by Angel Payne
“You’d know the answer to that if you felt what your sweet ‘Sir’ just did to me, kitten.”
“Errr…sorry?”
“Like hell you are,” he drawled, when her demure grin and dancing gaze betrayed her delight in having grabbed him in the balls. “But we’ll discuss that in a minute.”
To back it up, he tightened his muscles and focused on the overture of Cats. Cats on their own merit? Coolest animals on the planet. But people acting like cats on a stage, in linty costumes through a nonexistent plot? Excellent dick limpening stuff—especially when her query deserved a fuller answer.
“When I first fully dove into Dominance and submission, I explored the idea I might be a switch.” When her brows furrowed in a new question from that, he explained, “Someone who enjoys power exchange from both ends of the spectrum.”
Her head jolted back a little. “Why the hell would you even consider yourself a submissive?”
So much for matted cat fur replacing what she could do to him. Her unflinching vote in his Dominant box was all it took to roar that part of himself back to the surface. Still, she deserved more of an explanation from him. An assurance he wasn’t some creep hiding behind a uniform, but a guy who believed in the beauty of the BDSM dynamic.
“When you’re young, you’re already confused,” he began. “I mean, I knew I was into women a lot like my mom and two sisters, who were smart and strong-willed—and all but worshipped around our house. My Pops wouldn’t allow my brother and I to get away with anything less.”
Tracy brought her head back down. Fingered the ends of her auburn waves. “So you had a substantial male role model, as well.”
“Hell, yeah.”
“So you freaked when discovering you wanted to dominate women.”
He chuffed. “That’s one way of putting it.”
Her brows drew together. “What’s another way?”
“How about, I all but wrote off my chances for getting accepted into Special Operations?”
“Whaaaat?” She half-giggled it.
“Truth.” He held up two fingers, scouts honor style. “I was certain they’d rout it out during the psych eval, and toss me out for being a Class-A, sadistic perv.” As he lowered his fingers, he cracked a smirk. “Quickly learned if that were the case, half the world would be tossed out too.”
“Now that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Well, it did me,” he returned. “Enough to keep learning about the lifestyle, as well as the elements about myself that were drawing me to it.”
Tracy’s face changed. While the elegant angles softened, the interest in her gaze got bolder. Wow. If this was half the ju-ju she threw at the guys on the Hill, no wonder she already enjoyed a reputation for getting things done. “That was a pretty brave decision,” she told him with matching intensity.
He attempted a shrug, but the action was all wrong, a casual write-off for a significant moment. She was right. It had been brave, only he’d been trivializing that until now. Until speaking a truth he’d never really put into words for anybody before. “Those months of learning about kink, beyond just the sex, were probably some of the best self-prep I gave myself for Spec Ops.”
Her hand dropped out of her hair. “Beyond the sex?”
He smirked. “Surprised?”
“A little.” She huffed then conceded, “Okay, maybe a lot.”
“Not a sin,” he assured. “And a normal vanilla reaction—where we all started at some point.”
He steeled himself for what she’d do with that. Everybody loved vanilla but few liked to be identified by it—though the definition was a damn accurate fit for what the rest of the world seemed to many kinksters. Didn’t stop vanillas from acting like they’d just been wrongfully tagged as something close to terrorists.
To his pleasant shock, the woman simply shrugged, spread her hands, then offered, “Everyone has to start somewhere.”
Franz submerged the craving to scoop up both those hands and press awed kisses to their backs. Yeah, even right now, with her naked chest still begging him for a lot more than kisses.
Instead he replied, “In kink, that place is usually discovering the whips, chains, and spreader bars aren’t the point. They’re helpful in getting to the point, but they’re only tools, like paint brushes to an artist or guitar strings to a musician.”
That secret weapon of her attention went full ju-ju on him again. No; the force of her gaze was beyond that. She looked fascinated. Rapt. “So what is that point?”
He splurged a little, lifting one of her hands and bestowing that kiss, before answering, “Connection. Honesty. Moving past the normal bullshit, so you can be open for relating to a person on a deeper level.”
He kept their hands clasped. Her fingers twined tighter into his. “Pushing past the fear.”
“Sometimes,” he hedged, “yes. And sometimes, the dynamic helps people just figure out what the fear is.” A deep breath went in then out before he clarified, “Taking off your clothes, getting tied up, or even being the one wielding the flogger…that’s all outward delineation for what’s happening on the inside. Shit on both sides of the dynamic gets broken down, stripped away, exposed for its truth. It’s beautiful, but sometimes it’s messy. And lots of times, yeah, it’s frightening. That’s why safe words exist, and why many kink clubs won’t allow people to drink then play.”
The statements, clearly sinking in with her, also spurred a dreamlike expression. “Kink clubs,” she finally echoed. “So…a lot of those around, hmmm?”
“Oh, yeah.” Other than a small chuff, Franz focused on modulating his own expression. As if it did any good. The way the woman could delve to his soul with just a touch, he was certain she’d see straight to the truth this time too. They exist, and they thrive—and they’re owned by guys like me. Aloud, he confessed, “It was in one of them, actually, that I finally found the answers to a lot of my questions.”
“The reasons why you were drawn to all of it.”
Not a note of judgment colored her tone. She simply held his hand, truly interested in knowing this about him—and while the subject matter wasn’t the usual, he sensed she’d be just as interested if he’d admitted to being a Mount Everest Sherpa in his spare time.
Damn.
It felt…nice.
Better than nice.
He finally scraped out of his amazed gawking to scrape out a response to her. “Yeah.”
The corners of Tracy’s lips hitched. “And?”
“And what?”
“The reasons?” she reminded. “Everything that drew you to BDSM?”
“Ah.” He whooshed out a breath. “Yeah. That.”
She squirmed, backing up the new edge of dubiety in her stare. “Messy?”
He shook his head. “Long.”
“Highlights reel?”
He set a smile free. Her verbal shorthand, always knowing what to pull out of his soul’s narrative and notate, was on point again. Scarily so. But as he’d just admitted to the woman, fear had been his middle name for eleven years—sans the last six months.
It felt pretty good to be frightened again.
Because of her.
For her.
So for her, he sliced through the fear—and yanked up the truth.
But not before slipping his hand free and moving it to the creamy valley between her breasts.
With knuckles stroking that warm vale, he said, “It all boils down to the fact that I’m an arrogant piece of work.” Too much of it was the truth to even think of diluting, so he maintained his rhythmic strokes over her flawless flesh. “I’m ignited, in my spirit and my body, to know I can help another person open up to new parts of themselves. I’m happy, seeing the beauty of a submissive’s pleasure by my hand…watching them come undone then find their sanity again.”
Her chest rose and fell on her own full breath. “Like an alternative therapist,” she ventured.
“More like an alternative conductor,” he countered. “In t
herapy, only one side benefits. But submissives give back to me like instruments in a concerto. The more beautifully they play my notes, the more I’m fulfilled too.” Instinct, deep and sure, turned his touch into a more circular motion. He spread his fingers until they flowed over the sides of her taut swells. “The farther she follows me and the more she trusts me, the more powerful I feel…and the more she rockets me to a high I can never get enough of.”
Beneath his touch, Tracy quivered again—only he was damn certain he joined her in the quake. Damn. Just putting it all into words was the beginning of a crazy epiphany…a step back into a mental space that felt so much like home. A home from which he’d exiled himself after that horrific night with Abbie…but the home he’d desperately been seeking since returning from Kaesong.
And while he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of moving all the way back in…
A visit would sure as hell be nice.
He swept his hand farther up. Brushed his fingertips over her nipple. Her breathing hitched and her areola puckered, luring him to repeat the sweep—pinching it this time. Her sweet, high wince was his incentive for repeating the move to her other stiff peak. As soon as he did, she unspooled into sensual languor, sliding back to the pillows…right underneath him.
The blanket all but slipped away. John kicked it back completely, twisting to settle between her thighs. Holy gods. She was already slick and soft and hot for him. Only through a clenched effort did he resist plunging his cock all the way inside her. Yeah, even bareback. She drove him to the edge of that stupidity.
As he moved in tighter, flattening their chests together, Tracy unfurled a Tigress’s sensual snarl. Her nails scored his shoulders. Her legs parted farther, wrapping higher around his waist. She made him crazy with need, burning hot with desire—and that was before their gazes locked again, subjecting his senses to the full lightning force of her magical stare.
He gazed down, echoing her primal rumble.
She stared back up, hitching her hips a little.
His rumble became a groan. Her sex was sweet, wet, and tender—and his mental moorings were nonexistent. She did him no favors by nudging her chin up, taking him in with equal parts curiosity and challenge, stirring her kitten side back into the mix too. Goddamn. His self-control went into the drink when her eyes went that huge and her mouth got that plush.
“Thank you.”
And her voice turned that husky.
“For what?” he managed to murmur back.
“For sharing all of that.” Her hands slid in, wrapping around his neck. That, along with the new searches of her gaze, had her reminding him of a swimmer clinging to a dock. “For sharing…all of you…like that.”
He liked being her dock.
A lot.
He slipped one hand up, rubbing a thumb along the pillows of her mouth. “Well, thank you for listening—and hearing—all of it.”
She had more to say. John discerned it in the questing flickers in her gaze and the continuing tension around her mouth. He didn’t press her, though. Sometimes, patience was its own reward.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to get you high too.”
And sometimes, patience gave a guy other rewards too.
Huge ones.
With another long, low growl, he worked his crotch against hers. Shit. After just sermonizing about the mystical higher purpose of D/s, all he wanted to do was give her some of the filthiest commands in his arsenal before sinking himself inside her to the balls and screwing them both into hot, heavy, lava-style climaxes that stretched into tomorrow…
He started by taking her mouth under his. Explored her thoroughly with his teeth and tongue until she shuddered, mewled, and writhed for him. Pinched both her pretty tits again, until the tips were hard as cinnamon candies. Rolled his hips and bunched his ass, massaging her equally stiff clit with the aching, throbbing tip of his agonized erection.
Until finally, it was time.
To heave up, pushing away onto his haunches, leaving her sprawled against the sheets, shiny with sweat and shaking with need—
And pissed as hell.
“What the—”
“Kitten.” He was quiet but commanding. Already shifting his mind to that space where the dragon could take over, focusing the fire all on her, transforming the power he could already feel in his blood.
“What?”
He arched a brow—effective for hiding his delight at her sass. Gods, did he love it when the takeover got interesting. This was going to be fun.
“What?” He sent her word back with a challenging jump of brows. “Or did you mean that to be ‘what would you like me to do now, Sir?’ If not, that’s cool too. I’ll just bug for the couch again, let you get some more rest, and—”
“No!” She sat up. Slammed a hand to the center of his chest. “I—I mean no Sir; please don’t go to the couch.” As her hand lowered, so did her gaze. “I’m ready. Just…please…tell me what’s next.”
He ran a hand over the top of her head. He always cherished this moment, when a submissive first dipped her toe into the pool of his control, but this occasion was better than all the others combined. Logically, he wrote it off to the length of his self-imposed banishment from the dynamic—but instinctively, he confirmed it as more. This woman, with the will of a wildcat, the soul of a survivor, and the fighter’s spirit so much like his own, wasn’t just another submissive. She’d ignited his blood from their first clasp. Had entrusted him with her life, and now yearned to give him her body—as his partner, not just his sub. She heard what he’d said, really heard it—and clasped that knowledge in, turning it into a beautiful offer…
Of herself.
I want to get you high.
Christ.
Did she know how totally she already had? Just a tiny mental touch on the memory of fucking her a few hours ago, and he was as hard as a goddamn bull again. Thank fuck, when he’d snuck out for five minutes to check on Luke and the others, he’d thought to stash a couple of fresh condoms in the nightstand. Wishful thinking could sometimes be the universe’s cue.
Meaning he was more than ready for this cue.
Drawing his hand to her chest, then filling his palm with her breast, he instructed, “What’s next is…you lie back, lift your arms, and spread your legs for me.”
Eagerness defined her face, as well as the moves she made to comply. Franz focused on keeping his breaths even and his cock under control as she transformed from being delectable to irresistible. Holy fuck. Her ripe nipples pointed toward the ceiling. Her thighs were creamy and perfect, begging to be marked by his bites. And her pussy, a palette of rosy pink, was the most erotic sight he could think of…sprinkled by the milk of his pre-come.
“Ohhhh.” She moaned it from a tight throat. Her hips jerked, betraying how the drops from his cock taunted the most sensitive parts of her pussy.
“Be still, kitten.”
She tensed, exposing her clenched teeth. “Easy for you to say.”
He let a smile ghost his lips. “You want my lube worked onto your clit?”
Her gasp was thick with grateful arousal. “Yes. Holy shit, yes.”
“Like this?” Two syllables for two digits, swirling across her quivering button.
“Ohhhh! Yes, Sir!”
“Or perhaps…like this?” He turned his fingers over. Smacked them sharply across her flower.
“Ahhhh!” How quickly her sighs became sharp gasps. How dead-on they hit the bulls-eye of his Dominant spirit…and wound around his aching, stretching cock.
With a dark groan, he twisted his fist up his length. Pushed at the base of his swollen head, where more white essence leaked from the hot slit.
“Don’t move, ku’uipo.” That, ordered as he pushed aside her lips, letting his milk trickle over her exposed bud. “Grab the pillows if you must—but keep your arms up.”
She took him up on the suggestion, though eyed him with open apprehension.
“You say that like you’re going to—to—”
“To what?” he asked mildly.
“You know what,” she huffed. “I can see it in your stare. You’re going to spank me…there.”
He kicked up one side of his mouth. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“Would it turn you on if I said yes?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then I’m afraid.”
“You just saying that to turn me on?”
“I’m saying that because I like you making me afraid.” If her direct gaze wasn’t enough to nail that home, the tautening tips of her breasts certainly did. By the gods, she had great tits. “And then I like you pushing me past it.” Her mouth pressed into a determined line as her hips bucked upward again, offering herself to whatever treatment he chose for the glistening folds at their apex. “If I can get past these fears, it helps me think I can handle all the others too.”
All the others.
Three words, representing a thousand more apiece. In Tracy Rhodes’ world, they weren’t things like workplace drama, girlfriend squabbles, or the kid’s school grades—even before everything that went down yesterday. More accurately, had been blown up yesterday. But here she was, surrendering her spirit, confident he’d give it back to her in a stronger place to lead the whole damn world out of this chaos.
He probably should’ve been daunted.
Weirdly, maybe even stupidly, he wasn’t.
He was honored. Invigorated. And like the “arrogant piece of work” he was, turned way the fuck on—a truth he showed his little subbie, inch by swollen inch, while repositioning himself between her thighs. Tracy’s tongue flicked out, nervously moistening her lips, as she watched every move he made, clearly trying to predict what he had in mind for her gorgeous cunt next.
“Hell, woman,” he finally growled, bending over to learn how her clit would like his teeth, “this is going to be fun.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
“Are we all having fun yet?”
