to him in this moment.

"Good," Ash purred, trailing the knife's edge along my ribs. "Because I'm going to take you apart piece by piece, baby. Show you exactly how precious every inch of you is to me."

He took his time, using the knife to cut away my remaining clothes until I stood naked except for my stockings and heels. Each newly revealed patch of skin received careful attention - kisses, bites, reverent touches that made me shake with need.

"Look at you," Ash murmured, pressing closer so I could feel how hard he was. The flat of the blade traced down my stomach, making my muscles jump. "Fuck, the way you respond to this..."

I whimpered, unable to form words as he continued his torturously slow exploration of my body. The knife's cool touch alternated with the heat of his mouth as he marked me, claimed me, worshipped every inch of skin.

"Tell me what you see," he commanded, meeting my eyes in the reflection.

"I see..." My voice cracked as he sucked another mark into my shoulder. "I see someone strong. Someone who doesn't have to choose between being deadly and being beautiful." The words came easier now, drawn out by his careful attention. "I see someone who belongs to you completely, Daddy."

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