Ready For His Rule--A WILD Boys Novel (The WILD Boys of Special Forces Book 10)

by Angel Payne

Chapter Twelve

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  She even mesmerized him when she was asleep.

  Especially when he was the one who’d exhausted her like this.

  Yeah, that probably turned him into fifteen kinds of a creeper-stalker bozo dork, but right now, Franz was ready to let that freak flag fly. He hadn’t been able to help a bunch of lingering gawks even when they weren’t in the same bed together, and now with her just inches away, he flipped a mental middle finger at the resistance.

  It was time to indulge, because it would soon be time to give this up.

  Yeah, even the gawking.

  He noticed the things that always turned him crazy caveman for her, of course. The wild tumble of her brown sugar hair. The sleek curves of her mouth, expressive as hell even as she slept, twitching as if even her subconscious was dictating to-do lists. The determined line of her jaw, turning into the elegant line of her neck, becoming the beginning of her slender shoulders…

  A sight drawing him to all the details he didn’t know yet.

  The sprays of light freckles across both those shoulders. Her really long fingers. Her really big ears. The fact that he’d never believed in heart-shaped faces before confronting the truth, beautiful and breathtaking, in hers.

  He looked longer, determined now. He wanted to discover it all—but at the same time, knew he never would. The woman was going to be his president, yet still looked at so many things about the world, and people, as if they were brand-new. Many people mistook that as naiveté, discounting her because of it. Many others were captivated by it, as he’d seen firsthand in Zeke and Rayna when they’d arrived last night. He wondered how the crowd in DC split on those spectrums, though from what he knew of politicians, he guessed the former—and barely muffled a snarl of outrage because of it.

  Not that the heavy huff with which he replaced it any better, proved by the restless twitches of Tracy’s lashes. She interrupted her dreamtime list-making with a harsh shake of her head, a move Franz recognized at once. He’d made the same move himself, having to haul his brain from sound asleep to wide awake in seconds. Most days he still woke up the same way, only to be pissed he couldn’t break the habit.

  The woman’s face contorted with the same frustration. He didn’t know whether to be delighted or aggravated about it. She was still so gorgeous, even in her ire, he almost expected cartoon birds to flit in and help with little ribbons in her gorgeous hair—which made no sense at all, considering he hadn’t seen a cartoon in a long goddamn time.

  “Oh.” She murmured it as if answering a question to herself, also a move he understood. After realizing she wasn’t in the bed of her mind’s default—for him, it was always the futon on the back garden lanai at home—she’d likely wondered where she was, then fast-tracked the memory up to now. That’d explain her sudden flush, as well as the embarrassed flicker of her gaze around the room.

  Anywhere but at him.

  “Aloha, ku’uipo.” He went on, answering the query in her eyes, “It translates to something like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘adored one’.”

  She accepted the information with a thoughtful smile. Shot him a tiny side-eye before murmuring, “You have an interesting way of ‘adoring’ a woman, Captain.”

  He nestled his head on a bent elbow. Contemplated the woman with a look of raw fascination. How had this happened? She’d thrown out the formality as a conversational spike strip but it had failed. Though he saw through her ploy, he wasn’t pissed by it. He was challenged. Captivated. And hard as a damn rock.

  Why?

  Was it just her voice? The ribbon of it, like sleek satin on one side and a wild animal print on the other, was a great start but not the whole story. Not by half. It was her. The more he learned about her, the more he realized he didn’t know—but craved to. Like the covers tucked under her arms, exposing enough to make him lustful for more, he longed to pull back what she still concealed in her heart, her soul, her spirit. He wanted to know it all…

  “I receive a lot of interesting feedback too.”

  She laughed softly—and kept her gaze averted. “I imagine you do.”

  “What about…yours?”

  “My what?”

  Screw it. He couldn’t resist reaching to her anymore. That blush, flowing down her neck, enticed him to stroke in its wake. He ran his knuckles down her carotid and across her exposed collarbone, submersing a growl as he brushed the rose of a lingering bite mark on her shoulder. His bite mark.

  Damn, yes.

  “Your feedback.” He flowed the touch over, until capturing her opposite cheek with his thumb—and tugging her gaze his direction. “How are you doing?”

  Her brows knitted. Her stare centered on his nose. Dammit. “Why are you asking?”

  John grunted. Wasn’t the first time he’d encountered avoidance, though he’d never been in a position where he couldn’t simply command it out of a woman. In so many ways, this wasn’t what he was used to after spanking, biting, then fucking a woman.

  Well, shit.

  He was going to actually work at this.

  To…communicate.

  How hard could it be?

  He pulled in a deep breath. Where did this shit usually start?

  Finally he ventured, “I pushed you…a little.”

  “A little?”

  “All right. A lot?”

  He didn’t know what to do when she broke out in a full laugh. While the sound was gorgeous, winding its way around his cock like a longer length of her verbal ribbon, it was perplexing as hell.

  What the fuck did she mean?

  At least she didn’t make him wait long for an explanation.

  “Been at this Dominance stuff a while, mister?”

  If that could be called an explanation.

  Instead of deciphering her sarcasm, he decided to call her bluff and go in with the truth. “Actually, I have.”

  Target acquired.

  Three seconds, and the full solemnity of his assertion hit her between the eyes. Her mirth faded, though left a lingering spark in her eyes as she uttered, “Well, you’re damn good at it.”

  “Thank you.” He was serious about that too—bringing a hit of shock. He hated compliments. Distrusted the majority of them. Empty words for empty feelings. Why not be more plain about it? Manners. Etiquette. Why not just be kind to each other? Why did people have to do it while picking up the right fork at the same time?

  He refocused after the rumination, to find an interesting sight waiting. His ku’uipo, finally gazing into his eyes. Hers still possessed silvery flecks, turning them into gorgeous lightning bolts of interest.

  “John?”

  He smiled.

  John.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you really—” She stopped, visibly gritting her teeth. “I—I mean—”

  “Am I really what?” He bumped up to his elbow, leveraging his position to loom over her a little. Yes, it was on purpose. And yes, it felt damn good to be repositioned for command. And hell yes, it felt good to watch the change in her own mien…the velvet welcome in the depths of her gaze.

  Despite her physical response, Tracy sucked in a determined breath before confessing, “A Dominant.” She rushed the rest out. “I mean, in that way. Okay, not that way bad, but that way just in…well, that way.”

  He embraced his turn to laugh. “You mean, in the way that I can tie knots seventy ways though I’m not a squid? And how I like the word ‘play room’ for more than video games?”

  “Uh, yeah.” A breath burst form her, sounding a lot like relief. Or perhaps…excitement. God, could he really hope for the latter? Or did he dread it? “That’d be…exactly what I mean.”

  He scooted closer to her. Cocked his head, making sure he still had her full focus. This was probably the first time he’d just blurted the shit to anyone.

  “I’ve been interested in the lifestyle since college,” he began. “Researched it there a little too, though I was too young to visit any clubs and too scared to
try it with girlfriends.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Consider yourself spared. Women are messes in college, anyway.”

  “And us kānes are any better?”

  “Valid point.” The corners of her mouth curled up. “So…how’d you get un-scared?” She tugged teeth at one of those delectable corners. “Asking for a friend, of course.”

  “Sure.” He smirked. “For a ‘friend’.” He held her gaze despite her deepening blush, determined to soak up as much of its double meaning as he could. The good girl in her, still unwilling to accept all she’d let him do, fought for a peace accord with the filthy woman who wanted to let him do more.

  He could only hope.

  “Okay.” She smacked his shoulder. “Stop gloating.”

  “I’m not gloating.”

  She huffed. “Sure. Because you just look like the Dom who ate the sub’s lunch all the time?”

  He pushed in closer over her. Palmed the side of her face. “Your lunch isn’t what I’m hungry for, kitten.”

  Her breath caught. Her lips parted. Only as he inhaled, scenting the honey of her arousal even through the covers, did he reconsider the pass on the gloat. The need got worse as she swallowed, clearly pushing her mind back to rational thought again. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Trying to change the subject.”

  Franz cocked his head. Tried to go ahead on the gloat but instead, muttered with total sincerity, “What was the subject?”

  Funnily, his bafflement seemed to soothe her anxiety. Maybe she just needed to take back some control of the discussion. Rebalance things.

  Or maybe…

  This communication stuff was as just much an ordeal for her.

  A thought not bringing half the shock he expected.

  A conclusion actually making a lot of sense.

  The same way Franz had been insulated in his world, she’d been cushioned in hers. Yeah, she’d only been at it for a few years as opposed to eleven, but everyone knew Capitol Hill time was like dog years. Out of whack and mysterious to explain. Maybe he really wasn’t the only one trying to hike unfamiliar territory here.

  “We were talking about you,” she finally prompted. “And being…scared.” She paused to insert a puzzled pout before the last word. “And I still can’t believe I just did that.”

  “Did what?”

  “Mashed you and scared into the same sentence.”

  He let out a snort. “I’m scared all the time, woman.”

  “The hell you are.”

  “We all are.” He shifted his hold, gliding his thumb up to her brow line, giving him an excuse to lock his gaze with hers again. “Fear is part of the human experience. What turns the experience into triumph is what a person does with their fear…how they channel it.” Sure enough, as her eyes glittered with comprehension, he turned his hand over to stroke the side of her cheek. “Like everything you did after your husband was killed.”

  A tiny sound clucked up her throat. Tracy shook her head, looking as bored as a socialite as a charity ball. “Ohhhh no, no, no. We’re not making this about me.”

  Franzen hummed. “Right. It’s about the ‘friend’ you’re asking for.”

  “The friend who wants to know more about Dominance and submission, not listen to the violins backing my damn life story—again.”

  “Because she already knows it as if she’s lived it?”

  “Because she’s as sick of it as me.” Her hands twisted into the top of the blanket. “In another time or another world, it would all be a bad Sunday afternoon TV movie, anyway.” She jabbed two fingers into air quotes. “‘Widow of slain engineer becomes activist for foreign aid workers; ends up getting appointed vice president. Tune in at two for all the excitement.’”

  “I see what you mean.”

  “Right?” If she saw or heard his irony, she wasn’t admitting to it. “All that’s missing are the stalker ex-boyfriend and the secret baby.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you—errmm, your friend—shouldn’t look to all that for her inspiration.”

  “For understanding BDSM?”

  “For understanding fear.”

  She was as lost with his explanation as she was with the irony—only this time, realized it. “Huh?”

  Her gaze jumped at him, open and questioning. Franz answered her with equal frankness, and an answer he hoped would make sense.

  “Your husband…he was killed in Iraq, right?” He kept the words crisp but his hold tender, hating himself for bringing even the tiny shards of pain in her eyes. Dredging up her grief wasn’t his purpose, but momentarily necessary in proving his point. The second she got out a shaky nod, he went on. “And I’ll bet, after all that went down, you were a thousand kinds of terrified, yeah?”

  Tracy swallowed. Twisted the blanket tighter. But her new nod conveyed the weight of her trust in where he was taking this—and filled him with such deep warmth, he wondered how he’d accepted a life without it for so long.

  “But instead of wallowing in the fear, you chose to turn and face it.”

  She snorted. “Chose?” A wry smile formed. “I was running a small business and raising a ten-year-old boy. Nothing was a choice for me, John.”

  “Ku’uipo.” He underlined it by grabbing one of her hands. “Getting up in the damn morning became a choice for you.” Her twisting lips wanted to argue but her tearful eyes confirmed his allegation. “But instead of retreating into your grief, you picked breaking out of your shell. Way out.”

  The grimace made its way up her face, except for the trust she continued in her gaze. He was doing what she’d forbade, all but writing the script for the straight-to-cable movie, but for now, she was willing to follow him. “I couldn’t not do anything. Everyone justified the decisions of those indie contractors by the buckets of cash they got paid. They were being painted as mercenaries. Many, like Ryker, would have done it for half the money.”

  “And you wanted Washington to know that.”

  “Damn straight I did.”

  “Why didn’t you just write a letter?”

  She shot a shrill laugh. “Yeah, that’s a good one—just like the response I got to the eight letters I did try.”

  “So you chose to take the fight to DC’s door.”

  She winced once more. Scooted herself into a sitting position against the headboard. “You keep saying I ‘chose’ to do those things. But—” Her own huff interrupted it. “Fine. I guess I see it now. I did have a choice. But at the time, it sure as hell didn’t feel like that.”

  “Of course not.” He readjusted his own position, angling an arm across her body. Because of that, he was able to lean a few more inches into her personal space. “You were compelled by a power higher than you—in that case, your allegiance to Ryker’s memory—and it motivated you to push beyond your fears, all the way to Capitol Hill.”

  She huffed softly. “But I wasn’t afraid.”

  He grunted louder. “Liar.”

  “I’m serious!”

  “Remember who you’re talking to, gorgeous?” He tipped his head forward. “The guy who watched you break out in a cold sweat before a sound check in front of twenty staffers and a lame-as-hell sound crew?”

  Who, now that he really thought about it, weren’t the seasoned union guys who should have been hired for such a high-profile event. Curious…

  “Fine,” she finally muttered, adding a hard enough mmpphh of punctuation, the blanket lost its hold on her breasts. If she noticed the slip, she was too irked to care—and Franz sure as fuck wasn’t going to complain.

  Still, he plunged on with the point. “You were scared, Tracy. It’s not a mortal sin. I’ve spent the better part of the last eleven years being scared.”

  She was probably the third person, outside the team, to whom he’d ever offered the confession. First, there weren’t a lot of people who knew exactly what he did in the Army. Out of the people who did know, like Maki, Nani, and Lino, no way would they accept
their “Big John”, ready to take on everything from ten-foot snakes to twelve-foot waves, had a fear-filled moment in his life. But when a guy specialized in unconventional warfare for a living, fear came in shapes and sizes that also broke the rules.

  But if any civilian was going to get that, it would be Tracy Rhodes.

  A gamble she proved worthy of, with the gentle hand she lifted to the center of his chest. “But you’ve had another power pushing you too?”

  “Yeah.” He inhaled deeply. Exhaled the same way. “A lady I love deeply.” Before the troubled glint in her eyes got too intense, he clarified, “Her name is America.”

  Her stare softened, turning the shade of morning mist, even as her fingers pressed his chest with more purpose. “So fear isn’t always such a bad thing.”

  The warmth she’d begun, augmented by the gift of her touch, was too good not to reciprocate. He hoped his fingers spread the same magic back through her. “Fear can be good, kitten.” Then, because he couldn’t help it, he slid his fingertips toward her cleavage. “Even exciting.” Slipping lower still… “And…explosive.”

  “Explosive?” Though her rebuttal was sultry, the pulse at the base of her neck was a wild tattoo against her skin. “That too, hmm?”

  “That too.” He nudged the blanket down, exposing one gorgeous, rosy nipple. His kitten didn’t protest. With their gazes still fastened, he trailed his fingers over, tugging lightly at the tip. “With the right power pushing the choices.”

  His voice faded into a seductive hiss as she began breathing harder. The motion, pushing her breast deeper against his hand, inspired her telling gasp. “I think I’m beginning to understand.”

  “Yeah?” He murmured it with a slow smirk—while pushing down the other side of the blanket. It fell to her waist, forming a fabric puddle around the creamy perfection of her torso. Fuck. New blood rushed to his dick, as he envisioned tasting every inch of skin he could see. But first things first. He moved in, closing his whole hand around her breast this time. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Leaving the choices to a power you trust? A Dominant who only has your pleasure as their priority?”

  Though her body was all but undulating in his hold, her gaze captured his with its stunning clarity. She asked, not shy about her curiosity at all now, “Are you speaking from past experience, Sir?”