by Angel Payne
She dug her fingertips into his scalp. God, the man even had a perfectly shaped head. “Of course you will…because you’ll have a new submissive to keep you focused.” She joined the whisper to more determined tugs, guiding his face down again. “A kitten, here to give you all her trust and surrender.”
A deep groan escaped him in two seconds before he took her lips once more. Tenderly, he suckled on her. Sighed into her. Captured so much of her heat while giving the fullness of his own.
Finally, with their breaths still merged and their foreheads locked, he rasped, “Christ, ku`uipo. How you honor me. Humble me.”
She brought her hands forward, spreading them to the sides of his face. “And now, let me help you.”
He warmed both her palms with kisses before dipping back in, coating her in the chocolate perfection of his stare. “You already have.”
Her eyes slipped shut for a moment. The words meant so much, and she took the time to make sure they were stitched into the permanent fabric of her heart. “Not nearly as much as you’ve helped me.”
“Pfffft.”
“Truth!” She opened her eyes and whacked him on the shoulder, secretly glad to welcome his cocky bastard side back. While she was moved, in ways she’d only started to fathom, by him stepping from the basement and then completely lowering his shields, she also knew that wasn’t the way he preferred “getting naked.” It was also much easier to drawl out her follow-up. “You think I ever would’ve gotten used to ‘Madam President’ without you?”
When one of his brows leapt, it took her libido right along with it. The smolder of his half smirk ensured the bundle went up in flames too. Holy shit, the man was good at mashing discipline and reward into the same hot look.
“Not a bad point at all, ma’am.” He added the other half of his mouth to the grin, knowing damn well how his full smile affected her. Enflamed her. Know-it-all bastard. Gorgeous warrior.
Sure enough, she had to fight past the million butterflies in her belly and the flying fire in her blood just to shove at him again. “Yeah, well…find a way to get me used to the whole public-speaking thing, and I’ll tell Luke to let you win a few tennis matches.”
His gaze flared. “You do like seducing me.”
“What?” She flattened a hand to the base of her neck. “Little moi?”
He emitted a sultry hum as his gaze drifted once more to her mouth. “Oui, petite chat. Toi.”
Damn it. Not the best time to forget that, as the Spec Ops stud he was, he knew how to say “kitten” in at least ten different languages—and sound that gravelly, gorgeously sexy in all of them.
Regardless, she managed to feign haughty sneer and a prissy pout. “I am a woman of integrity, John Franzen.”
“Pffft.”
“I beg your pardon? Ahhh!”
Her saucy act went the way of her T-shirt, deftly whipped off by the man—at the same time he swept them both down to the floor. Before Tracy could process the surprise of that, the rogue filled the space over her, his mouth circling the erect areola of one newly naked breast. At once, she was a writhing mess. The rasp of his stubble across her sensitive nub… Holy hell, so good, but so much…an intensity doubled as he attended the other nipple with masterful pinches and tugs. Instantly, her whole body writhed, only to be stilled as he swept his hand down, palming her hot mound. A gasp finally broke free when his fingers went to work, circling between her wet folds, sliding across her most sensitive button of arousal.
“Integrity?” he murmured between wet, languorous kisses into the valley between her breasts. “At the moment, ku`uipo, I’m not interested in your fucking integrity.”
He made sure she thanked God for that at once.
Then again.
And again.
And again…
Chapter Sixteen
“Boom chaka laka!” Franz spun a full circle in the middle of Z’s den. “Game, set, and match!”
“Yep. Guess it is. Good job, dude.” Luke, standing a few feet away, shook his head—but by the time the kid’s “sheepish” glance was visible past the flop of his trendy haircut, his jig was up. Not only was the teen an awful actor; he’d borrowed the expression right out of his mother’s playbook, meaning Franz’s victory had just turned into a fresh challenge. How did a guy hide a fresh erection, courtesy of the mother of the kid still delivering a fake smirk and finger-twirling a video game controller?
His skill at creative body language had never come in handy more. Shoving his empty hand in front of the stiffy, he quickly crossed the opposite on top and then rocked back, going for a mix of hip-hop star and casual suspicion that probably appeared more like an older dude being a complete dork-ass.
And sometimes, dork-ass had to be good enough from the neck down. He made up for the deficiency with a healthy dose of the dragon glare, flung at the kid with one brow ticked, menacing jaw jabbed.
“Yeah?” he added, going all-business with that too. “Good game? You really think so?”
Luke shuffled back by a step. Averted his gaze. “Totally. You been practicing on the backhand?”
“Have you been practicing on the window washing?”
Chuffs were cute when teenagers tried them. “Huh?”
“You’re as transparent as a Windex commercial.”
“Huh?”
“Come on.” He folded his arms. “Your mom told you to throw it, didn’t she?”
“What?” Another shake of the shag. “No. Sheez.”
From the recliner behind Luke, a girlish snicker swirled out. The chair was rotated by a foot in bright-pink socks, until Mia appeared. “Toss it in, Jedi. Don’t you know when a senior’s onto you?”
Franz exchanged a glance with Luke—as dudes newly united on the same side. There were cool ways to mitigate shit between dudes, none of them including cute nicknames. From the open pout on her face, he guessed Mia was aware of the rule and went there anyway. Part of him couldn’t blame her. While he’d worked with Rayna to disguise the kids enough that they could go out for quick supervised walks with Z, the novelty of this experience had worn off on them after two days. It felt like prison, and he knew it. They were all feeling the strain.
Bitter as the conclusion was, it brought blaring justification about the plans he’d made for tonight—if that was what he could call them. What would he call them?
Another issue for another minute. Right now, Luke became priority again—looking like he wanted to throw Mia and the chair right through the window behind the drawn drapes. “Do not keep calling me that. Please.”
Mia rolled her eyes. “‘Please’ doesn’t count when you don’t mean it.”
“Shit.”
“Not nice, Jedi!”
“How about the first hundred times I did ask you nice?”
“Okay. Whoa.” John hurled the controller to the couch—no hard-on to stress about anymore—and planted himself between the teens. “Back to your cages, heathens.”
Luke flung his own controller the same direction. “Life is a cage, Franzen. Deal with it.”
John chomped the inside of his cheek to keep from pummeling the kid’s emo moment with a laugh. But hell, was he tempted. Strongly. Luke was a damn fine kid, but puberty as a politician’s kid had to be the worst under normal conditions, especially without a father. And there was the ultimate clincher, dampening Franz enough to simply watch as Luke skulked out of the room. As he watched the boy disappear around the corner into the kitchen, all slumped shoulders and brooding angst, he relished the chance to finally indulge his chuckle…
Only to find it gone.
Every last trace.
Instead, Franz rubbed hard at his chest—and the anvil that had landed there instead.
Mia’s tearful sigh thickened the Les Miz pathos in the air. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t mean it.”
Franz glanced back. The girl sat on the recliner now, head hunched into her hands. He ruffled the top of her blond curls. “Of course you di
dn’t, kaikamahine.”
“This is just so hard. Why do we have to pay the price for the crazy crap of some spaz-natch terrorist?”
Franz exhaled hard, aiming for a Jon Val Jean vibe—gruff but gentle. “That, my girl, is the ten-million-dollar question.”
Mia raised her head. Wet tracks etched her cheeks. “Are you going to talk to him?”
At that, he did smile—mostly for lack of anything more confident. He wasn’t on an inch of familiar ground right now. What was the etiquette of calming down two hormonal teenagers at once? Things were a hell of a lot easier when soldiers pulled this shit. They got told to suck it up and shut up, end of story. At least he had an excuse for checking in on Luke without setting off Mia again.
“Yeah.” He palmed the top of her head again. “You okay with that?”
Well, hell. That almost came…easily. Maybe he was getting better at this communication shit.
“Totally,” Mia replied. “I’m glad you are, actually.”
He hitched a wider smile. “Cool.”
“Hey.” She rose, awkwardly twisting the fingers peeking out from beneath a baggy sweatshirt emblazoned with a barfing unicorn. “When you—can you—tell him I’m sorry for the nickname thing?”
Franz gave her the benefit of his quiet assessment for a long moment. In a matching tone, he responded, “I think it’ll mean more coming from you.”
Her pout returned. Not so much snark this time. “You’re probably right.”
“Tell you what? I’ll let him know you want to play him a few matches next. Sneak it in between sets. It’ll go a lot easier.”
Her watery grin melted half the damn anvil. Franz smiled back, imagining he looked a lot like Pops after he or Lino had finally understood some important life lesson.
Okay…this communication shit was kind of cool.
He just hoped he still thought that after the showdown with Luke.
He found the kid slumped against the island in the middle of the kitchen, picking at the end of a banana and sulking like Pompei had just fallen. Or his new video game was on delayed release. Same thing in the world of a fifteen-year-old.
Franz leaned elbows to the opposite side of the island. Waited another measured moment before murmuring, “Hey.”
Luke glanced back up—the kid’s eyes were so much like Tracy’s, it was a bit freaky—before turning back to his banana picking. “Hey.”
“You all right, man?”
A one-shouldered hitch. Gawky but defiant. “Sure. I will be, I guess.”
“You guess?” He underlined it with a direct stare, not that the brat was paying attention. Again, so much like his mother. Defenses went up, and not even the fiercest infantry was breaching the barricades.
“Yeah, I guess.” Luke tossed his head, a mutinous pony fighting his harness. “I mean, I’m not allowed to be anything else, right? That’s what everyone expects, so—”
“I’m not everyone.”
“You might as well be.”
John pushed up. “Oh, fuck that shit.”
Luke’s eyes blew up to the size of quarters—then silver dollars—as Franz planted hands to his waist. He was dressed in his usual now, a black form-fitted T-shirt and black cargo pants, which probably played to his favor in the shock-and-awe department—as well as the special plans he’d made for Tracy tonight.
Stow it, asshole. Not the time for a fresh hard-on.
“Don’t pretend your virgin ears are scalded, mister,” he growled into the boy’s stunned silence. “You’ve heard worse online—just like you know, in your gut, how awesome your life is compared to a lot of kids your age.”
“Okay, okay.” The defensive tone was mitigated by sullen shoulder hunches. “I know, I know.” Another swift gray glance, accompanied by some twitchy teenager kicks at the floor. “Seriously, dude. I get it.”
“And I believe you.” Franz lowered his arms. Went on, while sidling around the island until they were diagonal from each other, “So don’t go after yourself with a cat-o-nine about it either.” He clapped the kid on the shoulder. “It’s been an unusual week for everyone. Nobody’s expecting you to handle it all with a rosy smile and a Bob Fosse show-stopper.”
“A what? With who?”
He damn near groaned.
Holding him back? The look on Luke Rhodes’s face.
Blasting awareness through him like a nuclear detonation.
This kid, so bright and perceptive and good-looking, would soon be the first son of the country. He’d already been the vice president’s son for a year. He was surrounded by a small army of guys who’d take a bullet for him and another small army of his mom’s staffers, advisors, and keepers.
But the look on his face right now only spoke one truth, loud and strong and strident.
He was beyond lonely.
“Never mind.” The words rumbled out of him, awkward with the blast of emotion in his chest, as he shifted his hold to Luke’s nape. “Not important.”
Luke looked up—not fighting his hold one bit. The kid’s mouth, broader and plusher than Tracy’s elegant curves, quirked up at one end. “If it has anything to do with all that Broadway shit you and Mom are always talking about, you’re right.”
Franzen mock-growled. “That’s close to sacrilege, man.”
“You’re from Hawaii. Your native religion promotes polytheism. Deal with it.”
Had he been admiring the kid’s intellect? “You been checking up on me, Lucas Levane?”
The teen leaned an elbow to the island. “Why yes, Keoni John, I have.” He let only a few beats go by before blurting, “No offense, dude—but I’m performing due diligence. My mom’s really into you.”
And he’d thought shit like hostage extraction and dodging landmines was tricky. “That so?” Was that casual enough? Humble enough? Did he sound like a dick? Worse, like a douche? Did a kid like him know the difference? “So…uhhh…how’d you come by that intel? Did she tell you?”
Luke dropped his head. Slowly shook it. “Dude, she’s my mom. I can tell when she’s happier.”
“Happier?” Forget dick and douche. He was certain the trophy for goofy idiot had his name fucking engraved on it. “You, uhhh, think so? She’s happier?”
“Oh my God.”
Or at least that was what the kid’s moan sounded like. His face was enveloped by his cupped hands, muffling the syllables, meaning Franz had to pick from Oh my God or Ah my crotch. Obviously, the lesser of two evils got the high sign.
Luke himself wasn’t about any clarification either. With a heavy huff, the kid jacked his posture straight back up. Reached to emulate John’s move by reaching out and clapping his shoulder. John chuckled, though quick and painlessly. The teen earned himself instant bonus points by maintaining the hold despite noticing how his hand looked like a puppy pawing a Mastiff.
“Just don’t make her cry, and you’ll be cool. You make my mom cry, I don’t care how big you are. I’ll come after you, and I’ll hurt you. Feeling that, Dragon?”
Franz held up a fist, offering it for a bump with Luke’s free hand. “Affirmative, Mr. Rhodes.”
The teen nodded, apparently satisfied, before they sealed shit up with a solid bump. Immediately after, Luke shoved both hands into his pockets and kicked the floor again. “So, I heard you’re taking her out tonight? Like, on a…date?”
Franz emulated the stance, sans the floor jabs. “Something like that, yeah.” He deliberately kept things general. It was best not to let on, even to his own mind, what the itinerary for the evening really was. No point in believing everything was going to go exactly as he hoped, anyhow.
Generalizations or not, Luke opened up a new scowl. “So how’s that going to happen?”
That, he did expect. “Easy, kaikana.” And answered with a soothing tone, paired with raised hands. “We’re not even leaving the building. Just thought it’d be nice to get your mom out of the condo for a little bit. She hasn’t even gotten to have walks, like you and Mia.”
/> The kid had the grace to look a chastised. “You’re right.” He jerked his chin up, diffident respect edging the action. “Probably took a lot of planning just to take her downstairs.”
You have no idea, kid.
And he never would.
“Zeke’s going to be with us.” He could give up that much, at least. “My friend Max Brickham too. Don’t worry; he’s as bad-ass as Z. We’re not going to let a damn thing happen to your mom.”
Well. Nothing she didn’t beg him for first.
Not now, jerk wad. Not. Now.
“Cool.” Stars literally danced in Luke’s eyes once Z was brought into the picture. Yeah, the Zeke Hayes fan club had officially grown by one this week.
“What’s cool?”
As the source of the query appeared in the doorway and then moved to wrap arms around her son’s waist, Franz focused on reminding his lungs to breathe. Holy. Shit. He’d been so used to having the Tigress in her most raw form, as a messy, moaning, panting lover, he’d forgotten how incredible she looked all sleek and cleaned-up.
No. It was more than that this time.
Oh, she was one fine, fine woman on a physical level; he wasn’t taking exception to that—but her effect on him was so far beyond that, he was only able to identify it now, after having to tolerate an entire afternoon of her locked away in the guest room, strategizing with Ronnie and Gem about the hundreds of scenarios they might encounter when she finally returned to DC.
And the Oval Office.
Not a future he was going to think about tonight. Not for one fucking second.
Luke pivoted enough to hook his arm around Tracy’s neck. “Hail to my parental unit.”
“Well, hail to my sunshine.” She smacked him softly on the cheek, leaving an imprint of soft lip gloss. Though Luke grimaced, he let the stuff stay where it was as he gave her a once-over.
“Wow, Mom. You look different. You look…nice.”
Tracy bopped his shoulder, but her beam didn’t falter. Clearly, the clinch meant more to her than the compliment—such as it was. “And that’s what’s cool?”
