by Angel Payne
“And the sex?” It hurt like hell to fill it in, but she ramrodded it through her lips. If not, she was no different than the woman to whom they referred, refusing growth just because it hurt.
“Yeah,” John concurred quietly. “And the sex.” But his gaze, swinging to her, was a blare of volume. His irises, the shade of polished brass horns, consumed her psyche like a whole orchestra. “But on both levels, we never totally connected. She wanted the heavy play and always verbally committed to giving it her all, but she kept parts of herself held back no matter how hard I tried to open those doors.” His face tightened. “She had the keys and wasn’t giving them up.”
Tracy quietly rested her chin on the ball of his shoulder. “Maybe she couldn’t disconnect from her public persona?” she suggested. “I’ve seen that one happen over and over again. The fame validates the public face more than the truth—but the sands under that foundation are constantly shifting.”
His stare sharpened. “Shit.”
Her head lifted. “What?”
“You sure you’re only thirty-five?” He pushed questing fingers into the back of her neck. “Come on. Where are you concealing the zipper?”
“The zipper to what?”
“You’re not really the young, hot VP, are you? You’re hiding some older wise woman in there, instead—like Dolly Levi.”
Her eyes bulged. “Dolly Levi?”
“No! I got it. The Reverend Mother from Sound of—”
She gasped. “Don’t you dare go there!”
He laughed. “Fine. Maybe you’re that cool bald chick from Doctor Strange…”
She twisted away from him, giggling. “Finish your story, island boy.”
As much as she wished he’d get snarly and choose to spank her for the impudence, the man sobered swiftly. “Like I’ve said,” he murmured, “not much of a story. Abbie wasn’t interested in conventional dates outside the dungeon, and her schedule only left her opportunities for ‘play dates’ every few months—”
“Making her the perfect fit for a Special Forces team captain spending more time out of the country than in,” she supplied.
He confirmed that with a defined twist of lips. “Which was why I committed one of the biggest Dominant fuck-ups in the book.” His eyes slid shut, staying that way until he drew in enough breath to grimace from that as well. “I stopped paying attention.”
Tracy lifted a hand to trace the creases bracketing his eyes and mouth, letting her own frown tighten. “You stopped seeing her?” She didn’t pull punches on her confusion. “Things like that happen, John. All the time. People grow apart.”
He peeled her hand away, finally releasing air on a ponderous growl. “I didn’t stop seeing her, damn it. I just stopped paying attention. Do you get it now? She became just another fuck, Tracy. I tied her up because that was what she wanted. Flogged her because she liked that even more. Screwed her because she liked that the best of all. But it was all just actions without meaning, words without context.” He grimaced harder. Gritted his next words out. “A sham of a connection.”
Since he kept a tortured clench around one of her hands, she pressed the other to his chest once more. For long moments, simply let her touch be filled by his furious heartbeat. She’d known him less than a week, still unsure about everything from his birthday to what he liked on his pizza, but if there was anything of which she was certain about the man, it was his dedication to the truth—to being as real with people as possible. It seemed as ingrained in him as being raised in a large, loving, honest family, but perhaps had come about only recently, as a consequence of his subterfuge job. Life in the shadows meant one craved the sun—
And perhaps, sometimes, forgot what its warmth felt like.
“I’m sorry,” she finally murmured into the silence. “That must have been strange for you.”
He erupted in a short, sharp laugh. Dropped his head into his free hand. “You’d think, right?”
“It wasn’t?”
His shrug was more of a terse jerk. “It was easier just to…let it be, I guess. I’d come home from missions, strung out and jet lagged, and just craved that last rush of adrenaline to fully drain me so I could sleep for days.” He lifted his head, glancing to her with bleak eyes. “I became the Dom I swore I’d never be. Just in it for the flogging and the fucking.”
Tracy took a second before nodding. She let him—and perhaps herself—know that the words had truly sunk in. It wasn’t an easy task, realizing she had to yank him down from the stars, where he’d been existing as honor-bound warrior and lover, down to the earth of a human man, warrior nonetheless, who had issues to overcome after dealing with the uglier side of protecting his country.
But once she did…
He was even more beautiful to her.
Because he was more real.
All of that clamored in her throat, begging her for freedom, but she kept it back with a careful swallow and instead asked, “So what happened?” And yes, forced the remainder of that out too. “Or…has it? Is she expecting you to call her for another round of things soon?”
“No.” He snapped it so swiftly, she knew it was the truth. “God no,” he reiterated, confirming her belief. “Not after…everything that finally did happen.”
She bundled an inch closer to him. “It’s okay.” Squeezed his hand and pressed his chest. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Though he flung a taut gaze, all but disbelieving her, he ticked out a fast nod. “It was about ten months ago. I was awaiting word for a mission; knew I could be called out to JBLM for deployment at any minute, but the waiting was driving me nuts.”
“So you called Abbie,” she filled in.
Another brusque nod. “We chose to meet at Bastille, as always.” That was the last of anything easy about his expression. His jaw hardened like magma hitting ice. His gaze turned just as black. “But I was restless, tired of everything being ‘as always.’ I told Abbie as much. She actually seemed excited about the idea—which sure as hell gunned my rockets.”
Tracy fought for a patient smile but failed. “Please tell me I don’t have to like this part.” Progressive and objective only went so far. The idea of any other woman “gunning his rockets,” and Miss Sweetness-and-Light officially took a hike.
Franz shifted his hand, cupping her chin, before coaxing her up for his savoring kiss. “I’ll skip to the relevant part.”
“Correct answer.” She initiated a kiss, just to let him know she approved of his answer on all fronts. “So…what happened?”
He exhaled once more. “I played her hard—that’s what happened. Probably harder than I ever had before. It was…an intense session.”
Her brows crunched. “Well, that sounds pretty damn nice. Unless…” Something pinched her mind and refused to let go. “Unless she safe worded?” There was more to the conclusion, but she couldn’t summon the words to her lips. They consumed her mind though. Unless she safe worded…and you ignored her?
Franz’s face expanded with shock, exposing how he’d taken her lead and run with it anyway. “No,” he pronounced. “She didn’t safe word.” His grip coiled tighter. His eyes slammed shut again. “Though damn, it would’ve been so much easier if the little fool had.”
Icicles stabbed her spine. “What…do you mean?”
He gulped hard. Reopened his gaze, only to hurl his focus across the room again. He was lost to memories.
Dark, difficult ones.
“No,” he muttered then. “She wasn’t the only fool in the room. I knew better. I should have been paying closer attention. Watching for the signs.”
“What signs? John?” Tracy tugged on the front of his shirt, forcing him to face her again. “What signs?” She bit out both syllables through her teeth, continuing their painful clench when he glanced down, blinking as if barely recognizing her.
Just before a wave of fresh rage claimed every inch of his face.
Through his own clenched teeth, he uttered at
last, “Abbie’s diabetic.” He took another long pause, obviously searching for words. “It was never an issue because we always made sure she was at an acceptable blood-sugar level for her submissive duties. Before a stitch of her clothes came off, I made her take a reading and show it to me.”
“And you didn’t that night?” The question was a welcome distraction. Nearly every cell in her brain, and tissue in her sex, had stopped back at submissive duties. Where could she sign up for some of that…whatever it was?
“Of course we did,” he returned. “Her readings weren’t negotiable.”
“But something went wrong anyway.” Talk about a subject to calm the libido.
He shifted. Again. “Like I said, the session got…” A massive breath heaved through his chest. “Well, it was powerful shit. I was keyed-up about the mission; she’d just gained some massive market share for her show…and in the places I’d normally stop to let her rest or rehydrate, she yelled at me for more.”
Tracy’s eyes bulged. “She yelled at you?”
“Submissives being denied orgasms often do do that.”
“Oh,” she stammered. “I—uh—see.” And hello, dancing pygmies of arousal through her pussy again. “And…so…you…”
“Gave her what she wanted.” His jaw jutted. Tracy sensed he couldn’t tell whether to tack on a grin, a grimace, or both. “Hell, what I wanted. Trouble was…it wasn’t what she needed.”
“Which was what?”
“A fucking break.” No smirk there. Nor even the frown. When the man was angry, especially at himself, his composure went beyond the realm of standard expressions. If only that aspect of him didn’t fascinate her as much as his other sides… “By the time I realized something was truly, physically going on with her instead of the standard submissive head space, she was close to passing out from her blood-sugar imbalance.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah. Holy shit.”
“But you helped her? She was okay after you realized…”
“After I realized what?” he retorted. “I didn’t know what the hell was happening—whether her sugar was spiking or dropping or a roller coaster of both.” He breathed in violent bursts now, as if his inner bullwhip was tearing his body open, thrash by bloody thrash. “Thank fuck for Max and Delphine.”
“Who?” she pressed.
“Max Brickham,” he elucidated. “He’s my business partner. Bastille’s co-owner.”
“And Delphine is his girlfriend?”
He shook his head. “His Jag XKR-S.”
“Whoa.” She swung her own head back. “Yep. Car like that needs a name.”
“She was our heroine for the night too. Got Abbie to the hospital in five minutes flat. They processed her fast. Balanced her levels out right away.”
“And all was well that ended well.” Which had her stomach hurting and heart twisting all over again. The hideous green monster wouldn’t stay away, even if she was the one currently mashed on the man’s lap, feeling the bounty in his pants between her ass cheeks.
“Sure. Let’s just say that.” But a Tardis dropped in the middle of the room would’ve been easier to ignore than his caustic overtone. “‘All was well that ended well.’”
Tracy huffed. “No saying it if it wasn’t true.” Grabbed the V of his Henley and tugged again. “So was it?”
The man’s luscious mouth opened. Clamped shut again.
“John?”
Another moment. Obvious deliberation in the sienna shadows of his eyes. “Yeah. Sure,” he said, like a father relenting on a candy request to a relentless kid.
Tracy released his shirt. Curled her finger in with the others in order to form a full fist—quickly pummeled into his sternum. “Yeah, sure?” she retaliated. “How about yeah sure, you’re full of bullshit?”
Humor pursed his lips and sparkled in his eyes. “Well, well, well, Madam President. Bossy is kind of sexy on you.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She dug knuckles into the closest slab of pectoral. He humored her by wincing, but his demeanor sobered by several degrees.
“Fine,” he relented, rocking against the chair’s headrest so his stare pierced up at the ceiling. “You deserve the truth about the last part too.”
“The last part?” She sounded five kinds of nosey, probably ten in suspicious. Inwardly puking about both accounts, she stroked a hand to the side of his neck and reached—reeaached—for a light laugh. “You mean there’s more than a close call with a diabetic coma?”
“Oh yeah.” He snorted, though didn’t borrow any of her humor. “A close call with a much bigger risk—at least to Abbie.” His gaze darkened as his voice softened. “Her reputation.”
Like a congressional budget finally balancing, so much began to make sense. “Oh,” Tracy blurted. Repeated it, drawing the sound out with the light of comprehension, before stating as the fact she was so sure of, “So someone in the ER recognized her. Maybe more than one someone.”
“Both her nurses.” With the affirmation, Franz began gently rocking the chair. The man and his Adonis thighs were making it damn hard to stay focused on the subject. She kept it together as he went on, “They were both huge fans—meaning neither missed the subtle marks still left on her waist from the flogging or her cagey answers about what we’d been doing on our ‘date’ earlier in the evening.”
“Oh.” The syllable got extended once more, though this version was lighter in her throat and on her psyche. Didn’t mean she couldn’t feel awful about it. Embarrassment was never fun for anyone. “So what did she finally tell them?”
“She didn’t,” Franz answered. “I stepped in, basically letting them know it was a private matter between lovers. But as soon as they left, Abbie turned and dropped the hammer. She was adamant about never seeing me, or a kink dungeon, ever again.” He evened his gaze with hers again. “I drove her home, even called her the next day. She didn’t pick up. Day after that, I hopped on a plane for North Korea.”
Of course he had.
Because that was what soldiers did, even after women pushed them aside like used toys.
That was what heroes did, protecting the land those women lived in even after that kind of shit happened.
That was what warriors did because they’d been called by fate to make the world a better place, even if that meant sacrificing their lives.
But he didn’t see all that, even now. He didn’t have time for self-pity because he still saw only his duty. He didn’t even have room for anger at Abbie because he was too busy spending it on himself. Fighting so hard to control the situation, he even took over the mental floggings. Because if he controlled the pain, it would hurt less, right?
The thought alone made her heart crack—and her vision open wider. She brushed fingers over his intense face, seeing so much as if for the first time. The line of his jaw, always fixed at the same ruthless angle. The constant tension behind his temples. The perpetual darkness in his gaze. Restraints, she now realized, not there to keep himself in check…
But to keep the pain at bay.
It wasn’t just the mental games Abbie had played with him. It was the tremendous toll of his “day job,” the profession he gave over ten years of his life for, only to be abruptly ordered to step down and figure out his life all over again. It was the loss of himself, beyond what his battalion mates or even his family could help with. That shit had to come from deeper…a corner in his soul even he didn’t know about.
She knew about that corner.
From firsthand experience.
The knowledge provided at least a little balm to her heart. She let it seep in through a long silence, knowing Franz filled the minutes by sorting through his own thoughts and memories. Finally, she broke the stillness by murmuring, “And when you got back from the mission? Did you try to contact her again?”
She hoped he’d say no but knew he’d say yes. The single dip of his head confirmed the latter without words. “Nothing was different. We tried to see if it
would be, but…we just talked. Not for long. About the weather. About her show. About how my last mission was crap but I couldn’t talk about it.”
You can talk about it to me.
But now wasn’t the time or the place. Now, all she wanted to do was clutch him close, sealing the fissures in his spirit with the passion of her kisses. She started with one, offering her mouth in open surrender, letting him softly take whatever he needed, for as long as he wanted. God knew, it was what she needed. His heat. His power. And yes, even his pain. Everything about this man—his chemistry, his biology, his energy—felt so perfect, so right, to all the corresponding parts of her.
Holy hell.
She’d fallen for him.
Maybe even a little more. Maybe even…a lot more.
Yeah. She had. And would pay for it later.
Joyfully.
Right now, even as he lifted his lips away from hers, the resolve sealed itself to her spirit, her heart. Later. The fine for this would come later—meaning she was damn well going to enjoy every magical drop of it now.
“So,” she whispered. “Captain Franzen.”
“Madam President.” One corner of his mouth hitched. “May I be of service?”
“You may.” She wrapped a hand against his skull, savoring the feel of his harsh spikes between her fingers. “I’m issuing a new executive order.”
“Well, shit.” He went on, underlined by her soft laugh, “Should I be scared?”
“Hmmm. Scared is a good thing, remember?”
“Ahhh.” He kicked up the end, adding that mix of cocky and sexy deserving its own trademark. “Indeed I do.”
Tracy let a smile burst across her lips. Framed the back of his head with her other hand, just to ensure she had his full attention for this. “From now on, the ghost of Abbie stays in the graveyard of the past.”
His stare turned the shade of a smoky sunset. He pulled in a sizable breath. “Now that’s an order I like.” But as he released the air, another piece of him seemed to drain out too. His arrogance. Tracy blinked. It was so much a part of him, she almost didn’t recognize the man left behind: a person gone raw—and beautiful—with vulnerability. “I just can’t promise I’ll be good at delivering.”
