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With him.
Yeah, despite five kinds of anxiety and twice as many fears—maybe even because of them—she set her chin, met his gaze, cleared her throat, and said, “What…do I need to do?”
Franzen’s nostrils flared. He continued to watch her, not even blinking, as he tossed the anal plug to the floor. At once, he returned his hand to the crevice of her ass. “Not a damn thing you don’t want to.” He reached in, softly stroking the rim of her hole, while going on, “But if you really want my cock here, roll to your side so I can get you ready.”
“What if I already am ready?” She bantered it to ease her tension, while positioning her body as he asked. Franz obliged with a soft laugh, though at the same time, slid out a drawer in the headboard where a small bottle of lube was hidden.
“Wicked wahine.” His tone was puma stealthy as he shoved aside the panels of her shorts, baring her backside. But his fingers…oh hell, his fingers were like cobras dancing on a snake charmer’s song, swirling and teasing at the sensitive rim of her naughty hole. “We’ll see about that. Breathe, kitten.”
She’d been trying to do just that—but wondering about that lube was a mental path she hadn’t anticipated. But why? They were still officially inside his kink club; it made complete sense—but even if it did, had he used that stuff on others? And if he had—because he probably had—why should it matter to her? And why should she care if there was plenty of liquid left in the bottle too? Why should she admit that it ached to think of him using that stuff on the submissives who’d be in here with him after tonight?
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.
But dammit, dammit, it did.
And just like that, the tears she’d reined back through the last hour took two seconds to prick her eyes.
She sniffed hard, ordering them back to the insecure corners they came from, but they assaulted again as another epiphany hit. A whopper this time.
She wanted to burn this bed down before thinking of anyone else in it with John.
Put it away. Put it away!
“Ku’uipo.” His utterance, though coarse as gravel, was a salvation in her grief. “Fuck.” He leaned in from behind, soaking up several of her tears with his lips. “You’re crying. It already hurts?”
“Yes.” It was pathetic and weepy, but she couldn’t give the man a Rodgers and Hammerstein score right now. She refused to lie. Not to him. Not ever to him—about any of it. “Yes, it does—and dammit, don’t you dare stop.”
She needed the pain now more than ever.
Pain only he could give.
Agony only he could assuage.
With his sexy economy of motion, Franz nodded. With his perfect infusion of understanding, he grunted. With his wordless way of knowing exactly what she needed, he pushed her shorts to her thighs—
Then plunged two fingers into her ass.
“Oh!” There was one way of forgetting the self-pity. The word shot out again as the man anchored his digits then spread them out. Turned into a whimper as he twisted his hand, opening her in painfully erotic new ways. Mellowed to a moan when he soothed the sting by pouring a generous amount of lube into the aperture he’d just created. Then the torment began all over again. His spiraling motions. His widening fingers. He was stretching her in impossible new ways, though she knew it was still just a prelude of what his cock would do to her.
How he’d decimate her.
Dominate the most illicit part of her body.
So she could, for just one blessed moment, forget the anguish of her heart.
“Ahhhh!” She gasped it as he drove his fingers in to the hilt. And damn, did the man have long fingers.
“Still hurts, kitten?” His lips returned to her ear, heating its shell with grating force.
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“That shouldn’t turn me on.” He bit into her lobe as he plunged in deep again. “But gods help me, it does.”
If she needed any fuel for the fire of her next sharp mewl, that was sure as hell it. “Damn!”
“Tell me it hurts.”
“It—it hurts, Sir.”
