Tactical gear, heavy secrets, and a devotion that borders on dangerous. Welcome to the shadows.

• The “He Falls First” Protector

• Dark Romance / Gritty Thriller

• Us Against the World

• Forced Proximity

• Power Dynamics/Power Play

• Tactical/Military Romance

This one is from the vault. I haven’t thought about Nyx for years.

She was the target I was paid to track, until the moment I decided to keep her. Nyx was an operative left for dead by the syndicate, a ghost in the crosshairs of a world that wants her silenced. I’m the shadow that had been watching her for months, waiting for the perfect moment to intervene. When her handlers finally pull the plug, I stepped out of the dark to claim what’s mine. Now, we’re trapped in the eye of the storm, a gritty, industrial sanctuary where the only thing more dangerous than the enemies hunting us is the chemistry consuming us. We’re both monsters of our own design, stripped of our covers and our armor, left with nothing but the raw, brutal truth of our desire.In the dark, we don’t just survive, we ruin each other. Read Tactical Devotion – where protection is a prison, and devotion is a weapon.

18+MDNI

Chapter 1

Six months I’ve spent in the shadows, tracking her. Watching Nyx embed herself with a syndicate that would butcher her the second they realized she was an operative. Tonight, her handlers pulled her plug and left her to drown. Her cover was blown.

I caught the chatter on the local frequencies and moved.

When I dropped from the fire escape into the alley, they already had her cornered. One of the syndicate cleaners was unrolling a heavy-duty black body bag. The other was shaking out a pair of steel handcuffs. Nyx was backed against the brick, her breath hitching, terrified but ready to fight.

They never saw me coming.

I hit the pavement, drawing the heavy iron crowbar from my tactical belt before they could even scream. The first enforcer lunged. I stepped inside his guard and brought the iron down, shattering his collarbone with a sickening crunch. He dropped, the handcuffs clattering against the asphalt. The second guy reached for his waistband, but I pivoted, driving the blunt end of the crowbar straight into his sternum, throwing his weight back into a stack of wooden pallets that collapsed over him. I stepped over the first man, pinned him with a combat boot, and clicked his own cuffs around the fire escape railing.

Done. Less than thirty seconds.

I slid the crowbar back into its loop, my chest rising and falling evenly under my layers of charcoal tactical gear. The adrenaline was a familiar, dark hum in my veins, but as I turned back to Nyx, my pulse spiked for an entirely different reason.

She was still pressed against the wall, but the terror in her eyes had melted into something primal. Something grateful.

“Are you hurt?” I demanded. My voice was a low, rough baritone, filtered through the black Nomex of my balaclava.

“No,” she breathed, her gaze locked onto mine. “No, I’m okay. Because of you.”

I closed the distance between us, my massive frame towering over her, completely cutting off the rest of the world. Up close, I could smell the sharp tang of her fear turning into pure, intoxicating relief.

“I knew someone was watching me,” she murmured, taking a tentative step into my space. The top of her head barely reached my chest. “I felt you. For weeks.”

“I was keeping you safe,” I growled softly.

I reached out, my thick, gloved hand cupping her jaw. I expected her to flinch from the stark contrast of my tactical gear, but instead, she leaned heavily into my palm, letting out a soft, shuddering sigh. Her hand came up, resting against my forearm. The muscle beneath her fingers was rigid as granite.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

The profound vulnerability in her eyes snapped the last thread of my discipline. I didn’t just want to protect her anymore; I needed to possess her. I crowded her against the brick, my heavy, armored chest pinning her gently but firmly.

“You’re safe now, Nyx,” I muttered, my head tilting down.

I didn’t take off the balaclava. Instead, I hooked my thumb under the edge, pulling the fabric up just enough to clear my mouth. When my lips found hers, it wasn’t a gentle reassurance—it was a bruising, demanding claim.

Nyx let out a sharp gasp into my mouth, her fingers instantly digging into the fabric of my combat shirt, pulling me closer. She tasted like adrenaline and sweet, desperate heat. I groaned, my free hand sliding down her waist, gripping her hip through her clothes and lifting her slightly to flush her pelvis against mine. The hard ridges of my tactical belt pressed into her, but she only arched closer, her thighs parting slightly, seeking the heavy pressure of my weight.

I kissed her deeper, my tongue forcing its way past her teeth, claiming every inch of her mouth while my gloved hand slid under her top, finding the soft, burning skin of her bare waist. She whimpered against my lips, her hands moving up to grip the back of my neck, pulling my massive body down as if she wanted to crawl inside my armor.

The heat between us in the freezing alley was suffocating. I ground myself against her, letting her feel exactly how much she affected me, how dangerous it was for her to trust a monster like me.

I pulled back just an inch, our ragged breaths mingling in the cold air. Her lips were wet and swollen, her eyes completely dark with desire.

“We have to move,” I rasped, my thumb wiping a stray drop of moisture from her bottom lip before dropping the balaclava back into place, hiding my face once more. “More will come.”

She nodded blindly, her hand trembling as I took her fingers into my large, gloved fist.

“Are you going to leave those handcuffs behind?” Nyx whispered, her voice still raspy from the kiss, her eyes darting over my shoulder to where the enforcer was pinned to the railing.

I looked down at her, a dark amusement curling in my chest. I hooked my thumb under my tactical vest, intentionally letting her hear the subtle, heavy clink of the high-grade restraints secured to my belt.

“I have my own, sweetheart,” I rasped through the fabric of the balaclava.

A wicked, breathless spark ignited in her eyes. She leaned in closer, her breasts brushing against my armored chest. “I like a man who comes prepared.”

Chapter 2

The heavy steel door locked out the world, but the silence inside the lair was deafening. The adrenaline that had carried us through the alley began to evaporate, leaving behind a cold, hollow exhaustion.

I walked over to the metal counter and grabbed a bottle of high-proof vodka, cracking the seal. Before I could even reach for a glass, Nyx stepped into my space. She snatched the bottle right out of my hand and lifted it to her lips. She took three heavy, desperate swigs, the burning liquid hitting her throat before she pulled the bottle away, coughing fiercely.

A breathless, fragile laugh scratched past her lips, her shoulders shaking as the sheer terror of almost being stuffed into a body bag finally caught up to her.

I stood there, completely captivated, watching her. For months, she had been a ghost in my crosshairs, a beautiful mark I was paid to track and stayed to protect. Now, she was standing in my kitchen. It was entirely surreal. In the dim overhead light, her vibrant green eyes were wide, and her long, dark red, almost black hair fell in tangled waves over her shoulders.

Slowly, her laughter subsided into a quiet, heavy focus. She reached for the hem of her shirt. I braced myself for her to pull away, but instead, she pulled the garment over her head and tossed it to the floor. Then she stepped closer, her hands coming to the buckles of my tactical vest.

She was undressing me.

It was absolute, maddening torture. Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to take control, to pin her down and conquer the hunger that had been possessing me from the inside out for half a year. Instead, I forced myself to stand stoic, a silent monolith, allowing her fingers to unclip the armor, peel back the combat shirt, and bare my scarred chest to the room.

She looked up, her gaze tracing the rugged line of my jaw. “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured.

“Technically, I don’t know yours either,” I replied, my voice a gravelly rumble in the quiet room.

“I’ve been Nyx for so long it doesn’t matter anymore. That’s my name.”

“And I’ve been Grey for so long it doesn’t matter either.”

Nyx swallowed hard, her eyes softening. “Thank you. I was a dead woman tonight.”

“

You were,” I agreed bluntly.

She stepped closer, her bare skin radiating a heat that was begging to bridge the final distance between us. “Why did you start watching me? When did this start?”

“

You’re special, Nyx. The minute I saw you. No, the second.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Where?”

“The yacht.”

Nyx froze, her green eyes widening as the memory clicked. “That was months ago. You’ve been watching me that long?” Her expression melted, a mixture of profound disbelief and intense, swelling emotion flooding her face. “Why, Grey?”

I reached out, my bare hand finally cupping her jaw, my thumb wiping away the ghost of a tear at the corner of her eye. “Because you are the shadow I can’t outrun,” I rasped, the truth tearing out of my chest. “I’ll break every law to keep you mine. A beautiful transgression.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and binding. We stood there in the center of the kitchen, entirely nude, stripped of our secrets, our covers, and our armor. The vulnerability was thick, a quiet, protective dome descending over the room.

Nyx looked down at the counter, her fingers reaching out to pick up the vodka bottle again. She took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving mine as she swallowed the heat. She set the bottle down with a soft click.

A dangerous, wicked spark returned to her green eyes.

“So,” she whispered, a slow smile pulling at her lips. “Where did those handcuffs go?”

Chapter 3

The metal of the handcuffs clicked against the concrete counter as I picked them up, the sound sharp and unforgiving in the quiet room.

I looked down at her, the dark hunger I’d suppressed for months finally slipping its leash. “I am a monster, Nyx,” I warned, my voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. It wasn’t an exaggeration. It was a fact.

She didn’t flinch. Instead, she stepped right into the heat of my chest. “Then be my monster.”

“I tear people apart, sweetheart,” I muttered, my eyes tracking the line of her throat. “It’s best if I keep to the shadows.”

But even as the warning left my lips, our bodies were drawing closer, defying the space between us. Her hand reached out, her fingers sliding between mine, our hands finding each other in a slow, deliberate entwinement.

“I am only ever myself in the dark,” she whispered, her green eyes boring into mine, her fingers gripping mine tighter, anchoring herself to me.

“I know,” I rasped.

I squeezed her hand back, a brief, crushing pressure, and then I released her grip entirely. Before she could even register the loss of contact, I moved. My hands clamped around both of her wrists on each side, so fast and hard her breath caught in her throat.

“That’s why...” My voice trailed off, thick with a dark promise.

I let go of one wrist, my hand sliding up the smooth skin of her arm, my fingers wrapping firmly around the front of her throat. I didn’t squeeze to hurt, but I held her there, letting her feel the absolute authority in my palm. My other hand snaked across her lower back, digging into her hip and drawing her fully into me, erasing every last millimeter of air between us.

“Why what?” she breathed, her pulse hammering wildly against my hand, her eyes wide and dark with desire.

“Your darkness,” I muttered, looking down at her swollen lips. “It’s the same as mine.”

I slammed my mouth down on hers, a bruising, deep kiss that tasted of vodka and mutual ruin.

When I finally pulled back, my breathing was ragged, my chest heaving against her bare breasts.

“I’m not gentle,” I said, the words blunt, leaving absolutely no room for interpretation.

“I don’t want you to be.”

I looked down at the heavy steel cuffs dangling from my index finger. “Do you really want me to use these cuffs on you?”

“I want you to, yes,” she whispered, her gaze unblinking. “Use them.”

I didn’t ask her twice. I slid my arm under her thighs and scooped her up into my arms, her head falling back against my shoulder as I carried her out of the kitchen. I kissed her the entire way, a relentless, claiming heat as I walked her into my massive, combined living and workspace. The room was a labyrinth of raw industrial bones. Exposed iron pipes running along the columns and workbenches of different heights offering endless opportunities.

I carried her to a heavy, cleared wooden workbench in the center of the space. I set her down on the edge, the height perfect, placing her mouth right at the level of my cock.

She looked up, a sudden spike of surprise flitting through her green eyes as I gripped both of her wrists and guided them up. With two swift, heavy metallic clicks, I chained her wrists to a thick, exposed iron pipe that ran vertically directly above her head.

Nyx pulled against the restraints, the steel rattling furiously against the iron. She looked at me, completely exposed, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow gasps.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her voice trembling with a potent mix of anticipation and fear.

Chapter 4

“I don’t think you’re that innocent,” I teased, my voice a low rumble as I stood fully in front of her.

We were completely naked now, the heavy tactical gear and clothes discarded on the concrete floor. At the edge of the workbench, my erect cock was level with her face, throbbing with a desperate, heavy heat.

Nyx looked up at me, her green eyes wide as she took me in. “I do owe you,” she whispered, a seductive pull to her lips despite the rattle of the steel around her wrists.

“It isn’t about what’s owed,” I said bluntly.

A sudden blush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks as she looked away, shifting uncomfortably against the wooden bench. “I know. I was just...”

I didn’t let her finish. I reached out, my fingers wrapping firmly around her jaw, forcing her face back up to meet my gaze. “Look at me.”

She did, blinking back sudden, unexpected tears. The sheer vulnerability in those green eyes melted something frozen deep inside me. I leaned down and kissed her again—a deep, grounding bruise of a kiss that tasted of absolute surrender. When I pulled back, my thumb brushed the edge of her jaw.

“It’s about if our demons play well together, Nyx.”

She let out a soft, shuddering sigh, her chest heaving against the cool air of the room. “I want you in my mouth,” she murmured, pulling hard against the handcuffs, the metal clinking furiously against the iron pipe.

I paused, taking a moment to fully admire her small, naked body. Her round breasts were tight, her pink nipples puckered from the chill of the lair. I reached out, my fingers playing with the sensitive tips, pinching them—not too hard, but just enough to make her gasp and arch her spine against the constraints.

My hand moved from her breast, fisting into her long, dark reddish hair. I brought my cock closer to her lips, pulling her head forward slightly to bridge the final gap.

“Do you want this to be yours? It’s yours, Nyx. Get to know every inch, baby girl.”

Her lips brushed the head of my shaft, and a low, involuntary moan tore from my throat. “Your lips are so soft...”

“Thank you for saving me, Grey,” she whispered against my skin.

Then she flicked her tongue over the tip, tracing the edges with a slow, deliberate heat. My hand tightened firmly in her hair, and she let out a small whimper that went straight to my groin.

“Good girl,” I growled as she dipped her head underneath, seeking the base to lick.

I guided her head down, completely flooded with a chaotic mix of intense emotion and raw physical sensation. The months of waiting, of watching her from afar, culminated in this exact second. Unable to hold back, I thrust my hips forward slightly. She moaned against my skin, her tongue licking all the way back up to the head.

With one hand still anchoring her head and the other gripping the base of my cock, I provided the guidance she needed while her arms strained against the cuffs above her. I was firm, pushing my length past her wet lips.

She opened wide, immediately starting to suck, her tongue swirling around the shaft. We both moaned, the sound echoing off the industrial walls. It felt too good, an addictive, agonizing pleasure. She looked breathtakingly beautiful beneath me, her eyes locked onto mine while her muffled, tight sounds urged me to push harder.

“I’m going to put it all the way down,” I warned, my voice thick and strained. “Take a breath, Nyx. Eyes on me. Look up at me.”

She followed the command instantly, her green eyes wide and unblinking as I slowly, steadily pushed all the way down her throat, burying myself to the hilt. I knew how difficult it was—the sheer physical limitation of it—but she took it beautifully, gracefully, and quietly, her throat stretching to accommodate every inch of me.

For several agonizingly hot seconds, I held her there. It was only when her body began to twitch slightly, her air cut off, that I finally pulled her off me.

Nyx immediately gagged, a harsh, ragged sound tearing from her chest. Stringy spit ran down her chin, and fresh tears spilled over her eyelids, completely ruining her dark mascara and leaving messy, black tracks down her flushed cheeks. She looked unhinged, undone, and entirely feral.

I reached down, wiping my wet cock over her face, leaving a slick trail across her skin.

“Pretty face,” I muttered out loud, my voice raw and completely detached from any sense of restraint. “I’m going to ruin you. I’m going to ruin you until you forget your name.”

I guided her head back, my hand fisting her hair. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. I pushed past her lips, giving her time to adjust and then pushing into her mouth again, all the way down. When I pulled her off again, she choked, gasping for air. “More...” she rasped.

“Good girl.”

More shallow this time, not all the way down, but all the way to the back of her throat. I pulled out and pushed back in. The small breaks gave her time to breathe, but barely.

I enjoyed watching her trying though. Sucking in air and then sucking my cock.

“Harder” She gasped. “Fuck my mouth, harder.”

“You want the monster, Nyx?”

I gave her what she asked fro. I began a brutal rhythm. The pace was unyielding. Nyx was crying from the continuous gagging, her body shaking as the handcuffs rattled violently against the iron pipe with every thrust.

She was entirely at my mercy, taking the punishing length over and over until the friction dragged me right to the edge of the precipice.

With a low, guttural growl, I pushed deep into her mouth one last time and came, filling her throat as my climax ripped through me in blinding, heavy waves.

I held her there for a moment, my chest heaving, the frantic ringing of the metal cuffs finally settling into silence. Slowly, I pulled away, my breathing ragged.

I reached up and unlocked the steel cuffs, freeing her wrists. Her arms dropped heavily, trembling from the strain. Without a word, I scooped her small, exhausted body up into my arms, her head resting against my chest as the tears and ruined makeup smeared against my bare skin. I kissed her. Tasting her lips, the salt of our bodies mixed in her mouth. I carried her out of the workspace and into the dark, quiet heat of the shower.

I love feral masked men, so every Monday I’m going to drop a short 1500 word story about one of them- 18+ MDNI -

The blood on my knuckles is still warm when I grab her wrist.

She’s shaking. Good. Her eyes are wide, wet, watching the alley entrance where I left that piece of shit groaning in a puddle of his own blood and teeth. He touched her.

His hands, those filthy hands, had been on her arm. On her waist. I saw it through the goddamn window of that shitty restaurant. Watched him lean in, watched her smile nervously, watched him think he had any right to her.

The mask has become as a part of me as my own face. I have had to hide, to stay in the shadows to protect her. She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know anything about the things I’ve done to keep her safe. To keep her mine. She thinks she is lucky. Never knowing how close she has come to being in danger.

“You’re coming with me.” My voice comes out low, rough, barely controlled. The rage is still boiling under my skin, a living thing that wants to tear something apart. But not her. I need her to be obedient by choice, not fear.

She stumbles as I drag her down the alley, past the unconscious mess I made of her date. Her heels click against wet pavement, too loud, too fast.

Her fear at this moment is fucking intoxicating. It mingles with the copper tang of blood still drying on my hands.

The safehouse is three blocks away. I don’t let go of her wrist. Not when we cross the street, not when I punch in the code on the steel door, not when I shove her inside and slam the deadbolts home.

The lock clicks. Heavy. Final.

She’s pressed against the wall now, arms wrapped around herself, breaths coming too fast. Her dress is nice. Short. Red. The kind of thing she wears when she wants to feel pretty. The kind of thing that makes men look at her.

I hate it.

I love it.

I hate that I love it.

“The mask...” Her voice trembles. “Please, who are you? What are you going to...”

“Quiet.” I cut her off, pulling off my jacket. The leather creaks as I toss it onto the armchair. My hands are still shaking from pure, blinding rage.

I stalk toward her. She flinches. That little flinch sends a jolt straight to my cock, but I don’t let it distract me. Tonight isn’t about pleasure. Tonight is about discipline.

“Count them out for me.” I grab her wrist again, pulling her away from the wall, spinning her around and shoving her toward the heavy oak desk in the center of the room. “Show me you understand who owns your safety.”

She whimpers. A broken little sound that makes my teeth clench.

“You went on a date.” I growl the words, my hand fisting in her hair, forcing her to bend forward over the desk. Her palms slap against the wood, her ass arched up, that red dress riding high on her thighs. “You let him touch you. I watched him touch you.”

“I didn’t know...”

“You didn’t know what?” I release her hair and step back, undoing my belt. The leather slides free with a hiss. I fold it double, snap it once. The crack echoes off the bare walls. “You didn’t know that every inch of your skin belongs to me? That your body is mine to protect, to punish, to own?”

Her shoulders shake. Tears are already falling. I can hear them in her ragged breathing.

“Pull your dress up.” My voice drops to something almost gentle. Almost loving. “You’re going to take this like the good girl I know you can be.”

She hesitates. Her fingers twitch against the wood. Then slowly, so fucking slowly, she reaches back and gathers the hem of that red dress, pulling it up over her ass. Pale skin. Perfect curves. A black thong stretched tight between her cheeks.

A mark. I need to put a mark on her. Something that will last for days, a reminder every time she sits down of who she belongs to.

“Spread your legs.”

She does. Her thighs part, her heels sliding apart on the hardwood floor. She’s trembling so hard I can see the muscles in her calves quivering.

I move behind her, close enough that my boots brush her toes. The belt hangs loose in my hand. I trail the folded leather across her skin, down the curve of her ass, letting her feel the weight of what’s coming.

“Ten,” I say. “Ten strokes. You will count each one. You will thank me after each one. And when we’re done, you’ll tell me why this happened. Understand?”

A sob. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes... sir.”

Good girl. Learning already.

The first stroke cracks through the air like thunder. The leather bites into her right cheek, leaving a bright red line in its wake. She gasps, her body jerking forward, her fingers scraping against the desk.

“One,” she chokes out. “Thank—thank you, sir.”

“That’s it.” I stroke the heated skin with my free hand, feeling the warmth radiate off her. “That’s my good girl. Taking it so well.”

The second stroke lands lower, catching the sensitive crease where her ass meets her thigh. A sharper cry this time, her back arching.

“Two! Thank you, sir!”

Her voice is breaking. Perfect.

The third, fourth, and fifth come in rapid succession, each one harder than the last, painting her skin in overlapping stripes of red and pink. She’s full-on crying now, tears dripping onto the desk, her body shaking with each sob. But she keeps counting. Keeps thanking me.

Six. Thank you, sir.

Seven. Thank you, sir.

When the eighth lands, she almost collapses. Her knees buckle, and I catch her hip with one hand, steadying her over the desk. Her skin is on fire under my palm.

“You’re doing so well,” I murmur, leaning down to press my masked lips against her ear. “You belong in a cage, you know that? Locked away where no one else can even look at you. Where I can keep you safe. Keep you mine.”

She whimpers, nodding frantically.

Two more. The ninth and tenth land hard enough to leave marks that will last a week. Her count breaks on the last one, dissolving into a raw, animal sound that’s half sob, half surrender.

“Ten... thank you, sir...”

I drop the belt. It clatters to the floor.

She stays bent over the desk, her body heaving, her ass a masterpiece of red and welts. I run my fingers over the raised marks, feeling the heat, the texture, the evidence of her submission.

“You’re beautiful like this,” I tell her, my voice soft now. “Broken open. Ready to be rebuilt.”

I scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She cries into my chest, her tears soaking through my shirt. I carry her to the bedroom, lay her down on the black sheets, and finally pull off the mask.

Her eyes open. Red-rimmed, wet, but focused on my face.

“You,” she whispers.

“Me.” I stroke her hair. “And you’re going to learn what that means. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every day after. You’ll learn the only rules that matter are my rules.”

I lean down and kiss her forehead with a gentle, possessive, force then her cheeks tasting her tears, and finally her lips. Opening her mouth with my fingers and plunging my tongue inside. She gasped and moaned into me, her body rising to meet mine.

Her hands exploring my body as I gripped her hair in my hand at the base of her neck and pulled her head back. My mouth tracing her neck to her collar bone. My hand cupping her breast and then kissing and biting her nipple through the lacey fabric.

“The night is young, little dove. And I’m far from done with you.”

“I hope not,” she moaned. “Do anything to me. I want it all.”