by Angel Payne
She no longer wondered how or why he’d brandished the word in the garage. She could’ve spat it twenty more times and not be done spewing her wrath. Instead she stepped back, kicked violently at the grass, and sputtered, “But—I still don’t get it. I mean…how? How did he know?”
John grunted. “Better question is, how could he not know? Not with the technological resources at his disposal—the FBI, CIA, NSA, DHS—all firing at full thrusters, and all likely crashing into each other because of the global manhunt for these bastards, whoever they are. Nobody would have noticed him performing some extra ‘side searches’, even if they weren’t approved or validated.” His spine stiffened, and he looked ready to jab a new hole of his own into the grass. “And since he’d already checked out my background before I even hit the ground in Vegas, he likely narrowed his searches to all the homes of the guys in the battalion.”
The explanation made sense—but no way in hell did it comfort her. The opposite effect began with a grenade to her heart, then shot panicked shrapnel along her extremities. “Shit. That means he’ll follow us here too.”
Franz shook his head. “Archer made the purchase through a third-party broker, using the name of the nonprofit he already set up. Nothing but a deep paperwork search will trace any of it back to him.” His lips twisted in a wry grimace. “And right now, I don’t think Sol has time for deeply doing anything. He knows we’re onto him. He’s the one running now.”
She let out a whoosh of relief, but only halfway. “For now,” she uttered, truly wondering if this was all going to end up like bad experimental theater, with no clear ending ever supplied. What happened when one couldn’t leave the show and hash out plot opinions over cocktails with their friends? What happened when the plot loop was one’s freaking life? “So…what do we do now?” she asked anyway, hoping he had a much better metaphor for an answer.
“We figure out the rest of the story.” His obstinate tone, joined by his arrogant soldier stance, already had her ditching the off-Broadway experiment for his in-your-face Lloyd Webber overture. “We dig up not only Sol Wrightman’s role in this insanity, but what the hell the insanity is.”
“Yeah.” She borrowed some of Luke’s post-fifteen-roller-coasters energy, mellowing to a sheepish grin when Franz stopped her fist pump with his enveloping grip. “Yeah,” she repeated past her growing blush. “Good plan.”
She lowered her fist. His hand descended with it.
She unfurled her fingers. John meshed his with them.
Just like that, reconnecting all their circuits. Retying all their knots. Reigniting every flame of their cosmic combustion…the inescapable, indelible force that was uniquely, beautifully them…
For one perfect second, she surrendered to it once more. Gave herself to him once again. Showed him so by dipping her forehead to the middle of his chest then leaning closer to him. Leaning against him. Letting him accept her whole weight, and all the racing emotions of her spirit. Giving him all her confusion and fear, her weariness and apprehension, her trepidation…but her trust.
He knew it too. She heard the confirmation in the deep, thundering breaths consuming his lungs.
He accepted it. She felt it in the mighty pull of his arms, wrapping her like giant ti leaves around a tiny flower.
And yes, he treasured it. Just like he always had. Just like her own soul confirmed now, emboldened once more by his strength, humbled once more by his devotion.
And yeah…sizzling once more at just two of his guttural, growly words.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. “Mahalo, my sweet popoki.”
She sighed into his chest. He skimmed fingertips up and down her spine.
Just one moment more…
“I’m the one who should be mahalo’ing.” She lifted her head as he bent his, tugging him down closer, breathing all of him in. Holy hell, how could one man turn his own sweat into such an erotic scent? His salty, earthy essence, mixed with the morning wind and her own. “John,” she whispered. “Sir. I jumped to awful conclusions about you. Judged you…”
“And didn’t trust me?” He raised one black knife of a brow.
“I always trusted you.” She let her own brows take on a touch of coy. “I just didn’t like you very much as I did.”
She expected the jibe to sink in and his soft laughter to roll out, but her tease didn’t even get him to a smirk. As she glared, trying to decipher his scowl, he pulled away and marched into the oak grove.
“John?”
“‘Sir’ is fine for now, Madame.” His voice had chilled along with the air, as she followed him beneath the trees. Though the area was dappled in sun, it would be a long time before the warmth came along with the light.
“Madame?” Tracy kicked up leaves and dirt as she came to a mutinous stop. “So that’s the way it’s going to be? Because I was honest with you?”
He whipped back around. Ducked in time to keep from clocking himself on a low-lying branch. A shaft of dawn broke through, glinting in the piercing gold flecks of his angry stare. “Your honesty was very much appreciated, ma’am. After all, I’m not here for your adulation, right?”
Like an even sharper slice of sun, understanding stabbed in. Her arms plummeted. Her throat went dry.
He cared.
He cared.
Enough to be this butt-hurt that she’d even made fun of “hating” him. Enough that he tried masking the shit under fury that worked as well as dollar store sunscreen. Enough that he actually thought she wouldn’t see the burn, though he was already toasted on all sides with it.
So damn adorable with it.
So irresistibly sexy.
“John. Sir.” Even his visible rise from her slip made her want to do it again, though she didn’t want to be his deliberate brat right now. She wanted to be his worshipping kitten. His loyal subject. For just a little while longer, she wanted to be his, period. “I do…adulate you.”
The words spilled without thought—and felt so right, she let the same inspiration guide her actions.
Plummeting her down.
Down.
Down.
Until she gazed up at him from her knees.
Offered everything to him with her eyes.
Finally pressed closer to him, warming the magnificent swell of his crotch with her hot, needy exhalation.
Franzen hissed his own breath in. Released it in shaky spurts. Tunneled a hand into her hair, twisting deeper into the strands, keeping her head locked right where it was, riveting her with the stark need in his own gaze.
“And fuck, kitten, how I adulate you.”
She slid her eyes shut for just a moment, letting the perfect rasp of his voice shower over her, through her. The last of its warmth was carried away on a new gust of wind, lifting leaves around them. She reopened her gaze to watch sunlight flowing across his stature, caressing his body in fingers of adoring gold. She was instantly, intensely jealous.
And refused to wait any longer to show him.
With her stare still fixed on his face, she unbuttoned him. Unzipped him.
Flowed her breath—only her breath—over him again.
He hissed again. Hard.
She dipped closer. Questioning.
“Let me adulate you like this, Sir. Please?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
‡
Adulate.
He never really had a lot of use for that damn word.
Always thought it was pretty fucking stupid.
Never again.
Never.
Again.
Words tattooing his spirit, as she parted her lips and took him into her warmth. A vow in every cell of his blood, as his aching crown fitted in the cradle of her throat. And a promise in the depths of his heart, humbled by this incredible, open expression of hers.
Awareness he could examine and explore later.
Much later.
After she assuaged the violent beast between his legs. After he fed the beast to her, in
ch by glorious inch, watching it rage at the walls of her mouth. After he nearly retreated only to plunge back in, over and over and over, fucking those elegant lips of hers.
No. Elegant no more. They were his filthy playthings. His to violate and dominate, to ruthlessly rule…
Until he couldn’t.
Until suddenly, the control was no longer his. His cock was at her mercy, like a candy stick she couldn’t get enough of, feeding her voraciousness. She slammed her mouth up and down, harder and harder, greedier and greedier, until he had to release her and grab an overhead tree branch just to keep his feet under him. His knees were water. His thighs were fire. And dear fuck, the magic she worked over his sex, even working a hand over his balls and squeezing with purpose.
“Christ!” he rasped. “Christ, my sweet kitten…” His pants dropped to his ankles, baring his ass for the kiss of the cool breeze. The sensation contrasted with the searing brand of her tongue, lavishing her candy with starving moans. Driving him half-mad with lust…
Half?
Maybe a little more than half.
Maybe a lot more.
He was aware of everything and nothing at once. The earthy scent of the trees. The tangy hint of her arousal. The golden drops of the sun. The burnished brilliance of her hair. More sighs of the wind, blending with the soft moans from her throat.
Her throat.
Jesus fuck, her throat.
Taking him so far down…even clamping in with every new lunge he took, making his tip weep and his body quake. By the gods, she was good at this. Really, really good at this. His vision swam. His dick ached. His balls screamed, already sizzling with the fire, so inevitable and brilliant, he longed to enflame her with…to flood her with…
No. No. He had hold back. Had to lay her flat in this bed of leaves and take her hard. Rut on her in the dirt, like the mindless animal taking over his senses, his body…
But the fantasy made his cock swell more. Made his slit start to pulse, swimming in the wet, tight cavern of her sweet, hot hole.
No. No.
“I can’t—” He clenched his ass, trying to pull back. Tracy gripped his thigh, clawing him hard, commanding him to keep taking her wanton torment. “Popoki. I won’t be able to—shit!”
He froze, watching her cheeks hollow, adding even more excruciating, amazing pressure.
She groaned harder.
Swept her thick lashes up, exposing his gawk to the knowing sensuality of her stare…
And the sight of her free hand, rubbing feverishly between her legs.
And he was done.
Done, in a deluge of heat and release, spilling from him in white-hot, silken-wet ropes.
Done, in replacing her very breath with his essential life, branding her with his cream, filling her with his fire.
Done, in feeling her own climax hit, turning her mouth into a tunnel all but glowing around him, ordering his balls to give up yet another explosion, falling out of him on a rambling, breathless groan. “Yes. Oh yes, beauty. Ale ko’u kai. All of it. Take all of it from me. Swallow my life…swallow my flames…”
Many long minutes later, he let go of the branch—and plummeted to his knees beside her. The movement unseated him from her mouth, now getting bracketed by both his hands, for the longest, most adoring kiss he could summon from his tapped-out, sucked-out body.
As soon as he tasted her, he wanted more.
By every god he found holy…
She was an ambrosia. Redolent. Decadent. Naughty. Nasty.
His.
Fuck the sweet breeze, the chirpy birds, and the dreamy sunbeams. He embraced the clanging, five-alarm certainty of that single, perfect word…and its violent, virulent call to every eager servant of his spirit and soul.
His.
He kissed her again, needing her to know it too. Needing her to feel it—as well as his commitment to it.
No.
Needing her to hear it too.
“Tracy.” With hands still framing her face, he lowered his forehead against hers. “Tracy.” His sweet, smart, passionate, headstrong warrioress of a woman…
He was hers too.
I’m yours…
“John?” Her gaze thickened to mist as concern laced her voice, only to soften as his fingers gripped into her hair and his lips sought hers yet again. The kiss was different this time. A brush. A seal. A promise. “Oh John,” she whispered.
“For as long as you’ll have me.” He uttered it knowing the rest wasn’t necessary. Absolute in the truth her soul already heard, her heart already knew. “For as long as you need me.”
She swallowed. Pulled away just enough so he was pierced by her beautiful gaze again, consuming his focus as she dipped a silent nod. “Okay,” she finally rasped, lifting a hand to trace the edge of his own face. “Okay.”
They let out long breaths together.
Pulled them back in as the wind blew, loosening leaves from the oak boughs around them. Such an irony, Franz thought. As symbols of expired growth fluttered the air around him, seedlings of new feeling began sprouting in his spirit.
But that was just the start of his curiosity in this moment.
Another inquisition knocked at his brain like a cosmic bill collector. He wasn’t letting her get away without helping him pay the debt, either.
“Ku’uipo?”
Her lips lifted into a tiny smile. “Yes, Sir?”
“Before we hit the road on figuring out all this bullshit with Sol, I need to know something.”
“Hmm?”
His mouth opened but nothing came out. Well, shit. How did he pay the collector without making her gasp at the invoice?
“YouTube.”
Though apparently, she’d already glanced at the bill. Or just read his damn mind again. Or, door number three, misunderstood his silent stammer and lame blush, and thought he was going somewhere completely different with this.
“You were wondering how a thirty-five-year-old widow, who’s had more sex in the last week than the last four years of her life combined, knew how to give you a BJ that had you cracking tree branches.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or snarl. “I—wasn’t—”
“Branches cracked, Sir.” She smirked. “You’re welcome.”
He huffed. Again. Maybe flipping the tables was in order. “YouTube?”
“A girl has to learn new things.” She shrugged. “I got curious one night.” Then flushed—to the roots of her hair. “Okay, maybe more than one.”
He decided the laugh was a better idea. Indulged it with chest-deep fullness, before dipping in again to taste her with long sweeps of his tongue and ardent nips of his teeth. He switched and went for the snarl as soon as she opened fully, accepting his passion with beautiful little mewls.
“My curious little kitten,” he murmured once they were done, between his labored breaths—though at last he cleared his throat, re-tucked his cock, and forced his legs to work again, stating, “Who’s going to become a screaming little pussy, if we don’t stop right now.”
“Oh, dear.” Tracy’s tone was a purring mock as she accepted his outstretched hand. “We can’t have that, can we?” Once she gained her feet, she tilted a newly curious stare. “Especially because we’re…how did you say it…‘hitting the road on figuring out this bullshit’?”
He scooped her hand beneath his bent elbow as they began walking out of the grove. “Affirmative.”
“Okay.” She lingered her pace then finally stopped altogether. Signs of conscious life had started to rustle inside the ranch house, now only ten feet away. The smells of coffee and bacon cozied the air. “So…hitting the road where?”
He stopped along with her. Faced her directly. He owed her that, even before what she’d just done for him. These plans weren’t just some mission she was weighing in on as VP. This was his next step in ensuring she stayed alive. So yeah, direct was best.
“You won’t like the first part.”
Her face quirked. “Does it
involve fast-roping or skydiving? Though if push came to shove, I might be talked into the fast-roping…”
“It involves leaving Luke.”
Her mirth melted away. Slowly, she responded, “Leaving him…where?”
“Here,” he clarified. “With Ethan, Ava, and their staff.” He wrapped both his hands around hers. “Mia would stay too. I think the kid already likes it here.”
He watched as she took a breath, though couldn’t determine if she still considered his suggestion or had moved on to debating white verses whole wheat bread for the kid’s morning toast. The woman was involved in nearly every aspect of her kid’s life, so it would come as no surprise to learn she’d YouTubed breakfast breads too.
“I see the wisdom of the thinking,” she finally said, so adorably Disney Channel mom about it. The impression, joined with a memory flash of her kneeling before him in the grove, nearly had him dropping his grip to hide a fresh erection. Thank fuck she kept shit on target, querying, “I think it depends on where you plan on us going.”
“I see the wisdom of the thinking.” He gave her a few more props with a fast wink. “And the answer to that entails two steps.”
“First step being…” she prompted.
“Twenty minutes east,” he supplied. “Which will get us to the tarmac at San Luis Obispo Airport.”
Her head rocked back. Her gaze narrowed. “Because…?”
“That’s where Ethan has his private jet being fueled for us.”
“To take us…?”
“The one place I can get access to the same technology and man power Sol is using to track you.” Because he could, he added a swift wink. “It’s time to bounce that Judas shit right back on that bastard’s ass.”
As he hit the word “bounce”, Tracy’s energy began to do the same. Like a kitten taunted with a feather, her whole body hummed with energy, and her gaze flitted with undisguised pleasure. “Okay, I’m going to bite.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Really?”
She smacked his chest. “By asking you where this epic Judas-chasing location actually is.”
He prefaced his response by letting a full grin flash through. “Home turf, kitten.” Then quickly but soundly kissing her. “Hommmme tuuuurf.”