The sound that broke from her lips was not a gasp. It was not a sob. It was a moan.

It was a deep, guttural, primal sound ripped from the very core of her being. It was the sound of a decade of stifled desire being released in a single, explosive catharsis. It was the sound of armor falling away, of chains shattering, of a prisoner finally being set free. It was the sound of pure, unadulterated submission, and it was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

Her body went limp. Her hands, which had been clenched in her lap, fell open, her palms up in a gesture of absolute offering. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she would have collapsed to the floor if not for my hands still holding her head up, holding her to me.

She was still on her knees. And she was moaning. I had not yet kissed her, had not touched her breasts, had not even come close to the core of her sex.

This was merely the work of my hands. A promise of the heavens I was about to show her.

***

I was before him, my heart a frantic war drum against my ribs, a chaotic rhythm that felt entirely out of place. He was utterly still, a picture of relaxed, naked confidence that wasn't arrogance but simple, profound being.

In the sterile room, he was a force of nature, a god fully in his domain. I, Dominique of the Meridian Agency, felt like a fragile, foolish thing. I took a breath, but the air felt thin, insufficient. I was gathering scraps of courage I didn't know I had.

"Eros?" My voice was a traitor, a mere whisper that trembled in the space between us. "May I... may I evaluate you, please?"

The words were hollow, a pathetic shield from my training. A protocol for the unknown. But this… this was not the unknown. This was the most terrifyingly familiar thing I had ever encountered.

He didn't move, not a twitch. His eyes, the color of stormy seas with unique gold perks in them, simply watched me, and I felt their gaze like a physical touch, peeling back my layers, bypassing flesh and bone to read the frantic, scribbled narrative of my soul.

"It's not about doubt," I rushed on, my hands twisting in the fabric of my shirt, a nervous tic I thought I'd eradicated years ago. "I swear, it's not. It's protocol. I just... I have this overwhelming desire to—"

I broke off, horrified at the honesty threatening to spill out. "To submit. My body screams for it, my soul… it knows you. But my job is the part of me that is Dominique of this agency, it needs proof. It needs the data. A formal evaluation. A test."

The corner of his mouth moved, a subtle shift that was almost a smile, the only sign he'd even registered my formal, ridiculous request. He still didn't speak. Instead, in a movement that defied grace and power, he sank to his knees before me.

The sheer sight of it, this immense man lowering himself to my level, stole the air from my lungs.

Then, in a single, fluid surge, he swept me into his arms.

A sound I'd never made before, a strangled yelp that morphed into a breathless, disbelieving giggle, escaped me as the world spun. I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the warm, solid column of his shoulder, inhaling a scent that was clean skin and something wild, like ozone after a lightning strike.

This wasn't Dominique, the cool, composed operative the Meridian Agency had forged in fire and ice. Right now, I was just a woman, a silly, helpless woman being carried by a man who felt like coming home. The man who was going to break every cage I'd ever built and laugh while he did it.

"Eros!" I laughed into his skin, the sound bright and foreign to my own ears. "I was being serious!"

He carried me effortlessly to the bed, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing cordially, a landscape of strength beneath my fingertips.

He settled me onto the soft duvet with an infinite, heart-stopping care, as if I were a priceless, ancient relic. He didn't join me, not yet. He knelt on the edge of the bed, his naked body a breathtaking silhouette against the dim light, and simply looked at me.

"The test is over," he said, his voice a low, gentle rumble that vibrated through my bones. "You failed."

I blinked, my smile faltering. "What? I don't..."

"You failed," he murmured, his gaze impossibly soft, "because you think you get to test the sunrise. You think you can evaluate the ocean."

He reached out, and I flinched, not from fear, but from anticipation. His fingers traced the line of my jaw, a touch so light it was like a moth's wing, yet it sent a low, powerful hum of electricity through me, drawing a soft, helpless sigh from my lips.

"There is nothing to evaluate, Dominique. There is only you, finally breathing the air you were meant to breathe. And me, making sure you never hold your breath again."

He leaned down, his lips brushing my forehead in a kiss that was more reverent, more binding, than any vow. "You didn't hand me the key to your cages, love. You just finally let me see they were made of glass all along." He pulled back, and his eyes held mine.

"I'm not here to be tested. I'm here to show you that you can walk out of that cage anytime you want. And only ME in this world can give you that."

Tears I couldn't stop pricked my eyes as he began to touch me again. His hands, so large and capable, moved over my clothed body with a worshipper's reverence.

He traced my collarbones, his thumbs stroking the frantic pulse in the hollow of my throat. He smoothed his palms down my arms, his fingers linking with mine, pressing them gently into the mattress.

Each touch, each simple, achingly non-sexual caress, made my body come alive in ways I'd never known. A soft, breathy moan escaped me as his knuckles grazed the side of my breast, a simple, accidental touch that set a fire low in my belly.

"Feel that?" he whispered, his lips now trailing light, feathery kisses across my cheeks. "That's not data for your report. It's your soul remembering its own language."

He kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive soft spot just below my ear. Each press of his lips was a brand, a promise, a seal of something so much bigger than ownership. My hips shifted restlessly on the bed, aching for a friction he was deliberately withholding.

"You, see?" His voice was a low, warm chuckle against my skin. "You don't need to evaluate a thing. This body," his hand ghosted over my stomach, "knows. This heart," he pressed his palm flat against my chest, "knows. Just let that noisy, well-trained little head of yours be quiet for a while. Let me have you."

He kissed my shoulder, then the other, his hands slowly, carefully unbuttoning my shirt. There was no rushed intent, just the patience of a man unwrapping a gift he had waited a lifetime for. There was nothing aggressively sexual about it, yet it was the most profoundly erotic moment of my life.

The air grew thick with love and devotion, with a gentle, absolute power that was far more overwhelming than any brute force. I closed my eyes, letting the last vestiges of Agent Dominique dissolve into the ether. I was surrendering, not to a test, but to a truth. This was so much better.

This was care. This was worship. This was Eros.

His lips, which had just begun their gentle dance, stilled against my shoulder. A beat of silence passed, a beat in which the laws of thermodynamics themselves seemed to bend to his will. A change began in the air, not gradual, but instantaneous—like a switch flipped in the fabric of reality.

A warmth billowed out from him, a presence so tangible it felt like a second sun had blossomed in the room, scorching the oxygen and igniting every molecule.

Then came the scent—a heady, intoxicating musk, ancient and primal, slamming into me like a freight train, it poured down my throat, a viscous, golden honey that coated my senses, hijacked my nervous system, and set my blood on fire.

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