by Angel Payne
In the next room, he tenderly lowered her to the bed. Not so softly, plunged his own body down next to her. Her heartbeat sprinted as soon as their gazes locked again. His eyes glittered, alive with a predatory heat she’d never seen before, as he gripped her waist and twined their legs. That animalistic energy moved across his whole face, shifting it into angles of primal intention…and open lust.
A gulp thudded down her throat.
His chivalric move might have been the last she’d see of his civility for a while.
She was terrified about the creature that would replace it.
And had never been wetter in her life.
Chapter Ten
‡
Franzen had never been harder in his life.
And faced the fact that the torture wouldn’t be over anytime soon.
Every muscle in his body clenched and strained, ordering the urges of his instinct to instant stand-downs. At least for now. Yeah, the woman still wanted him in return—thank fuck—and yeah, she didn’t want to wait long, either—thank fuck—but just giving in to all their base lusts still wasn’t an option. Tearing off her wet clothes meant an explanation to Rayna later. Spreading her wide and fucking her until she screamed? Not even a remote option, despite the volume at which Mario, Princess Peach, and Lucario virtually pounded each other in the next room.
He had to plan this through.
He had to think like a Dom.
Not the most helpful angle here, however. The one he kept defaulting to. The perspective at which she was his willing, eager little subbie. His kitten in all aspects of the word…taking whatever wicked treatment he could dream for her beautiful curves…
Stow those bullets, soldier.
None of this was about what he wanted. This was about the healing and escape she needed—and he’d bestow, with the command she clearly craved, without subjecting her to the full Dragon Dominance buffet. He wasn’t a goddamn nug. He recognized his mistake from earlier. Denying her—denying them both—of a fulfillment of their attraction, just because he hadn’t settled for vanilla sex in nearly fifteen years, had been messed up. He could pleasure a woman without all that shit. Without even the words.
Though holy hell, did “Sir” sound so right with her subtle Texas lilt…
“How do you want me now, Sir?”
Just. Like. That.
Fuck.
He sucked in a deep breath. Swallowed hard before letting it back out, all the while leaning over her with one knee on the bed. “I think you already know the answer to that, kitten.” He ran fingertips up the outside of her thigh. “So I’m going to let you get to work on that while I take care of the logistical shit.”
“The…huh?”
He dropped a forceful but fast kiss to her lips. “Just take off your clothes, woman. Every fucking stitch. I’ll be back before you’re done.”
He kept to his word, all but sprinting across the room to ensure the door was locked, the kids were really preoccupied with their game, and the room’s lighting was turned low. A golden glow persisted from the midday sun beyond the blinds, for which he was now—unbelievably—grateful. The ambient lighting reminded him exactly of the wall sconces at Bastille…
Damn. Bastille.
It had been too fucking long.
And how incredible would it be to break that absence with this gorgeous woman on his arm?
And what kind of a planet have you moved to, where you can think of parading Tracy Rhodes right into your local dungeon—even if you are half-owner of the place?
Not the time for philosophical breakdowns.
Not with the softly smiling female on the bed, damp hair splayed on the pillow, already satisfying so many of his hottest fantasies about her.
She wouldn’t fulfill all of them. He accepted that. But cake was still cake, even without the buttercream roses. After all this was over, when she was moved into the White House and he was back to figuring out his life, he’d be able to search for someone else who appreciated the thorns instead.
So what if that thought nauseated the fuck out of him right now?
So what if he wished that “right now” could just be the end of all the “right nows”?
That she could be the end of all his searches…
Yeah, and Transformers actually existed. Super heroes too. With invisible planes, webs like steel cables, and levitation cloaks.
The truth was, he’d always be searching.
How could he know a woman was right for his life, when he had no idea how to define that life?
Even if he had that part figured out, one truth would remain glaringly clear.
His world. Her world. Two separate things.
But right now was only about this world, golden and right, that they would create together. No boundaries. No titles. No ranks. Just her beauty, waiting nude and perfect for him. Just her arms, lifting in welcome to him.
Just his passion, plunging him down to her again.
Just their lust, bursting as their mouths collided again.
Exploding as if they hadn’t just done this minutes ago. Arcing…crashing. Pushing…pulsing.
Searing…then tearing.
Demolishing what he’d been clinging to in the name of decent foreplay. Shattering through him, turning his muscles to flames and his skin into the cage now fried by that blaze. A groan left him as the hellfire spread, only soothed when his body spread hers, fitting tighter against hers. Tracy’s answering moan was a vibration of validation, driving him to spread his knees out, opening her wider for him. The ridge in his pants slid against the sultry seam of her pussy, swelling in recognition of the heaven it sought…burned for…needed.
In the other room, Archer let out a bellow of victory.
Beneath him, Tracy burst with a high cry of wonder.
“Oh,” she rasped. “Oh…my God…” Her pelvis jerked and thrust, reminding him of the sleek, hot escape she offered. Her hands, braced to his shoulders, turned into urgent claws—then nails of piercing demand.
John formed his mouth over hers again. Though Tracy had calmed, her lusty breaths intensified. They were sharp and high, finished off by tiny eruptions matching the passionate points of her nipples. The sight of those stiff berries, along with the pain she kept digging into his shoulders, worked to whip his own mind to the brink of its limits. With every new scream into his mouth and fresh stab into his shoulders, his dick filled with another surge of arousal. His balls made out like horny teenagers. His shaft was swollen, seeping with pre-cum, beyond the point of pain. Even rocking the length along her cleft wasn’t assuagement anymore—no matter how thoroughly the little kitten herself loved it.
“Don’t…stop,” she begged, moving a hand to the back of his head, locking him in her luminous, lusty stare. “Don’t stop, John. Please.”
He forced her to confront the regret in his eyes. “Have to.”
“What? Why?” She bucked against him as she whined it, and the heat of her juices warmed the length of his crotch. By the gods, how delicious she smelled too. Musk and cream and sex. He wanted that scent on the inside of his nose…as his tongue fucked her cunt.
Not before his cock.
Bringing him full circle in this erotic shit storm.
“Can’t…just can’t…do this. Fuck.” The exclamation was his ineffectual protest to her heels at his buttocks, shoving hard enough to propel him against her again. The friction alone nearly unraveled his control. But her hot, plump nether lips, cushioning him like waves of raw fire—
It was rapture.
Torture.
A limit he couldn’t fathom.
A boundary he couldn’t take.
A temptation he could no longer deny.
“Tracy.” It was a buzz saw in his throat, shredding everything on its way out. If it sounded like a yak puking, he didn’t care. The edges of his vision dotted. His cock screamed in need—even as he shoved down the front of his sweats, freeing the glistening length.
“Franzen.”
Her breath fanned the front of his neck. Her nails twisted into his skin.
Sending lightning to his cock.
Heat that could no longer be denied.
“John.”
“Shit.” His brain turned to fuzz as his dick sought her body. One thrust did it, consuming him…killing him. He pulled out and fought like hell to stay there, until the wet cushions of her channel sucked him back in. Another lunge, twice as blissful—and terrible—as the first.
“Oh!” She pressed it into the underside of his jaw. Her lips were hot and wet, just like the convulsing walls of her sex.
“Fuck. Ku’uipo.”
Not a single rant at him for the word now—when he really, freaking needed one. Instead, she locked herself tighter to him, whispering into the underside of his ear, “You’re so—it’s so—”
“I know.”
She scored both sides of his back as her fingernails of wonder torture slid down to his butt. Yeah, because driving him into erotic insanity with the pain in one spot on his body wasn’t enough.
“So…good.”
“I know.”
“So…tight.”
“I know.”
“Yessss.”
“No.”
He backed it up with a growl of torment but purpose, pushing the sound through his body until he was able to shove back—and all the way out.
Chapter Eleven
‡
“No!”
Tracy shivered uncontrollably. He wasn’t there anymore. Not inside her, not even next to her. The walls of her core clenched from the loss. Her inner thighs ached, needing his to spread them again.
Confusion hit—followed at once by indignation. She drilled him with the force of both, finally propelling up then leaning on her elbows.
“John? What the hell?”
“Don’t. Move.”
He bolted off the bed before she could process the command. Not that he made it easy, suddenly shucking all the way out of his pants.
Holy. God.
In a life full of jaw-dropping moments, Tracy was certain this one was already on the Top Ten list. He was more magnificent than she’d anticipated, with toned hips dipping in before the flare of his taut ass and bold thighs. They weren’t “gym thighs”, either. The striations in his legs could only have been developed from years of brutal training and fierce team missions. But all of that was just a prelude to the main focal point. His penis, broad and proud, was the color of rich bourbon, supported by balls in a taut sac. The tip bobbed toward the rippled perfection of his abdomen, exposed in all its glory when he crisscrossed his arms then peeled away the T-shirt, as well.
Before she could help it, Tracy profusely wetted her lips. “Not. Moving,” she managed to rasp in response to his order—and meant it. Especially if this was the view she received as her obedience reward.
“You will be in a minute.” Franz faced her again. His gaze turned to smoke as it roamed the length of her body. Wetting his own lips, he fisted his gorgeous erection. “You’ll be moving in ways you never thought of, woman.”
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
It became a necessary mantra in response to his scotch-smooth voice. The tone completed the whisky spectrum of his sexiness, and now she couldn’t wait to get bat shit drunk on him…
Meaning she nearly moaned aloud as he disappeared into the bathroom.
What the hell now?
Her answer came quickly—in the form of distinct sounds. The opening of a cabinet. His rustling hand. His rough snort of victory. The rip of a foil wrapper.
He swooped back around the corner like he’d actually sprung dragon wings and was coming in for a landing. A cocky smile now curled his lips—and an unwrapped condom was perched between two of his long fingers.
“Thank the gods for dudes who use rubbers for more than one purpose.”
Tracy cocked her head. Snuck a wry glance up at him. “Do I even want to know the details about that?”
A small tic vibrated his jaw. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you like to play with clean toys.”
She dropped her gaze—while her heart bypassed a few beats. The subtle pause he took before his last word, then the way he emphasized it with a vat of sensual intent, didn’t exactly fill her vision with alphabet blocks and Tinker Toys to mind.
It did give her inspiration for a comeback feeling just as sexy—and a little scary.
“All kittens love toys, don’t they?”
The good kind of scary.
Franz’s nostrils flared. His lips parted, setting free a heavy hiss. The moment the sound hit the air, Tracy’s nipples tightened again. She sat up, using the motion to scissor her legs, granting pitifully little relief to the pressure pulsing anew between her thighs. He only worsened the ordeal with his sudden lunge over, securing her by one of her wrists, yanking her toward the edge of the bed.
Holy hell.
How this man could go from flirty rogue one moment to fierce conqueror the next…it was as crazy as contemplating Texas weather changes and just as idiotic to fight. As if she even wanted to. The weather always gave her an excuse to just accept. To just embrace. To just surrender…
As his hold, his stare, and his stance commanded of her right now.
And then his movement—
Pressing the rolled condom into her hand.
“All right, sweet kitty. Make me your toy, then.” He curled a knee up on the bed, angling his swollen length closer to her. “Get it on me, popoki. As incredible as it was to ride you bareback, we’ve got to be responsible. You deserve the important shit.”
Important shit.
She smiled, unable to help it. She was likely making too much of nothing, but it felt damn good to be “important” just because she was a woman. A lover. A person. His person, if only just for now. His protected kitten.
Who now felt about as clumsy as one too. “I—ummm…”
He pressed a hand to her cheek. “What? It’s all right. Just say it.”
She drew in a breath. While letting it out, she fitted the cap of the latex around the top of his cock. “I—it’s just been awhile for me…”
“You’re doing fine, ku’uipo.” It rolled out on a deep groan. “Ahhh…yeah.” His head fell back. “Better than fine.” He tunneled his hand into her hair. “Roll it on, nice and tight. Your fingers…they’re so perfect…”
“You’re so perfect,” she whispered.
She finished sheathing him but didn’t want to let go. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this—Ryker and she had been all about condoms for a few months—but either her memory was fading or this simple act had never seemed so sexy. Ever. The way Franzen moaned, deeper and deeper, as her touch advanced down his erection. The way his hips convulsed, and his ass tightened. The tension in his whole body…even the way his masculine nipples jutted as his head jacked back…
“Damn, woman. Damn.”
She smiled again. Soared her gaze up all his incredible muscles. “I want to make you feel so good.”
He choked out a laugh while bringing his head back around—though his smile was gone. His face was harshly hewn by just one element now. Lust.
“Then do it.” He brought his other knee up, centering his beautiful body in front of her…guiding her mouth to the base of his engorged length. “Take my balls in your beautiful mouth. Worship them with your tongue and lips.”
Forget about weather change worries. The air was a steam bath, coating her whole body in aroused dew, as she leaned in to comply with his filthy request. As if his hand, now bracing the back of her neck, would allow anything else.
She sighed, sucking him in by one orb then the other.
Franz groaned, curling his hold tighter.
Beneath her lips, his balls pulsed and squeezed. His skin stretched and trembled. “Damn. Yes. Take them both at once, kitten. Make them fill your mouth.”
He pushed at the corner of her lips, prodding the joint to open wi
der. Tracy closed her eyes, focusing on every tender tongue stroke she gave him, and the powerful shudders of his body in return. She’d never done this for a man before—and recognized that dearth as a mistake. Serving him like this…meant she actually owned him. Every jerk of his hips, snarl from his mouth, and coil of his muscles was because she made it so, with the pressure of her mouth and the flicks of her tongue. Never had she felt more powerful. More alive.
“Fuck. Just like that.” He palmed her cheek with his other hand, cupping the bulge of himself there. “Feel that heat? That’s my come, and you’re heating it up—so I can fuck it into you.” He slid his hand in, stroking his sheathed cock. “I won’t be able to hold back much longer. You’re driving me crazy with that nasty mouth of yours. Making me want to get this dick deep inside you…”
His words faded into a snarl as Tracy suctioned his balls with force. As they trembled on the back of her tongue, the man himself tensed. Even his hand stilled along his shaft. The moguls of his abdomen contracted, and the logs of his thighs turned into sleek striations.
After several brutal breaths, he finally uttered, “Little. Minx.” The words intoned enough vehemence that she looked up, eyes wide—
But not as wide as they got as he pulled her head away from his body, then flipped all of hers over.
Astonishment shot through her veins as her breasts smashed to the coverlet, her head landed to the side, and her legs were fiercely kicked open. “Oh,” she finally blurted. “Oh…my—oh!”
Her stunned cry came with the clench of his hands around her wrists. He used the hold to flatten her arms next to her head.
“Gorgeous.” His dark puma growl roughened the shell of her ear as his fingers laced with hers, pushing hard at her hands. “Keep them here, popoki. I need my own hands for…other things.”
Hurried gulp. “Other…things? Like what?”
His hands were already back at her shoulders. Along her spine. Kneading the small of her back. She swallowed again, in hopes the action would help her breath return. Dear God, how his touch enflamed her. How his fingers thrilled every inch of skin they covered. How her body became the lava that had coated her from the depths of his penetrating, nearly punishing, stare.