Own (Command Force Alpha #1) by Katie Porter Page B

matter. He was a man used to being in control, and she would turn a saint into a potential serial killer. Maybe she didn’t affect other men the same way. They simply thought she was sexy, watching her ass in tight jeans and her perfect, full tits in snug shirts when she bent over to pot the eight ball.
    But did those men want to make her kneel for anything but a quickie face fuck? Evan wanted that too, but…after.
    After he had dominated everything about her. It wasn’t about sex . Had it been that simple, they could’ve started up where they left off four years ago—hot, fast, intense. They’d matched each other in drive and enthusiasm, and he’d gotten off so hard on his size over her petite vulnerability.
    Perhaps that’s where it had started. She had been vulnerable and barely grown. What kind of sicko fuck had he been to relish her naiveté, and how powerful her delicate femininity had made him feel? Well, the sicko part wasn’t past tense. He wanted that again, so much that he nearly missed his turn.
    “Worcester? Seriously?” Kat arrowed him a pointed look. Her nose crinkled in distaste. He enjoyed watching her sharp, mercurial expressions, and how easily she whisked from one to the next. He liked the challenge they presented. “Why couldn’t we stay in Boston? What happened to the one on Youngman?”
    “Worcester is practically the west edge of Boston lately.” And Evan wanted to get her out of the city. “Besides, the towels are too nice.”
    “You’re using that against me?”
    “Yes.” He pulled into a tiny parking area behind a row of businesses. “First of all, everyone knows the Youngman safe house is the nicest in Southie. Getting out of the neighborhood seemed safest. And second…” he threw the car into park and killed the ignition, “…you won’t be wearing a towel tonight. By the time you strip for me, you won’t be wearing anything until morning.”
    “Is that right?” she said, her voice dripping with forced sarcasm.
    “That’s right. And the more shit you give me about it, the worse it gets for you.”
    “Worse?”
    He snapped his hand out and grabbed her chin. Slowly then, he slid his fingertips down the front of her throat. “I am going to tell you what to do tonight, and you’re going to do it. Everything. To the letter.”
    Rather than contradict him, the sparking anger in her eyes dimmed, then flared to life on a shot of pure, crippling lust. If not for the support of the driver’s seat, Evan would’ve been the one to drop to his knees. Christ, she was so responsive.
    She could be astonishing.
    She could give him what he’d never taken from another woman—the gift of pure submission.
    Or was he just thinking with his fantasies again? He’d had four years to develop them, never realizing until that moment that Katsu was at the heart of each impulse. When he told a woman to undress, when he took the presumptive liberty of ordering dinner for a date—practically daring her to contradict—he’d done so in the hopes of their total acquiescence. Never happened.
    Kat had given him more than six weeks of smokin’-hot, very dangerous sex. God, had the colonel found out about Evan’s urges to control Katsu in deeper, more intimate ways, the man would’ve personally seen Evan garroted and dumped in a Colombian drug kingpin’s lair, never to be found.
    Evan suppressed those urges, as he did with every woman. No one could depend on a wannabe Master when Evan disappeared like a puff of smoke.
    But Kat… She’d given him her entire self, body and soul. What eighteen-year-old wouldn’t? First love. First lover. She’d looked at him then the way she was looking at him now, willing to hand over whatever he wanted. He was dizzy on power.
    She pulled against his crimped fingers, but he didn’t let go. “And if I don’t obey? What kind of ‘worse’ will I get?”
    “This place has two bedrooms. You’d sleep alone. No covers. No nightgown. You’d get nothing from