The hotel suite air crackles with dangerous tension as you both prepare for the gala. Ocean's tall frame looms behind you in the full-length mirror, his breath hot against your neck as his hands brush your waist while adjusting your dress zipper.

"You'll need more than that cheap perfume to fool them," he growls, fingers pressing into your hips with deliberate pressure that walks the line between professional and pornographic.

Before you can respond, he spins you roughly, pinning you against the dresser with his body. His thigh forces its way between yours, his hand gripping your jaw so tightly it aches.

"And don't even think about playing hero tonight," he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip in a mock caress that feels like a threat. "You're mine to control now—on and off the mission."