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Chapter Ten
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Franzen had never been harder in his life.
And faced the fact that the torture wouldn’t be over anytime soon.
Every muscle in his body clenched and strained, ordering the urges of his instinct to instant stand-downs. At least for now. Yeah, the woman still wanted him in return—thank fuck—and yeah, she didn’t want to wait long, either—thank fuck—but just giving in to all their base lusts still wasn’t an option. Tearing off her wet clothes meant an explanation to Rayna later. Spreading her wide and fucking her until she screamed? Not even a remote option, despite the volume at which Mario, Princess Peach, and Lucario virtually pounded each other in the next room.
He had to plan this through.
He had to think like a Dom.
Notthe most helpful angle here, however. The one he kept defaulting to. The perspective at which she was his willing, eager little subbie. His kitten in all aspects of the word…taking whatever wicked treatment he could dream for her beautiful curves…
Stow those bullets, soldier.
None of this was about what he wanted. This was about the healing and escape she needed—and he’d bestow, with the command she clearly craved, without subjecting her to the full Dragon Dominance buffet. He wasn’t a goddamn nug. He recognized his mistake from earlier. Denying her—denying them both—of a fulfillment of their attraction, just because he hadn’t settled for vanilla sex in nearly fifteen years, had been messed up. He could pleasure a woman without all that shit. Without even the words.
Though holy hell, did “Sir” sound so right with her subtle Texas lilt…
“How do you want me now, Sir?”
Just. Like. That.
Fuck.
He sucked in a deep breath. Swallowed hard before letting it back out, all the while leaning over her with one knee on the bed. “I think you already know the answer to that, kitten.” He ran fingertips up the outside of her thigh. “So I’m going to let you get to work on that while I take care of the logistical shit.”
“The…huh?”
He dropped a forceful but fast kiss to her lips. “Just take off your clothes, woman. Every fucking stitch. I’ll be back before you’re done.”
He kept to his word, all but sprinting across the room to ensure the door was locked, the kids were really preoccupied with their game, and the room’s lighting was turned low. A golden glow persisted from the midday sun beyond the blinds, for which he was now—unbelievably—grateful. The ambient lighting reminded him exactly of the wall sconces at Bastille…
Damn. Bastille.
It had been too fucking long.
And how incredible would it be to break that absence with this gorgeous woman on his arm?
And what kind of a planet have you moved to, where you can think of parading Tracy Rhodes right into your local dungeon—even if you are half-owner of the place?
Not the time for philosophical breakdowns.
Not with the softly smiling female on the bed, damp hair splayed on the pillow, already satisfying so many of his hottest fantasies about her.
She wouldn’t fulfill all of them. He accepted that. But cake was still cake, even without the buttercream roses. After all this was over, when she was moved into the White House and he was back to figuring out his life, he’d be able to search for someone else who appreciated the thorns instead.
So what if that thought nauseated the fuck out of him right now?
So what if he wished that “right now” could just be the end of all the “right nows”?
That she could be the end of all his searches…
Yeah, and Transformers actually existed. Super heroes too. With invisible planes, webs like steel cables, and levitation cloaks.
The truth was, he’d always be searching.
