The setting sun bled across the skyline, painting the panoramic view from their penthouse apartment in hues of molten gold and bruised purple. To Eric Wize, it was a sterile kind of beauty, a predictable performance of nature that did little to stir him. The real masterpiece was the woman standing beside him, her silhouette framed against the floor-to-ceiling glass.
Riza turned from the window, a smile playing on her lips. "You're thinking again," she said, her voice a low, melodic hum that always managed to cut through the noise in his head. "That quiet, dangerous thinking."
He reached out, his hand circling her waist to pull her against him. She melted into his embrace, her body a familiar, welcome weight. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin—a mix of expensive perfume and the uniquely intoxicating fragrance that was just Riza. "Just admiring the view," he murmured against her flesh.
Her laughter was a soft puff of air against his ear. "The view is out there, Mr. Wize."
"No," he corrected, his grip tightening possessively. "It's right here."
This was his life now. A world of polished steel, fine wine, and the woman who had single-handedly rebuilt his soul. The Wize Security Solutions tower stood as a monument to his new identity, a gleaming phallus of corporate respectability thrusting into the sky. His clients were the titans of industry, the one-percenters who paid him obscene amounts of money to secure their secrets and their lives. They had no idea that the man they trusted with their safety was more dangerous than any threat they could imagine.
He'd traded the grit and grime of covert operations for this gilded cage, and he'd done it for her. For the woman who looked at him not as a weapon, but as a man. For the woman who had made him want to be a man worth looking at.
But the cage, however beautiful, was still a cage. The instincts remained. As he held Riza, his eyes did a slow, methodical sweep of the room. The reinforced door, the biometric locks, the subtle, almost invisible sensors in the walls. His gaze flickered to the street below, automatically tracking the movement of a non-descript black sedan that had passed by twice in the last ten minutes. Probably nothing. But there was no such thing as 'nothing' in his world.
A small, almost imperceptible vibration against his hip brought him back. A coded message on his private, encrypted device. He didn't need to look at it. He knew the sender. He knew the protocol. It was a ghost from his past, a past he'd sworn to leave behind.
He felt a familiar, cold knot tighten in his gut. He ignored it, focusing on the woman in his arms. He slid his hand from her waist, his fingers tracing the elegant line of her spine through the silk of her dress. Her back arched, a silent invitation.
"I have a surprise for you," she whispered, her voice thick with promise. She took his hand, leading him towards the master bedroom. The room was bathed in the soft, dim light of the city at dusk. Candles flickered on the nightstands, their flames dancing in the encroaching darkness.
She turned to face him, her green eyes locking with his. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached for the zipper on her dress. The sound was a soft hiss, a prelude to the storm he knew was coming. The silk pooled at her feet, leaving her standing before him in nothing but a whisper of black lace that did more to accentuate her curves than to conceal them.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word a prayer and a curse. His control, the iron-clad discipline that had kept him alive in the darkest corners of the world, was starting to fray at the edges.
She smiled, a slow, sensual curve of her lips that was pure temptation. "I believe the appropriate response is, 'Thank you, Mrs. Wize.'"
He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his hands finding her hips and pulling her hard against him. He could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of his trousers, the frantic beat of her heart against his chest. He crushed his mouth to hers, a brutal, possessive kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation. This was where he found his peace, in the beautiful, chaotic storm of her passion.
She met his ferocity with her own, her fingers tangling in his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. She broke the kiss, gasping for air. "Someone's feeling territorial tonight," she panted, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Always," he growled, his voice a low rumble in his chest. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the bed. He laid her down on the cool, soft sheets, his eyes devouring her. The candlelight played over her skin, casting flickering shadows that danced with the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
He tore at his own clothes, his movements urgent, almost violent. The tailored suit, the symbol of his new life, was discarded without a second thought. He stood before her, naked and exposed, the faint, silvery lines of old scars a roadmap of his former life. The most prominent, a thin, jagged line above his right eyebrow, was a souvenir from a knife fight in a dusty, forgotten corner of the world.
He came down over her, his body covering hers, his weight a comforting pressure. He kissed her again, slower this time, a deep, searching kiss that spoke of a hunger that went beyond the physical. He explored her mouth with his tongue, tasting the wine on her breath, the sweetness that was uniquely her.
His hands began their own exploration, tracing the delicate lines of her collarbone, cupping the soft weight of her breasts. He teased her nipples through the lace, his thumbs circling the sensitive peaks until they were hard and aching. She moaned, her hips starting to move in a slow, sinuous rhythm against him.
"Eric," she whispered, her voice a plea.
He moved lower, his mouth leaving a trail of fire on her skin. He licked and nipped at the soft flesh of her stomach, his hands busy with the scrap of lace that stood between him and his goal. He hooked his fingers in the fabric and tore it away, the sound of ripping lace a sharp, satisfying counterpoint to her soft gasps.
He settled between her legs, his fingers finding her wet heat. She was already slick and ready for him, her body betraying her desire. He slid one finger inside her, then two, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. Her back arched off the bed, her moans growing louder, more urgent.
"Please," she begged, her hands reaching for him, pulling him up.
He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock pressing against her slick folds. He didn't enter her, not yet. He wanted to watch her, to see the desire and the need in her eyes. He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. "Tell me what you want, Riza," he whispered, his voice rough with need.
"I want you," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I want you inside me. Now. Please, Eric. Fuck me."
That was all the invitation he needed. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside her, his full length filling her, stretching her. She cried out, a sharp, ecstatic sound that was music to his ears. He stayed still for a moment, letting her body adjust to his, their eyes locked in a silent, primal communication.
Then he began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that was designed to build the pleasure to an unbearable peak. With each thrust, he went deeper, his hips slapping against hers, the sound a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to their ragged breaths. He watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure.
He increased the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more frantic. This was not the gentle lovemaking of a husband and wife. This was raw, primal, a desperate, almost violent claiming. He was marking his territory, branding her as his, chasing away the ghosts of his past with the sheer, overwhelming force of his passion.
He felt her climax building, her inner muscles clenching around him, milking him. He leaned down, his teeth grazing her neck as he whispered filthy promises in her ear. He told her what he was going to do to her, the words a torrent of profanity and devotion that pushed her over the edge.
She screamed his name as her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing around him. The sight of her, so completely undone, so utterly his, was all it took. With a final, guttural roar, he emptied himself inside her, his own release a violent, shuddering wave that left him spent and breathless.
He collapsed on top of her, his body heavy, his forehead resting against hers. They lay there for a long time, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison. The city lights twinkled outside, oblivious to the storm that had just passed.
He rolled off her, pulling her into the curve of his body. She snuggled against him, her head on his chest, her hand resting over his heart. He could feel the steady, rhythmic beat beneath her palm, a stark contrast to the chaos that still simmered beneath his skin.
"I love you," she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy.
He kissed the top of her head, his hand stroking her hair. "I love you, too," he said, the words a solemn vow. He held her tight, a silent promise to protect her, to keep this perfect world they had built safe from the monsters that lurked in the shadows. Monsters like him.
He glanced at the encrypted device on the nightstand, its screen dark and silent. The message was still there, a digital ghost waiting for an answer. He would deal with it later. For now, he would hold his wife, his anchor, his salvation, and pretend that the gilded cage was a fortress, and not just a place to hide..........
