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He fought the verdict even as he dipped his head, locking his gaze with the searching fervor of hers, tightening his hold around every inch of her—recognizing the byzantine dream of her. Further than that, realizing why her job had nothing to do with the unworkable paradox of them. Harder issues were at play here. Huger issues. Walls having nothing to do with her and everything to do with his jammed-up mind…
A conclusion invading him so hard, it was a no-joy battle to keep it from invading his composure. As he’d feared, Tracy’s radar went up at once, jerking her as sharply as if he’d spanked her again—making the list of shit he’d be taking up with fate soon, since he hadn’t gotten the actual pleasure of delivering said swat.
“Hey.” Though she tenderly palmed his jaw, her voice was a hardcore mandate.
“Hey.” He released it atop a long exhalation, banking on the casual but professional approach to diffuse her. With a little more affection, he asked, “How are you doing?”
Damn, that felt good. Aftercare was right up there with fuck swings as one of his favorite aspects of the dynamic. The chance to be close to a submissive again, knitting what their bodies had done into a deeper mental bond, was a high like no other—and one of the prominent reasons why he liked playing hard. Breaking down walls, getting to guts and honesty, took fire and courage—and sometimes, if one was lucky, sheer magic. While he’d tasted the first two with other submissives, he’d all but given up on truly finding it with anyone in a real sense. Maybe—probably—making his living in all the most un-magical places on this planet hadn’t helped either. Very likely, he’d given up on magic, not the other way around.
Or so he’d thought.
Until Tracy Livia Rhodes.
Until the one woman he wanted to aftercare the crap out of but couldn’t, thanks to this stockpile of bullshit in his brain.
Only it wasn’t bullshit.
Which made this suck even worse.
Especially as she huffed so adorably, he almost considered throwing her back on the desk and simply pretending it was a fuck swing—even as she followed it by snipping, “Don’t change the subject.”
A grin formed. Holding back a hurricane would’ve been easier. “Popoki, how you’re doing is the subject.”
Her lips pursed. “Beguiling me isn’t going to work.”
He surrendered half a shrug. Denying she was right would’ve been a lie. She could insist on being his Tigress everywhere else, but in these tender moments, his Hawaiian version of “kitten” melted her every time.
Mostly.
“I was hard on you,” he finally stated. With fingertips flowing along the back of her arm, quietly added, “And I’m just making sure you…liked it.”
Her tongue darted along the seam of her lips. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I definitely…”
“What?” His hand stilled. His brows narrowed.
“Liked it.” Her gaze followed the trail of her own hand, down to the center of his chest. “What I mean is…shit.” Obviously, her gray matter was spinning up a few theories of its own. John pulled her closer, securing her in with a determined hand on her outside hip.
“Tracy.”
“I’m not trying to be coy!” She snorted. “This just isn’t easy.”
“If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.”
“Everyone isn’t doing it?”
He lifted his stare, using it as admonishment. Her whip of a wit lashed his libido in all the right places, but that shit got locked back when she brandished it as diversion.
“Okay.” She straightened her posture—not a help for the situation in his crotch, already responding to the nearness of her perfect ass cheeks again—and took in a full breath. “I’ll at least give it a try.”
“Mahalo.” He softly kissed her forehead before settling back, determined to listen to her with his ears and hear her with his soul.
“So…I liked it. We’re clear on that.”
He dipped his head a little. “We are.”
“But the thing is…I…”
“Didn’t want to like it?”
