Angel didn't expect much from the usual evening subway ride, but when John slid into the seat beside her, something primal stirred deep inside her.

His gaze was sharp, possessive almost, as he caught sight of the book

in her hands, a history of female sexuality. The irony wasn't lost on either of them.

What are you reading? He asked, voice low and teasing, almost a challenge. Angel's blue eyes locked with his, electric

with curiosity and a hint of daring. She turned the book cover toward him slowly, a sly smile

tugging at her lips. Would you believe it's research?' she whispered.

John chuckled darkly, fingers twitching impatiently on his thigh.

"'I like a woman who knows what she wants, and how to get it.' As the subway rumbled on, Angel felt the heat rising beneath her clothes,

her breath hitching when John's hand brushed against her thigh, deliberate, slow, and bold. Not a casual touch, but a claim. His fingertips trailed higher,

slipping dangerously close to the forbidden edge. Their eyes locked again, and

angels pulse raced, a silent dare passing between them, thrilling and dangerous.

When they missed their stop, John's grin was wicked. Brooklyn. I know a place where you can let go. The dive bar was a shadowy

den of secrets. The low light revealed John's silhouette as he pulled Angel into a private booth,

his hands capturing her wrists above her head with effortless strength.

Tonight, he breathed, lips grazing her ear, you're mine.

Angel shivered as leather cuffs, clicked shut around her wrists, cold metal against hot skin.

Her breath came faster as John's fingers trailed down her neck,

across her chest, and beneath her blouse, teasing and exploring with a skilled hunger that made her knees weak. He pushed her skirt up, exposing her thighs to the chill air before slipping a

finger deep inside her slick heat.

Angel gasped, hips arching up into his touch, desperate and willing.

John's voice was a growl.

You want to beg, don't you?

...