by Angel Payne
“Sir.”
No damn way was she admitting how easily it spilled out. The story right now, and she was sure as hell sticking to it, was that he was being an overbearing ass and she was going along with the game—but only until she maneuvered to a perfect angle for jamming her foot into his crotch. No way was she letting the jerk wad in on how his caveman act did something wholly hot and new to her blood…or how the knowledge that he had her trapped here, at least for now, already made her senses spin toward the blissful mist to which he always led…
“Sir.” She repeated it with gritted sweetness. “If you’ll let me up, we can talk about this like rational—ahh!”
Two more swats on her bottom, hard ones, were followed by the gentle but sure pressure of his fingers, stroking in wide arcs, redistributing the stings into brilliant heat. A gasp escaped, high and uncontrollable, as waves of warmth suffused her thighs and lower belly…and yes, all the way into her awakening, throbbing core…
“I’m rational, madame.” He kept rubbing as he shifted, kicking out her knees so he could step between them. “And we will discuss this issue, here and now. Keep your hands there. That’s perfect.”
“Shit.” Tracy fumed. She had to go and entertain the notion of gripping the lip of the desk, both hands over her head, thinking to push off into a new resistance at his iron hold. Or so she told herself. Kind of. Part of her, a huge part, still didn’t believe he was initiating this, here and now. It wasn’t the desk—the man’s stare alone wielded a magical force, capable of turning any piece of furniture into a possible support set for their sexual magic—but his approach was an entirely different issue. He meant business. Real business. Their torrid chemistry had a distinctive new ingredient. Her real life. Nothing should have murdered her arousal faster—but as he spread his hand against her hip with the force of arrogant ownership, her body answered at once with a gush of new arousal. Then another, as he did the same to the other hip.
It was just the preface to what happened when he shoved her pants down.
“Oh!” she got out—before he stepped in, catching the crotch of the stretchy fabric beneath his foot, and stomping down. “Oh!” The repetition popped out as her pants hit the floor—and every corner of her womb tightened like a bow.
Then tighter, when she realized he wasn’t backing up. And she recognized how much that terrified her.
Because if he wasn’t backing up his body…
“We’re going to talk about a few things, Madame President.”
…he was definitely not yielding on his original intention for this discussion. If that was what they were still calling it. Not that the label mattered. At the moment, she didn’t care if they were having afternoon tea in the Oval Office—which would have made the defiant lift of her head, coinciding with his assessing squeezes to her ass cheeks, an even more interesting move.
“Okay, Franzen. Seriously—”
“Completely where I’m coming from here, Madame President. Glad we’re in agreement.”
She snarled a protest through her teeth. “We are not in agreement. Not as long as you keep calling me that.”
“What would that be…” His voice mellowed, though his touch roughened. “Madame President?”
“Dammit, Franzen!”
He waited several seconds, still kneading at her bare flesh, before responding. “Indulge me a question.” It was something between request and demand, though he hadn’t invoked those dreaded words yet, so she went ahead and dipped a short, agreeable nod. “How many times did you have to rehearse that presentation for the entrepreneurs’ crowd in Vegas?”
She snorted. Damn near laughed. “Ohhhh no, you don’t. Comparing that to this is saying Barney’s ready for Jurassic Park.”
“How many times?”
“Not relevant!”
“How. Many?”
Another harsh huff was finished by a frustrated grunt. “A lot,” Tracy finally spat. “Okay? Happy? Gem ran it with me until I could nearly recite it backwards. But it was necessary. I needed to know that shit in my sleep, because—”
“Having to present it to all those people was…what?”
She dropped her head back down. Fought to infuse the hard, cold wood of the desktop into her head, before injecting it straight down her spine. Useless. This man…what he did to her with his voice, that baritone coated in the richest chocolate…how he turned her bloodstream into a strand of melted taffy…how she became his damn candy counter of submissiveness, giving up exactly what he wanted, when he wanted them—
Like right now.
“It was…terrifying.” The words themselves were easy to spill. She only wished the same were true of what her mind went through to retrieve them. What her heart endured, beat by horrifying beat, to reach this surrender.
Because she knew that wasn’t all.
Because she knew it was only the start…
“Just like the idea of your presidency is terrifying?”
Just. The. Start.
“John—”
“Tracy.”
“Sir.” She auto-corrected for herself more than him. The tension in his tone hadn’t stemmed from her breach in protocol, and they both knew it. She could’ve resorted to calling him SpongeBob SquarePants right now, and his purpose wouldn’t waver. She already saw the ocean to which he dragged her, and knew he wouldn’t stop until she dove in and swam to the other side.
Without a boat.
Without a life ring.
Only with him. Period.
But the idea of even dipping her toe in…
A shudder took over, from her hair follicles to the ends of her toes. The ocean was freezing. And there were ice floes. Big ones, layered by years’ worth of emotional layers. Insecurity. Inexperience. Even ignorance. All the what-ifs. So many what-ifs…
What if I’m a failure? What if I blow everything up? I can’t figure out my son’s math homework. How am I supposed to run a whole goddamn country?
Two sharp smacks exploded on the air, whipping her mind back. Her body was only two seconds behind, once the recognition set in. His hands. Her ass. At the same time. An answering gasp tumbled out as the stings set in, shooting toward her hips then back again—
Though by the time the sensations boomeranged back in, they’d become pure heat. Flames through her inner thighs…the crevice of her ass…
…then deeper…
“Holy…shit.” She all but moaned the last of it, as the man magnified the sensual torment…in all the best and worst ways. Skimming his hands down to the back of her thighs, then swirling his fingertips in waltzes of seduction. Pushing his legs out another couple of inches, forcing hers apart in the process…opening the wet folds of her most intimate self to a rush of cool air and the blast of his aroused snarl.
“How is that for you, Madame President?”
He wove the rough sound throughout the words, which shouldn’t have made a difference in how she took them—but did. Braced by that wolfish, roguish grate, the title was no longer the petrifying curse she’d been damning. The words were a shameless caress. An irreverent come-on.
A filthy dare.
A challenge in which her body had been laid on the table as the betting pot.
“Holy shit.” There was a whine in her reiteration, and she didn’t care.
Because now, she was scared all over again.
Behind her—and now, leaning over her too—Franzen strung out a deep growl. “Wasn’t the question,” he taunted. Oh yes, that was the perfect descriptor too. Taunted, as if this was more than fun for him—his little party gaining momentum as he glided his hands back up, higher and higher, joining his middle fingers directly over her pussy. As he teased the tips of those powerful digits along the tingling tissues around her entrance, he emphasized, “I asked how you’re enjoying this, Madame President.”
“Ahhhhh…” It was more a sketchy breath than the beginning of a word. The way he’d deepened the sex track of his words…as if his instinct were tune
d to the exact frequency of her body, and now broadcast his most erotic intent into every listening outpost of every wilderness of her system…
She was ready to go up in flames.
“Dear God.” The rolling, languid warmth started taking over. Her hips jerked. Her hands slipped. A pen cup and a paperclip holder went flying as Franzen whipped up a hand, slamming her wrists back over her head.
“Keep. Them. There,” he intoned. “Or I won’t be so gentle about this.”
“Gentle?” she returned. “About wha—ohhh!”
As both his middle fingers returned to her pussy, his index fingers stretched up—
To prod at the opening of her ass.
“Damn. John. We need to—”
“Ssshhh.” He wasn’t exactly “gentle” about that, turning the soft sound into everything short of another growl. “This is going to happen. And you’re going to be open-minded about it.”
She almost jabbed up a middle finger. Open-minded. It was a favorite expression of hers, used regularly on her petulant son during fourteen occasions on any given day, and the fucker standing over her clearly knew it…openly using her own words against her in his seductive gamble.
Damn him.
And once again, his point was Barney and Jurassic. This had to be a violation of some cosmic law. Dragons didn’t get to use lizard legends for their purposes like this, did they? Where was his karmic payback?
Inspiration struck, despite how his caresses to both entrances had begun to fray the edges of her logic. “Wh-what if I choose to safe word?”
He’d actually given her one of those. Ice cream. Technically it was two, but on that occasion, she also hadn’t been thinking straight. A girl had a tendency to get that way when a Dom decided to spread maple hickory ice cream into her sex, then lick it off to the tune of five orgasms for his writhing submissive. He’d demanded to go for number six. She’d threatened to go on a new flattening iron hunt.
This was a much different situation than that.
Much different.
She could deal with washing ice cream off. Even attempting to walk on non-working legs after five climaxes.
She couldn’t deal with having her ass invaded.
No matter how naughty and forbidden it felt.
No matter how sensitive her back rim seemed to be, as he spread her wider there.
No matter how thoroughly he knew how to work all the nerves up and down her other tunnel, offsetting the discomfort of having him invade where no other man had before. While Ryker could be passionate, he was conventional with a capital C…
And now, she was truly beginning to learn how many other ways the alphabet could be arranged. With this man, who taught her how to see the world in so many different languages…
“Hemolele. Kamaha’o.”
Like that one.
She really loved that one.
Especially if she could capitalize on it to distract him. Perhaps entice him to do something with body parts other than his fingers…
“I’m not sure I’ve heard that one before, Sir.” She nudged her hips a little higher, knowing her kittenish moves were his sexual Kryptonite. “What does it mean?”
Franzen stilled. His significant pause caused her to glance back. One of his brows was dipped low, the other hiked in assessment. His expressive lips were compressed to a harsh line. A pulse ticked in his jaw.
“It means you’re not going to safe word.”
She let him see the challenge in her own stare. “That so, hotshot?”
He smirked through a snort. “That’s so, Madame President.”
“You’re really sure of yourself.”
“And you’re really wet.” A hint of his teeth showed, brilliant and straight, through the arrogant part of his lips. “Sopping with juice, my little subbie. And so goddamn sexy because of it.” As if he planned it, his middle fingers slipped free from her pussy with a slushy sound. As Tracy sweated onto the desk from the force of her flush, his savoring moan drenched the air. “Perfect. This cream is so damn perfect.”
For what?
But she already knew the answer—and let the fresh tension of her body do the talking as he slid those moistened digits out to the tiny aperture now spread open by his other hand. As Franz worked the cream of her arousal into the hole, using tender but steady pressure, one word finally made its way out.
“Shit.”
“Ssshhh.” He repeated it with the same deep authority, as he breached her deeper with one finger. “Be still and accept your lesson.”
Tracy grimaced. Worked her hands tighter around the desk’s lip. “Which would be what, exactly?”
“That some things in life aren’t comfortable at first.” He pulled the finger out—but joined another to it on the way back into her tight hole. At once, her hips jerked as her instinct kicked in, trying to escape the new pressure. John pulled her back, firmly locking his free hand to the bottom of her spine again. “But if you stop trying to fight the forces, they often bring incredible things.” He pushed in harder. Stretched her in ways she’d never imagined. “Beautiful things, ku’uipo.” His thrusts came with subtle rolls of his body, his banked fires turning into physical curls of smoke, flowing against her…inside her. “You have no idea how beautiful.”
His voice was gruff with pleasure…perhaps some pain too. She almost snorted again. And what, exactly, would he be hurting about right now? But something in his tone tugged at her—and the words now swirling out of her, almost as if one person occupied her aching, invaded body and another controlled her soaring, racing senses.
“Tell me,” one of those women whispered. No. Pleaded. “Tell me how beautiful. Please, Sir.”
Several seconds stretched by, filled only with her Dominant’s soft but gruff breaths. He changed nothing about his treatment. One hand pinned her down by the small of her back. The other maintained a strong rhythm, pumping two fingers deeper and deeper inside her back hole.
“You ask so prettily,” he finally murmured. “But are you really beseeching more as the kitten who wants poetry, or the Tigress who wants the truth?”
For long minutes, she only moved to work her forehead against the desk’s surface. Like that was going to help her with an answer—the definitive reply he was demanding, to a question that meant more than its words.
So much more.
Does he get a kitten or a tigress?
Her answer was going to change some things. Major things. If they had just two days, two weeks, or two months left with each other, it wouldn’t make a difference. Franzen was making that clear, here and now. If she wanted more with him, more from him, he’d exact more in return. There was an admission cost to his basement, beyond the spank-and-cuddle “playtime” they’d had so far.
Now, he wanted something more.
Wanted to lead her farther down the steps.
Into the darkness where his cravings dwelled…
If she followed, it wouldn’t be easy. Or comfortable. Or fear-free. And yet, God help her, she yearned to follow. Perhaps needed to. She craved more of that scorched dragon lust beneath his voice…and yes, the raw desire turning his touch into blazing brutality. Even now, knowing what that touch was doing to her…where it was going inside of her…
How deeply it would violate her…
But she wanted it. Throbbed and pulsed for it.
Right. There.
And everywhere…
For the first time in such a long time—perhaps the very first time—she wanted to give a man the fullness of that trust. A man who wouldn’t let her fall off the wall.
Hell. A man who was going to barrel right through the wall.
All she had to do was hand over her doubts and let him guide her through the rubble afterward.
As his Tigress.
Looking out for him too.
“I want the truth, Sir. You know I do.”
A rough hum emanated from him, conveying his dark pleasure in her submissive tone. “Very well, then. He
re’s your truth, madame.” He adjusted his big body, seeming to re-secure his stance behind her, before continuing in a low growl, “The sight of my fingers fucking your ass is so incredible, I’ve soaked my pants in pre-come just thinking of putting my dick there, instead.” As he leaned forward, the weight of his body pushed his fingers tighter inside her. “And I’m not even going to ask if that makes your pussy wet, because I already know it does.” He worked himself in, twisting until the pressure became something else. A strange, sizzling, invasive pleasure, turning her into a ball of needy mush beneath him.
“I—I think I’d be okay with that, Sir,” she somehow managed without interjecting a hundred moans.
“Of course you’d be.” His soft snarl vibrated the back of her neck, raining delicious awakening down her back, connecting to the mix of pain and pleasure he gave her ass. “If I said that was how you’d be taking my cock.”
“Yes, Sir.”
And there it was. Spilling from her without thought, almost as if called out by the universe, though changing everything inside two seconds. The point of no return. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn.
Just not forever.
As soon as all the terrorist network was shattered—and it would be, with suspects talking and a global deployment acting on the intel—the bridge would be erected again. She’d cross back, leaving her service to John Franzen’s dominance behind, restarting her service to her country. And she would serve, because she’d sworn to do so. And she’d hate the damn title at first—John was right; it was a discomfort she’d likely never get used to—but most days, she’d forget about it completely. The work would matter most. It had to.
So for right now, she chose to burn the bridge. To give over the surrender.
To know the freedom, right now, of giving in to all the heat. Of surrendering to her burnished, beautiful Dom.
“Yes, Sir. Let me take your cock, as it pleases you to give it.”
Chapter Fourteen
‡
Why the hell had he made that dumb-ass promise not to take her ass with his cock?
Well. Not right now.
But right now, her flawless rosette was all he could see, taking every plunge of his fingers with tight, trembling welcome…with suckling, searing seduction…