God, no.
Naomi screamed in silent panic. Her hands shot to her mouth, fingers digging hard into her cheeks to stop herself, but it was already too late.
That fractured, ruined sound had already slipped through her teeth, hanging raw and undeniable in the narrow space between their chests.
You idiot. You absolute, pathetic idiot.
She cursed herself with every ounce of fury she had left.
Just moments ago, she had been full of quiet arrogance, reminding herself that she was a Late Stage Enhanced mercenary, trained to handle torture, neural shocks, and interrogation protocols that would break ordinary men. She had convinced herself that enduring his touch would be easy.
And then, on the very first touch, she had unraveled like an amateur.
Yet in her own defense, nothing in her training had prepared her for that.
