Page 78 of Ready For His Rule

“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.

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