Rogue by Julia Sykes

from my brain.  My entire focus narrowed to him.  Nothing
     else existed.  Not my pride or my uncertainty.  Not even my op.
    In that moment, I wasn’t an FBI agent, and he wasn’t my mark.  I was a woman responding
     to the alpha male, overcome by the ancient imperative for submission that burned within
     me.  When I turned, the heat of him at my back awoke a delicious ping of fear at the
     perceived threat behind me.  The fact that I didn’t dare move to challenge him made
     my core pulse.  I didn’t fear his violence; I simply knew that resistance would do
     no good.  I had willingly surrendered to him, and there was no escape now.
    His hot breath tickled across my neck.  “I’m going to touch you now, Sharon.  I’m
     going to restrain you.  I’m not going to harm you, and I won’t violate your trust. 
     Tell me you understand that.”
    Calm washed over me, and the lingering tension in my muscles eased.  I had my safe
     words.  Derek would honor them.  I could trust him.
    “I understand.”  My voice was low and breathy.  I barely recognized it as my own.
    “You will address me as ‘Sir’ when we’re together like this.”  His deeply-spoken words
     held their own husky edge.  This was what he craved: control.  It was an essential
     part of him.  He needed my submission.  The knowledge awoke an answering desire in
     me to give him what he needed.
    “I understand, Sir,” I corrected.  My ingrained deference to authority figures allowed
     the title to roll easily off my tongue.  I was subordinate to Derek in this, so it
     was only natural to address him with proper respect.
    “Good girl.”  His finger traced a firm line down my spine, from the base of my skull
     to the upper edge of my bra.  “You’re so beautiful, Sharon.  Especially when you’re
     like this; relaxed, content, giving.  Trusting.  You don’t have to fight this part
     of yourself.”
    I shuddered under his touch and his praise.  My mind chose to skim over the implications
     of his last remark, focusing instead on the pleasure elicited by his warm approval.
    His hands curled under my upper arms, moving slowly upward to lift them.  I compliantly
     allowed him to progress toward my own hands.  When he reached my wrists, my arms were
     stretched above me, mirroring the V of the cross.  Derek laced his fingers through
     mine and pressed my palms against the cool black metal.
    “Stay.”  The single word traced around the shell of my ear before sinking into me.
    I obeyed, maintaining the position he had placed me in while his hands moved to my
     right wrist.  Supple leather encircled it, and the silvery buckle clinked softly as
     he secured me with the cuff.
    The sensation of having my arms tied down, of being made vulnerable, made the fighter
     within me spark back to life.  I stiffened, but Derek anticipated my reaction.  His
     hand closed firmly around my free wrist, holding it in place against the cross.  I
     tugged against him and the cuff as panic began to tease at the edges of my mind.
    Derek nipped at my earlobe, and the small shot of pain called me back from my fear.
    “No,” he commanded.  “Stay here with me.  Don’t fight me.  I won’t hurt you.  You
     have your safe words.  Tell me you will use them if you need to.”
    I took a deep breath, centering myself.  Derek wouldn’t hurt me.
    “I will,” I promised softly.
    His teeth closed around my lobe more sharply this time, a clear reprimand.  “Address
     me properly.”
    “I will, Sir,” I gasped as the little ping of pain mingled with an answering flash
     of pleasure.
    In reward, his tongue traced the edge of my ear, easing the little burn left by his
     teeth.  My head dropped back on his shoulder in response, welcoming more.
    His amused chuckle rumbled over my skin.  “So beautiful,” he repeated.
    Something that sounded strangely like a whimper rolled up my throat.  Men had spoken
     those words to me before, but they