Chapter 3 The Taste of Forbidden

"My name is Evelyn," Freya insisted, the lie catching in her throat as Zayde pinned her against the cold marble. She could barely feel the chill of the wall; his body pressed against hers was a furnace. "It is the only name I will give you tonight."

His piercing grey eyes bored into hers, searching for the crack in her professional armor.

"A dangerous game, playing coy when I'm running low on patience," he growled, the vibration of his chest against her own sending a tremor through her. "But...have I ever tell you that I like danger?"

He didn't demand her name again. Instead, he claimed the one thing she hadn't given him-her mouth. The kiss was immediate, rough, and punishing. It wasn't about tenderness; it was about conquest. He didn't ask permission; he took It.

Freya, the seasoned professional, was blindsided. Her previous 'missions' involved slow, practiced seduction-a careful dance of power. This man simply crushed her against the wall and devoured her protest with a furious passion.

He deepened the kiss with an audible sound of need, his hand abandoning her face to tangle in her auburn hair, holding her head fast as his tongue swept into her mouth. Freya gasped, a small, genuine sound that was instantly swallowed by him.

She was supposed to be in control, recording the evidence, analyzing his reactions. But all she could think was that his taste-a sharp blend of dark whiskey and raw-was electrifying. It was forbidden, and it was undeniably, terrifyingly sweet.

His hand slid down her body, over the smooth silk of the pale blue dress, resting on the curve of her hip before moving lower, cupping the flesh there and pulling her hips hard against his. Freya felt the unmistakable evidence of his desire pressing against her abdomen. A long, soft moan escaped her lips, quickly masked by his mouth.

He finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough for their ragged breaths to mingle. His eyes were dark, almost black, burning with a fire that melted her careful façade.

"You're shaking, Evelyn," Zayde murmured, his voice heavy with triumph. "Lies don't tremble. That's what I wanted to find."

"I... I just want to leave," Freya lied, weakly pushing against his broad shoulders. She knew that to escape now would look like a rejection, which would either infuriate him or destroy the fragile connection she needed for the mission. She had to secure him.

He only smiled-that sharp, predatory curve of his lips. "I promised you that your loneliness would end tonight. I always keep my promises."

He didn't wait for her to agree. He simply turned, releasing her from the wall, and started walking toward the door at the end of the hall. It was the door to the master suite.

"Come," he commanded, pausing with his hand on the handle, glancing back only briefly.

Freya hesitated for a split second. This was beyond the scope of a 'loyalty test.' This was consuming. But the triple fee, the danger, and the raw magnetic pull of the man she believed was Theron Creed dragged her forward. She couldn't fail the mission now. She couldn't resist him.

She followed.

The master suite was vast, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of leather and something musky and clean. Zayde closed the heavy door with a decisive thud and locked it, tossing the key onto a nearby console.

He was silent now, his grey eyes watching her every move as she walked into the center of the room. He didn't speak a word. He just began to walk toward her, slowly, deliberately, removing his jacket as he moved. It fell silently to the floor.

Freya swallowed hard, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She was trained for this, but she felt like an amateur. She reached for the zipper of her own dress, trying to take back some control by initiating the stripping away of her own costume.

"No," Zayde said, his voice low.

He was right in front of her now. He reached out and caught her hands, pinning them at her sides. He didn't want her to strip. He wanted to watch her break.

He leaned in and began to kiss the delicate skin just below her jaw, running his tongue down her neck to the slight hollow of her collarbone. Freya tilted her head back, her fingers clenching into fists.

"The dress stays for a moment," he whispered against her skin, his mouth tracing a path lower.

He found the high split of the silk dress and ran his hand along the bare skin of her thigh, pushing the fabric aside. Freya let out a soft, sharp sound of surprise. His hand was rough, large, and surprisingly gentle as it moved higher.

He didn't stop at her thigh. His fingers slipped beneath the soft lace of her panties, finding the wet heat waiting there. Freya gasped, her whole body arching into his touch.

"You are already so wet, Evelyn," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfied lust. "You wanted me the moment you saw me."

He was right.

Freya couldn't answer. He had begun to stroke the sensitive, swollen flesh between her legs, gently exploring the creases and folds. His touch was slow, deliberate, torturing. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Her moan was loud and unrestrained, the sound raw against the quiet of the immense room.

He kept his attention there, driving her closer and closer to the edge, focusing entirely on the wet, velvet folds. He was relentless, increasing the pressure and the pace until Freya's vision blurred.

"Tell me you want me to stop," Zayde challenged, his voice dangerously low.

"No... never," Freya choked out, her head falling back as a wave of intense pleasure washed over her. She gripped his shoulder, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

He pulled her dress down to her waist, releasing her long, auburn hair and revealing her breasts. He moved his head lower, claiming one breast with his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue circling the aroused nipple. Freya cried out, her back arching violently, her body already slick and shimmering.

He was driving her insane, controlling every nerve ending.

Finally, he stood, pulling the dress the rest of the way down to her ankles, kicking the silk away. Freya stood before him, bare, breathless, and utterly submissive.

Zayde shed the rest of his clothes quickly, his body leanly muscular and intimidating in the dim light. He looked like an ancient statue brought to life. He moved back to the bed, pulling the crisp, white sheets back, and looked at her.

"Come here, little liar," he commanded, his eyes burning with a passion she had never witnessed.

Freya stumbled to the bed, drawn by an irresistible force.

He pulled her onto the mattress, reversing their positions so he was hovering over her. His hands moved over her body, memorizing the curves and the soft planes of her skin. He leaned down, placing a series of rough, biting kisses down her throat and chest.

"I won't be gentle," he warned, his voice a low growl of need. "You came for reckless."

"I don't expect you to," Freya managed, her hands reaching up to grasp the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He entered her then, with one deep, powerful thrust that stole the remaining air from her lungs. Freya's moan turned into a sharp, drawn-out cry of shock and pleasure. He filled her completely, perfectly, erasing the memory of every other man she had ever touched.

Zayde started to move, slow at first, then building a steady, powerful rhythm that had nothing to do with her professional script and everything to do with raw, masculine dominance. He watched her face, his gaze focused, possessive, demanding her reaction.

He's punishing me for my lies, Freya realized, even as her body welcomed the relentless, pounding rhythm.

She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, urging him faster, deeper. They were a frenzy of hot, slick skin and desperate, needy sounds. The pleasure was exquisite, painful, and shattering.

Zayde buried his face in her neck, grunting loudly with the effort and the pleasure, his breath ragged against her skin.

"You're mine," he declared, the words a rough statement of ownership, pounded out between deep thrusts.

Freya, lost in the overwhelming physical storm, could only cling to him. "Oh! Yes! Deeper!"

The climax hit her like a lightning bolt, shaking her entire body with wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her sharp, uncontrolled scream echoed in the luxurious suite. Zayde reached his own fierce, guttural peak immediately after, collapsing heavily onto her, his body slick with sweat.

They lay tangled and breathless, the air thick with their scent. Freya, utterly depleted, felt a profound, disturbing sense of completeness. She had not only secured her target; she had been irrevocably claimed.

Zayde shifted, rolling off her just enough to rest on his elbow. He ran his fingers through her damp hair, looking down at her with the possessive smile of a man who had won a great victory.

Freya started to speak, ready to pull back, to regain her composure and think about the next step for her mission.

But Zayde silenced her with a finger pressed to her lips.

His storm-grey eyes flashed with renewed, dangerous intent.

"Don't talk yet, Evelyn," he commanded, his voice dark and utterly devoid of softness. "I wasn't finished."