by Angel Payne
“Another kinkster Easter Egg.” He glanced quickly to her, as if trying to gauge her reaction as he finished. “A way of saying play room, for those of us into fire, whips, and chains instead of pads, rope, and ticklers.”
Though he was casual about the innuendo’s tone, his watchfulness intensified—not helping her newest desire to just kiss him. Or strip for him. Oh hell, why not both?
Because that option would advance them nowhere.
She had to settle for jerking her head up then whispering, “Then I guess I’m a dungeon kind of girl.”
Franz’s groan, emanating from deep in his chest, almost changed her mind about the kiss-and-strip plan. She sucked it up for both of them, clearing her throat as if simply moving on to a new agenda item in a committee meeting.
“So tell me why Abbie was so…” Special? Remarkable? “Compatible.” In the end, his own term was truly the most tolerable one, driving her to yet another inward kick in the figurative ass. Since when had she settled for simply tolerable? The green monster in her psyche was more disgusting than her weight in pus, and she wasn’t proud of it.
“It’s pretty simple to explain.” John spoke slowly, as if the statement were a new revelation. “I mean, the libretto fits the score about how things matched up in our dungeon sessions—and aside from a few hours of aftercare, she was firm about not wanting anything deeper in a relationship with me.”
“So she was crazy?” The rejoinder spilled without a second thought, though she stood by it. The man was smart, funny, protective, and passionate. Then there was the whole body of a god and cock of a stallion thing too…
John chuckled as if reading that particular thought. “No. She was a psychologist—a leading one in the city, actually—with a couple of books about healing from your past, as well as one of those psycho-babble call-in radio shows.”
Tracy brought up her head and shoulders, tacking on a crisp little nod. “And she wrote the stuff from ‘experience’?”
He nodded again, clearing his throat. Her new position, while lending professionalism to their upper bodies, fitted their crotches tighter. She could have—should have—rectified things by getting up and walking away, but maybe she’d just ask him for the call-in number to Abbie baby’s show. Clearly, she needed psychological help. She was growing addicted to this man and his incredible body.
“She had a rough deal growing up. After her dad was hauled to prison for embezzlement and fraud, her mom turned to drugs, and the story goes downhill from there. Abbie ended up as a foster care kid at the age of twelve. Her angle is that bad shit can happen to anyone, at any time, and can be survived. Her whole reputation’s built on it.”
“And dating a guy who’s part-owner of a BDSM club doesn’t jive with the I-am-woman-hear-me-roar rep.”
“Give the lady a prize.” He lightly nipped the end of her nose with two knuckles. In the wake of his touch, Tracy wrinkled it with irked emphasis.
“Have you tried telling her that’s bullshit?” She didn’t explain herself. She didn’t have to. He got it. He really did. He knew that a person’s strength was greatest when they were at their most vulnerable. And dear God, how she knew it. Had learned it, over and over again, to the point it was nearly a theme in her life.
“A few times,” he replied to her charge. “I did try. As her Dom, I had the responsibility to. I mean, I knew there were parts of her I could help with the pain…”
“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, dammit. 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, Madame 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?
