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Chapter Seventeen
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“Yes.”
It flowed from her with the dedication of rain down a waterfall…with the conviction of gravity to the earth. At the moment, she wondered how close to the truth the comparisons might truly be. She was already soaked with need for more of his body, his command—an obsession so consuming, her senses spun like weightless comets in space. He only heightened her sensual chaos by using his hold on her jaw to lock her head against the wall. Pressed in just tight enough to prevent her from moving.
Whoa.
Wow.
She’d never been handled by a man like this before. A treatment that should have started and ended in this moment—and probably would have, with any other man.
But John Franzen wasn’t any other man.
To the point that she gazed at him now, angling his face over hers, and realized she didn’t even see a man.
She saw a dragon.
A creature born of fire and brought by magic to save her life—in many more ways than one.
She saw thunder.
A force crackling the skies of her psyche, bringing back the lightning of her passion and the storm of her new awakening.
She saw her Dominant.
The lover—the partner—who’d exacted more from her body and mind than any male she’d known…
And given twice as much in return.
Who poured out the same fullness of that force now, coating her face in the burnished beauty of his stare as he rose up, filling her sights with nothing but him. He was dragon and slayer, sun and moon, give and take…her god and her apostle.
“Say. It. Again.”
His lips barely moved.
Her heart hardly beat.
“I—I said yes.” She reveled in the effect of it across his face, her supplication moving through him like an electrical charge through his thunder clouds. “I trust you…Sir.”
The voltage in his presence intensified. His eyes flared wide enough to make her gasp. “Even if that means this might be…uncomfortable? A little unorthodox?”
“Moving past fear usually isn’t a pleasure cruise. And as for unorthodox…” She took a turn at raising the expressive brows. “I think my experience with that one speaks for itself?”
His rough chuckle warmed the air but tensed her body. The laughter belonged to him but didn’t. It was like everything else about him since they’d stepped into the lift. Sharper. Harder. Fiercer. There was a damn good chance she simply filtered it that way, that everything was going to look and feel different during her first few minutes of “freedom” in days, but the explanation was just a bunch of rhetoric to her nerve endings, refusing to let go of their sizzling anxiety. And to her lungs, constricting from bands of real fear.
And to her sex, throbbing with how much she liked it.
Which would have hurled her into a tailspin of what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you, if the man didn’t chop it short with everything that was right.
Everything that was him.
A floor-eating step, shaking the car with its force. A slam to the call button, ending the alarms—while he started a new chaos by hauling her close and kissing her again. Hard. Ramming open her lips with savage mastery. Taking her tongue in nasty swipes. At last pulling back so she beheld every bold, etched angle of his face—and the iron control over them all, despite the brutal hunger he’d just unleashed on her.
“Very well,” he told her then. “I accept your trust and appreciate your honesty.” He pulled her hands around, holding them in the scant space between their bodies. “You honor me with both.” His kisses to her knuckles were warm but quick, laying groundwork for more steel in his composure. “And now, you’ll honor me by confirming your safe word.”
She swallowed so hard, she could feel the echoes in her ears. “Y-you’re talking like—”
