by Angel Payne
She snorted. Damn near laughed. “Ohhhh no, you don’t. Comparing that to this is saying Barney’s ready for Jurassic Park.”
“How many times?”
“Not relevant!”
“How. Many?”
Another harsh huff was finished by a frustrated grunt. “A lot,” Tracy finally spat. “Okay? Happy? Gem ran it with me until I could nearly recite it backward. But it was necessary. I needed to know that shit in my sleep because—”
“Having to present it to all those people was…what?”
She dropped her head back down. Fought to infuse the hard, cold wood of the desktop into her head before injecting it straight down her spine. Useless. This man…what he did to her with his voice, that baritone coated in the richest chocolate…how he turned her bloodstream into a strand of melted taffy…how she became his damn candy counter of submissiveness, giving up exactly what he wanted, when he wanted them—
Like right now.
“It was…terrifying.” The words themselves were easy to spill. She only wished the same were true of what her mind went through to retrieve them. What her heart endured, beat by horrifying beat, to reach this surrender.
Because she knew that wasn’t all.
Because she knew it was only the start…
“Just like the idea of your presidency is terrifying?”
Just. The. Start.
“John—”
“Tracy.”
“Sir.” She autocorrected for herself more than him. The tension in his tone hadn’t stemmed from her breach in protocol, and they both knew it. She could’ve resorted to calling him SpongeBob SquarePants right now, and his purpose wouldn’t waver. She already saw the ocean to which he dragged her and knew he wouldn’t stop until she dove in and swam to the other side.
Without a boat.
Without a life ring.
Only with him. Period.
But the idea of even dipping her toe in…
A shudder took over, from her hair follicles to the ends of her toes. The ocean was freezing. And there were ice floes. Big ones, layered by years’ worth of emotional layers. Insecurity. Inexperience. Even ignorance. All the what-ifs. So many what-ifs…
What if I’m a failure? What if I blow everything up? I can’t figure out my son’s math homework. How am I supposed to run a whole goddamn country?
Two sharp smacks exploded on the air, whipping her mind back. Her body was only two seconds behind, once the recognition set in. His hands. Her ass. At the same time. An answering gasp tumbled out as the stings set in, shooting toward her hips and then back again—
Though by the time the sensations boomeranged back in, they’d become pure heat. Flames through her inner thighs…the crevice of her ass…
…then deeper…
“Holy…shit.” She all but moaned the last of it as the man magnified the sensual torment…in all the best and worst ways. Skimming his hands down to the back of her thighs and then swirling his fingertips in waltzes of seduction. Pushing his legs out another couple of inches, forcing hers apart in the process…opening the wet folds of her most intimate self to a rush of cool air and the blast of his aroused snarl.
“How is that for you, Madam President?”
He wove the rough sound throughout the words, which shouldn’t have made a difference in how she took them—but did. Braced by that wolfish, roguish grate, the title was no longer the petrifying curse she’d been damning. The words were a shameless caress. An irreverent come-on.
A filthy dare.
A challenge in which her body had been laid on the table as the betting pot.
“Holy shit.” There was a whine in her reiteration, and she didn’t care.
Because now, she was scared all over again.
Behind her—and now, leaning over her too—Franzen strung out a deep growl. “Wasn’t the question,” he taunted. Oh yes, that was the perfect descriptor too. Taunted, as if this was more than fun for him—his little party gaining momentum as he glided his hands back up, higher and higher, joining his middle fingers directly over her pussy. As he teased the tips of those powerful digits along the tingling tissues around her entrance, he emphasized, “I asked how you’re enjoying this, Madam President.”
“Ahhhhh…” It was more a sketchy breath than the beginning of a word. The way he’d deepened the sex track of his words…as if his instinct were tuned to the exact frequency of her body and now broadcast his most erotic intent into every listening outpost of every wilderness of her system…
She was ready to go up in flames.
“Dear God.” The rolling, languid warmth started taking over. Her hips jerked. Her hands slipped. A pen cup and a paperclip holder went flying as Franzen whipped up a hand, slamming her wrists back over her head.
“Keep. Them. There,” he intoned. “Or I won’t be so gentle about this.”
“Gentle?” she returned. “About wha—ohhh!”
As both his middle fingers returned to her pussy, his index fingers stretched up—
To prod at the opening of her ass.
“Damn. John. We need to—”
“Ssshhh.” He wasn’t exactly “gentle” about that, turning the soft sound into everything short of another growl. “This is going to happen. And you’re going to be open-minded about it.”
She almost jabbed up a middle finger. Open-minded. It was a favorite expression of hers, used regularly on her petulant son during fourteen occasions on any given day, and the fucker standing over her clearly knew it…openly using her own words against her in his seductive gamble.
Damn him.
And once again, his point was Barney and Jurassic. This had to be a violation of some cosmic law. Dragons didn’t get to use lizard legends for their purposes like this, did they? Where was his karmic payback?
Inspiration struck, despite how his caresses to both entrances had begun to fray the edges of her logic. “Wh-What if I choose to safe word?”
He’d actually given her one of those. Ice cream. Technically it was two, but on that occasion, she also hadn’t been thinking straight. A girl had a tendency to get that way when a Dom decided to spread maple hickory ice cream into her sex and then lick it off to the tune of five orgasms for his writhing submissive. He’d demanded to go for number six. She’d threatened to go on a new flattening iron hunt.
This was a much different situation than that.
Much different.
She could deal with washing ice cream off. Even attempting to walk on nonworking legs after five climaxes.
She couldn’t deal with having her ass invaded.
No matter how naughty and forbidden it felt.
No matter how sensitive her back rim seemed to be as he spread her wider there.
No matter how thoroughly he knew how to work all the nerves up and down her other tunnel, offsetting the discomfort of having him invade where no other man had before. While Ryker could be passionate, he’d been conventional with a capital C…
And now, she was truly beginning to learn how many other ways the alphabet could be arranged. With this man, who taught her how to see the world in so many different languages…
“Hemolele. Kamaha`o.”
Like that one.
She really loved that one.
Especially if she could capitalize on it to distract him. Perhaps entice him to do something with body parts other than his fingers…
“I’m not sure I’ve heard that one before, Sir.” She nudged her hips a little higher, knowing her kittenish moves were his sexual Kryptonite. “What does it mean?”
Franzen stilled. His significant pause caused her to glance back. One of his brows was dipped low, the other hiked in assessment. His expressive lips were compressed to a harsh line. A pulse ticked in his jaw.
“It means you’re not going to safe word.”
She let him see the challenge in her own stare. “That so, hotshot?”
He smirked through a snort. “That’s so, Madam President.”
“You’re really sure of yourself.”
“And you’re really wet.” A hint of his teeth showed, brilliant and straight, through the arrogant part of his lips. “Sopping with juice, my little subbie. And so goddamn sexy because of it.” As if he planned it, his middle fingers slipped free from her pussy with a slushy sound. As Tracy sweat onto the desk from the force of her flush, his savoring moan drenched the air. “Perfect. This cream is so damn perfect.”
For what?
But she already knew the answer—and let the fresh tension of her body do the talking as he slid those moistened digits out to the tiny aperture now spread open by his other hand. As Franz worked the cream of her arousal into the hole, using tender but steady pressure, one word finally made its way out.
“Shit.”
“Ssshhh.” He repeated it with the same deep authority as he breached her deeper with one finger. “Be still and accept your lesson.”
Tracy grimaced. Worked her hands tighter around the desk’s lip. “Which would be what, exactly?”
“That some things in life aren’t comfortable at first.” He pulled the finger out—but joined another to it on the way back into her tight hole. At once, her hips jerked as her instinct kicked in, trying to escape the new pressure. John pulled her back, firmly locking his free hand to the bottom of her spine again. “But if you stop trying to fight the forces, they often bring incredible things.” He pushed in harder. Stretched her in ways she’d never imagined. “Beautiful things, ku`uipo.” His thrusts came with subtle rolls of his body, his banked fires turning into physical curls of smoke, flowing against her…inside her. “You have no idea how beautiful.”
His voice was gruff with pleasure…perhaps some pain too. She almost snorted again. And what, exactly, would he be hurting about right now? But something in his tone tugged at her—and the words now swirling out of her, almost as if one person occupied her aching, invaded body and another controlled her soaring, racing senses.
“Tell me,” one of those women whispered. No. Pleaded. “Tell me how beautiful. Please, Sir.”
Several seconds stretched by, filled only with her Dominant’s soft but gruff breaths. He changed nothing about his treatment. One hand pinned her down by the small of her back. The other maintained a strong rhythm, pumping two fingers deeper and deeper inside her back hole.
“You ask so prettily,” he finally murmured. “But are you really beseeching more as the kitten who wants poetry or the Tigress who wants the truth?”
For long minutes, she only moved to work her forehead against the desk’s surface. Like that was going to help her with an answer—the definitive reply he was demanding, to a question that meant more than its words.
So much more.
Does he get a kitten or a tigress?
Her answer was going to change some things. Major things. If they had just two days, two weeks, or two months left with each other, it wouldn’t make a difference. Franzen was making that clear, here and now. If she wanted more with him, more from him, he’d exact more in return. There was an admission cost to his basement, beyond the spank-and-cuddle “playtime” they’d had so far.
Now, he wanted something more.
Wanted to lead her farther down the steps.
Into the darkness where his cravings dwelled…
If she followed, it wouldn’t be easy. Or comfortable. Or fear-free. And yet, God help her, she yearned to follow. Perhaps needed to. She craved more of that scorched dragon lust beneath his voice…and yes, the raw desire turning his touch into blazing brutality. Even now, knowing what that touch was doing to her…where it was going inside of her…
How deeply it would violate her…
But she wanted it. Throbbed and pulsed for it.
Right. There.
And everywhere…
For the first time in such a long time—perhaps the very first time—she wanted to give a man the fullness of that trust. A man who wouldn’t let her fall off the wall.
Hell. A man who was going to barrel right through the wall.
All she had to do was hand over her doubts and let him guide her through the rubble afterward.
As his Tigress.
Looking out for him too.
“I want the truth, Sir. You know I do.”
A rough hum emanated from him, conveying his dark pleasure in her submissive tone. “Very well, then. Here’s your truth, madam.” He adjusted his big body, seeming to re-secure his stance behind her, before continuing in a low growl, “The sight of my fingers fucking your ass is so incredible, I’ve soaked my pants in precome just thinking of putting my dick there instead.” As he leaned forward, the weight of his body pushed his fingers tighter inside her. “And I’m not even going to ask if that makes your pussy wet, because I already know it does.” He worked himself in, twisting until the pressure became something else. A strange, sizzling, invasive pleasure, turning her into a ball of needy mush beneath him.
“I—I think I’d be okay with that, Sir,” she somehow managed without interjecting a hundred moans.
“Of course you’d be.” His soft snarl vibrated the back of her neck, raining delicious awakening down her back, connecting to the mix of pain and pleasure he gave her ass. “If I said that was how you’d be taking my cock.”
“Yes, Sir.”
And there it was. Spilling from her without thought, almost as if called out by the universe, though changing everything inside two seconds. The point of no return. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn.
Just not forever.
As soon as all the terrorist network was shattered—and it would be, with suspects talking and a global deployment acting on the intel—the bridge would be erected again. She’d cross back, leaving her service to John Franzen’s dominance behind, restarting her service to her country. And she would serve, because she’d sworn to do so. And she’d hate the damn title at first—John was right; it was a discomfort she’d likely never get used to—but most days, she’d forget about it completely. The work would matter most. It had to.
So for right now, she chose to burn the bridge. To give over the surrender.
To know the freedom, right now, of giving in to all the heat. Of surrendering to her burnished, beautiful Dom.
“Yes, Sir. Let me take your cock, as it pleases you to give it.”
Chapter Fourteen
Why the hell had he made that dumbass promise not to take her ass with his cock?
Well. Not right now.
But right now, her flawless rosette was all he could see, taking every plunge of his fingers with tight, trembling welcome…with suckling, searing seduction…
With submissive beauty speaking straight to his cock.
While her words whispered straight to his soul.
As it pleases you…
By the gods. He’d met presidents and kings. Gotten naked with sirens and goddesses in at least a dozen different countries. But none of them, anywhere, had given him a gift like those four words, their beauty heightened by her honesty, her sincerity…
Her submission.
“You please me, woman.” It was the only response to give. The only words he could give—
Followed by the command he was destined to give her. He knew that now, down to the very fabric of his being.
“And it’s going to please me, very much, to bury my cock inside your tight, hot body…”
“Yessss,” she hissed.
“…as soon as you give me the executive order to do so.”
Tracy, who’d started to writhe her ass in time to his illicit attention there, fell into stillness. He saw her surprise turn into shock, clutching the whole upper half of her body, before her head twisted enough to give her the angle for a pronounced side-eye.
“Excuse. Me?”
Holy gods. This little wildcat, especially when summoning her claws to the surface, scratched him up in all the right ways. He loved bleeding for her. Stinging for her. And making her hurt for him in return…
Felt like a fucking miracle.
How he adored her. Craved her. Basked in the glory of doing this for her.
“You heard me, Madam President.” He had to be going to hell for this—invoking the highest office in the land, even in the name of getting this lesson into her thick, beautiful skull—but goddamn, what a way to go. He now knew, whenever he saw her on TV in her prim presidential suits and crisply styled hair, all he’d think about was having her like this, fiery and feisty and half-naked, with his fingers in wicked places and his cock straining to fuck her… Hell. No. Heaven. “I want to take you so fucking badly, Tigress. Push my dick into that soaked, sweet cunt of yours and fill you until you feel nothing but me anymore. At the same time, I’m going to ram these fingers deeper into your ass, until I touch parts of your body you never knew existed. I want to make you come from the inside out, until you scream so loud I’ll have to fuck your tongue with mine just to quiet you.”
“Shit,” she broke in, moving beneath him again. Undulating like an exotic dancer as waves of arousal clearly claimed her. “Holy…shit. John.”
Her high sigh had his cock weeping again. He forced himself to leave the damn thing covered, gritting his teeth to continue his ruthless torment. “Not the words I’m after, ku`uipo. Maybe you just want to think it over a little more? Maybe you just want to get out of here and deal with your empty pussy in some other way?”
“No. No.” She panted heavily between the protests. “Please. Please. I—I need—”
“You mean I’m ordering you, Captain Franzen, as your president…”
“Yes! Fine! All right!”
“All right…what?”
“What you said. Just—damn it—fill me. Fuck me…”
“Uh-uh.” To be sure she got the point, he punctuated by lowering the hand at her back to the fullness of her ass and raining sharp smacks to both sides. “From your lips, not mine.”
