Page 177 of Fractured Devotion
“More,” I order softly.
His body trembles under mine. “There’s… there’s a contingency plan,” he admits, his voice barely a breath. “If the main archive is wiped, they have backups scattered across private networks.”
I narrow my eyes. “Names.”
“Rourke. Dunlay. Vescari.”
I repeat the names, burning them into memory.
Then I reward him with a slow, torturous stroke, making him writhe.
He gasps, helpless.
“Good boy,” I whisper, savoring his surrender.
I don’t let him drift away into the haze of exhaustion.
Instead, I lean down, my lips brushing over the sharp shell of his ear, soft as cotton but sharp enough to cut. “You’re going to take me there,” I whisper, my words sinking into him like a command laced with something darker.
He groans, the sound rumbling up from his chest, raw and unrestrained, his body arching involuntarily against the bonds.
“You’re going to unlock every door and hand me every key. Then you’ll watch me burn their empire to the ground.”
His breath stutters, the weight of surrender already pressing down.
“Yes, Celeste,” he murmurs, his voice hollow and stripped bare.
I drag my fingers down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle slick with sweat and watching the way he shivers under my touch.
“And after it’s done,” I continue, my voice dipping lower, “I’ll decide whether you’ve earned your freedom.”
He doesn’t fight it.
He’s past that now.
His voice breaks on the words. “Anything you want, Celeste. God knows I will do anything for you.”
I kiss him then—hard, deep, and claiming.
A kiss that tastes like ash and absolution.
When I pull back, his eyes are glazed, his body limp beneath mine.
I finally reach up and undo the cuffs, releasing him from his binds, though we both know he’s still mine in every way that matters.
He drags his arms to himself, sinking back against the sheets, utterly spent, his chest heaving.
I rise from the bed, smoothing down the hem of my dress and adjusting the sleeves with intent precision. I was never fully undressed, but now I straighten the fabric, restoring every button and seam to its rightful place as I watch him from the corner of my eye.
“I’ll come for you when I’m ready,” I tell him, my voice like a promise and a warning.
He watches me through half-lidded eyes, unable to summon words.
As I move toward the door, I glance back once. “You won’t see me coming,” I murmur.
Then I slip out into the night, leaving him wrecked and marked, knowing the war isn’t over yet.
It’s only just begun.
