by Angel Payne
“Nah. That’s a bonus. Good job, Mom.”
A flush stained her cheeks, darkening as she glanced across to John—unleashing electrical bursts where every one of his nerve endings used to be. Yeah, to the point he had to suck in an audible breath because of it. She’d respected every one of his “firm requests” for her look tonight. Light makeup. No jewelry. Hair pulled completely off her face. She’d even worn the simple black sheath Rayna had helped him pick out from a local boutique’s website. Thank fuck for the internet, which didn’t pass judgment at a credit card used for the Bastille Kink Club in downtown Seattle. Thank fuck even more for Rayna Hayes, who’d gone out and picked up the dress and the new makeup.
Most of all, thank fuck for gorgeous little brunettes with soft, submissive eyes and sexual energy that could turn air into fire.
And make him see, for the very first time, maybe there was life after Special Forces.
So much life.
And excitement. And challenge. And feeling.
Had he ever thought he’d feel like this again?
And burn like this, blood flaring higher and hotter, as Luke finally went all independent cool dude again, freeing Tracy to step around the island. As she neared, Franz pulled in more air. Feigned a casual smile. He hated feeding her the lie of his poise, but the alternative was hiking her up on the counter, ramming her legs around his waist, and then kissing the rest of that lip gloss off her delectable mouth. Not quite an option at the moment.
“Okay.” She leveled it while bouncing glances between Luke and him. “Do I have to keep guessing? What kind of wickedness have you gentlemen been up to in here?”
Annnnd there was the goddamned erection again. One mention of “wickedness” in her playful drawl, and he was hard as granite all over again.
Because tonight, he was going to blow her mind with wicked.
Christ. He’d really sworn off the dungeon for too long. After the disaster with Abbie and then the cluster fuck of Kaesong, he’d been thrown off the horse twice in a row. Brutally. The last thing he’d wanted was anything even reminding him of the saddle. No leather. No buckles. No riding crops. No thoughts of riding anything or anyone.
Now, he couldn’t think of anything else.
Especially with this stunning woman. His stunning woman.
Who would, gods be begged, soon be his perfect submissive.
He battled the thoughts with his most rigid poker face, to no goddamned avail. His gave him away, burning with needs he could barely keep in check. He knew it because of the answering bursts in Tracy’s gaze, igniting more as he moved around the island too, ensuring the bulge in his cargos got hidden from Luke and shown off to her.
Her gaze got bigger.
So did his smirk. Why the fuck not? And why the hell had he waited this long to learn good subterfuge didn’t always involve spooks, assets, shadows, and night goggles? What a way to reassign his skill set—in the name of a much more enticing mission.
With a much more meaningful target to take out.
If Tracy would let him.
There was the huge elephant still in the room. He was just the only one who saw the damn thing at the moment.
Time to change that. As fast as possible.
“Everything’s fine, ku`uipo.” He swept a meaningful look down over her face. “We’re just clearing the air.”
She nonchalantly tapped at the end of a banana—giving the motions much more meaning than her son had. “Dare I ask about what?”
“Hmmm.” Two could play at the easy-breezy act. “For starters, the issue about this young man purposely throwing a certain virtual tennis match.”
“Do not look at me,” Luke sputtered at Tracy’s accusing gaze. “He figured it out, just like I told you he would.”
“Smart kid.” Franzen added a chuckle, using the relaxed moment to make things more unrelaxed for the woman. His own discomfort was torture but so fucking worth it. So damn right, to be close enough to watch the thrumming pulse in her neck…to feel the new tension in her body…to soak up the new heat of her, all but shimmering the air like waves of rainforest humidity. She smelled that good too, the cream of her clean skin accented by a hint of perfume not her usual. Something fruity yet spicy, mixing so perfectly with her chemistry…
Tracy snapped him back to practicality with her sniff of bafflement. “Well, he lets me win all the time, and I can’t tell.”
“Because I don’t do that?” Luke ticked a knowing glance at Franz. “Now she has the bad-ass backhand.”
He chuckled again. “Somehow, I believe it.”
“Mia’s is killer too.” The kid pivoted, leading with one dipped shoulder. “Which is as good an excuse as I have to get the hell out of here…” He subtly lifted the end into a question, hooking a look back to Tracy in the doing.
“Go.” She made a shoo’ing motion. “Off with you, child.”
“And off with us.” Franz murmured it as soon as Luke vanished, underlining his growled command by wrapping a hand into one of hers. The responding pressure of her own, squeezing with such complete trust, sent a rush of incredible new sensation through him. Heat—there was always that—but also strength. Confidence. The driving certainty that every drop of his plans for this had been the right call.
Even if she might not think so at first.
If that bridge was going to be crossed, now was the time.
A message his whole body really got on board with—as soon as he had her in the elevator and the doors slid shut.
Sealing them completely in together.
Franz didn’t wait a damn second longer to pin her down.
Her body up against the lift wall. Her legs high, clamped around his hips. Her mouth open, taking the hot plunge of his tongue. Her moan strident, echoing through every synapse of his senses. Her cleft hot, writhing to meet the fevered slide of his erection.
“You wanted wicked?” he finally snarled against her lips. “How’s this for a start?”
His kitten’s breath, panting and eager, was a sweet mix of toothpaste and lust. “Uh-huh.” She nodded eagerly. “Yes…yes, Sir.”
“Damn glad to hear that, popoki.” Keeping her tacked against the wall with one hip, he kicked the other back and up, tagging the red stop button with his heel. Alert bells clanged all around them. The noise only seemed to feed Tracy’s desire. As his leg came down, she gazed as if he’d just scaled the Great Wall of China instead of simply killing two birds with one stone.
Which brought him back to the task at hand.
He had a minute at best until Z and Max broke into the elevator shaft from the basement and started climbing to get them. Just to be sure he had her full attention during those seconds, he braced the curve of her jaw in the U of his hand.
“You took our little agreement to heart, Tracy Rhodes. I admit, it was fun getting to beat the kid at least once.”
Her stare turned silken. So did her lips, parting as she licked them. “I’m glad to hear that, Captain Franzen.”
Gods, how he craved to kiss her. But kissing wasn’t a luxury for a deadline like this.
“Well, then. You’ll be happy to hear I took things seriously too.”
As he anticipated, her features pursed with confusion. If she didn’t recall his end of the bargain, or did remember and tried to discern exactly what he’d done, the same result filtered through her body. His psyche gulped her apprehension like a quarterback downing Gatorade. Yeah. Let me feel that fear, kitten. Melting it away will feel so fucking good for us both…
“You challenged me to help with your stage fright…remember?”
A long swallow undulated her throat. She wetted her lips again—this time, darts of sheer nervousness. “I—I remember.”
He slid in closer. Needing to fill her vision with him. Needing to fill his senses with her. She smelled so good. She felt so good. So right.
“Do you trust me to do that, ku`uipo?”
He rasped it in her ear as the bells continued blaring ar
ound them…as the world narrowed to nothing but them. He kept his lips there, hovering an inch above the throbbing pulse of her carotid, waiting…
Waiting for her form to soften.
Just like it did.
Waiting for her throat to exhale.
Just like it did.
Waiting for her to speak…
Chapter Seventeen
“Yes.”
It flowed from her with the dedication of rain down a waterfall…with the conviction of gravity to the earth. At the moment, she wondered how close to the truth the comparisons might truly be. She was already soaked with need for more of his body, his command—an obsession so consuming, her senses spun like weightless comets in space. He only heightened her sensual chaos by using his hold on her jaw to lock her head against the wall. Pressed in just tight enough to prevent her from moving.
Whoa.
Wow.
She’d never been handled by a man like this before. A treatment that should have started and ended in this moment—and probably would have, with any other man.
But John Franzen wasn’t any other man.
To the point that she gazed at him now, angling his face over hers, and realized she didn’t even see a man.
She saw a dragon.
A creature born of fire and brought by magic to save her life—in many more ways than one.
She saw thunder.
A force crackling the skies of her psyche, bringing back the lightning of her passion and the storm of her new awakening.
She saw her Dominant.
The lover—the partner—who’d exacted more from her body and mind than any male she’d known…
And given twice as much in return.
Who poured out the same fullness of that force now, coating her face in the burnished beauty of his stare as he rose up, filling her sights with nothing but him. He was dragon and slayer, sun and moon, give and take…her god and her apostle.
“Say. It. Again.”
His lips barely moved.
Her heart hardly beat.
“I—I said yes.” She reveled in the effect of it across his face, her supplication moving through him like an electrical charge through his thunder clouds. “I trust you…Sir.”
The voltage in his presence intensified. His eyes flared wide enough to make her gasp. “Even if that means this might be…uncomfortable? A little unorthodox?”
“Moving past fear usually isn’t a pleasure cruise. And as for unorthodox…” She took a turn at raising the expressive brows. “I think my experience with that one speaks for itself?”
His rough chuckle warmed the air but tensed her body. The laughter belonged to him but didn’t. It was like everything else about him since they’d stepped into the lift. Sharper. Harder. Fiercer. There was a damn good chance she simply filtered it that way, that everything was going to look and feel different during her first few minutes of “freedom” in days, but the explanation was just a bunch of rhetoric to her nerve endings, refusing to let go of their sizzling anxiety. And to her lungs, constricting from bands of real fear.
And to her sex, throbbing with how much she liked it.
Which would have hurled her into a tailspin of what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you, if the man didn’t chop it short with everything that was right.
Everything that was him.
A floor-eating step, shaking the car with its force. A slam to the call button, ending the alarms—while he started a new chaos by hauling her close and kissing her again. Hard. Ramming open her lips with savage mastery. Taking her tongue in nasty swipes. At last pulling back so she beheld every bold, etched angle of his face—and the iron control over them all, despite the brutal hunger he’d just unleashed on her.
“Very well,” he told her then. “I accept your trust and appreciate your honesty.” He pulled her hands around, holding them in the scant space between their bodies. “You honor me with both.” His kisses to her knuckles were warm but quick, laying groundwork for more steel in his composure. “And now, you’ll honor me by confirming your safe word.”
She swallowed so hard, she could feel the echoes in her ears. “Y-You’re talking like—”
“I might actually be hearing it from you?”
Well, shit.
His fingers squeezed hers as his left eyebrow jumped. That damn brow. It had come to carry meaning for her, always making her pulse race and her grin spread. Now her system cooperated with the former—but she wouldn’t know a smile from her own reflection right now. She was too busy scoping out the nearest exits.
An abandoned plan as soon as the lift doors whooshed open.
And she stood, motionless as an impaled martyr, at the sight before her.
She’d tried keeping her expectations open about Franz’s “big plans” for their evening, but he had given her some tiny hints already in his “requests”—aka orders—for how to show up for the fun. She’d complied with everything except the one about ditching her underwear. Wasn’t exactly a sucky plan; just not applicable to a situation with a sheath that stopped several inches above her knees. One careless whisper of a breeze, and her intimate bits would be clearly on display for whoever was helping him in this scheme—
In this case, Sergeant Zeke Hayes.
Along with another man to whom he now chatted quietly, dressed in the same head-to-toe black favored by her Sir and Zeke. Like them, the color enhanced the man’s towering height, commanding posture, and prominent muscles. Also like them, he had thick hair the shade of a raven’s wing, grown to a length somewhere between John’s skull spikes and Z’s Renaissance Faire waves. Unlike them, the guy’s eyes were a thousand shades of brilliant blue, reminding her of Lake Austin on a summer morning. When the man turned with Zeke to greet John and her, his whole aura seemed lighter as well—though once again, she had to set the impression against her experience of the last week. The only males with whom she’d had contact were her hormonal son and a gang of seasoned Special Forces professionals. She’d been all but bathing in growly testosterone for over a hundred hours.
“Gentlemen.” Franz calmly intoned it while leading the way from the elevator. Just fine by her. Even with her underthings on, the air possessed a distinct chill. The thuds of their footsteps were absorbed by the walls instead of bounced back.
Were they underground?
She glanced up before exiting the elevator. Indeed, the overhead display glowed with a bright red B, for Basement.
Basement, she repeated inwardly. Not Dungeon.
Was she emphasizing the point out of celebration…or disappointment?
Zeke didn’t give her long for contemplation. “The man of the hour,” he greeted, holding up a hand as if to arm wrestle John. Dear God, to be a fly on the wall during that match. John accepted his clasp, and they pulled on each other for one of those “bro bump” things to the shoulder. The other man strolled forward too but only gave John a courtesy glance—on his way to zero in more closely on Tracy.
“Meh. Who cares about him?” Mr. Lake Austin Eyes bent over, lifting her free hand in both of his. “Let’s get to the important part.” Brushed her knuckles with his lips. “It is a pleasure, darling kitten, to meet you at last.”
Darling kitten? At last? Tracy didn’t know whether to curtsy, giggle, or attempt a glib return—though the latter would be a challenge, considering the potency of this rogue’s flirtatious charm. His gaze was even more magnificent up close, and he smelled like cloves and bergamot.
Once again, not a lot of time for debate. Before her throat could fully function again, John jerked her back by the waist, rotating to loom protectively. “All right, scum chunk. Hands. Off.”
The guy spread up his hands as if those words had been Stick ’em up. “All right, all right. Got it loud and clear, honey. Untwist your panties.”
“Just keep your dick in yours.” Irritation all but shot out from Franz’s pores. “I mean it, man.”
Tracy glanced back to the rogue, hoping he’d have a decent zinger f
or that, though was immediately stabbed by guilt. John was sincerely agitated, and all she could think was how much this beat old senators duking it out across shiny conference tables. But John and his fellow Dom—for that was the only certain conclusion she had about the guy so far—were only interested in battling over one thing.
Her.
Not as their vice president. Not even as Zeke’s odd, intrusive houseguest.
As the only role she was here to fulfill tonight.
A desirable woman.
It was pretty damn nice.
“Well,” Zeke butted in, laying on a layer of overly bright sarcasm. “Now that we have all the housekeeping notes taken care of, boys and girls…”
“There’s your girl.” Franz and the flirt stated it at once, trading pointing fingers. Tracy couldn’t abstain her giggle any longer. This really was better than any committee meeting on the Hill.
Oddly—or maybe not so much—her laughter incited the same from the men. As they mellowed, Franz slipped his hand down, securing her hand in his once again. “Popoki, it’s my honor to introduce you to the hugest asshole on the planet—and my dearest friend—Max Brickham.”
She actually felt her eyes widen as Max flourished a new bow, sans the finger kissing. “At your service, kitten.”
The words weren’t just lip service. They hinted at a second meaning—one the man clearly thought she knew. When her blank gaze answered his raised gaze, Max scooted a questioning glance to John, who flung back a quelling glare.
Time for apprehension to make an encore. “At my service…for what?” she charged.
Max straightened, trading a secretive look with Zeke.
Ohhhh no, they didn’t.
Tracy jolted forward by a step, brandishing her put-up-or-shut-up look. Just as swiftly, she was jerked back to Franz’s side, his grip possessive steel around her middle.
“Well,” Max finally murmured. “This just got a hell of a lot more fun.”
Tracy tossed an open fume at all three of them—but especially the tight-lipped hulk at her side. Okay, she was more at his side, but semantics weren’t key on the priorities list right now.
