Page 99 of Ready For His Rule

Not now, jerk wad. Not. Now.

“Cool.” Stars literally danced in Luke’s eyes once Z was brought into the picture. Yeah, the Zeke Hayes fan club had officially grown by one this week.

“What’s cool?”

As the source of the query appeared in the doorway then moved to wrap arms around her son’s waist, Franz focused on reminding his lungs to breathe. Holy. Shit. He’d been so used to having the Tigress in her most raw form, as a messy, moaning, panting lover, he’d forgotten how incredible she looked all sleek and cleaned-up.

No. It was more than that this time.

Oh, she was one fine, fine woman on a physical level; he wasn’t taking exception to that—but her effect on him was so far beyond that, he was only able to identify it now, after having to tolerate an entire afternoon of her locked away in the guest room, strategizing with Ronnie and Gem about the hundreds of scenarios they might encounter when she finally returned to DC.

And the Oval Office.

Not a future he was going to think about tonight. Not for one fucking second.

Luke pivoted enough to hook his arm around Tracy’s neck. “Hail to my parental unit.”

“Well, hail to my sunshine.” She smacked him softly on the cheek, leaving an imprint of soft lip gloss. Though Luke grimaced, he let the stuff stay where it was as he gave her a once-over.

“Wow, Mom. You look different. You look…nice.”

Tracy bopped his shoulder but her beam didn’t falter. Clearly, the clinch meant more to her than the compliment—such as it was. “And that’s what’s cool?”

“Nah. That’s a bonus. Good job, Mom.”

A flush stained her cheeks, darkening as she glanced across to John—unleashing electrical bursts where every one of his nerve endings used to be. Yeah, to the point he had to suck in an audible breath because of it. She’d respected every one of his “firm requests” for her look tonight. Light makeup. No jewelry. Hair pulled completely off her face. She’d even worn the simple black sheath Rayna had helped him pick out from a local boutique’s website. Thank fuck for the internet, which didn’t pass judgement at a credit card used for the Bastille Kink Club in downtown Seattle. Thank fuck even more for Rayna Hayes, who’d gone out and picked up the dress and the new makeup.

Most of all, thank fuck for gorgeous little brunettes with soft, submissive eyes and sexual energy that could turn air into fire.

And make him see, for the very first time, maybe there was life after Special Forces.

So much life.

And excitement. And challenge. And feeling.

Had he ever thought he’d feel like this again?

And burn like this, blood flaring higher and hotter, as Luke finally went all independent cool dude again, freeing Tracy to step around the island. As she neared, Franz pulled in more air. Feigned a casual smile. He hated feeding her the lie of his poise, but the alternative was hiking her up on the counter, ramming her legs around his waist, then kissing the rest of that lip gloss off her delectable mouth. Not quite an option at the moment.

“Okay.” She leveled it while bouncing glances between Luke and him. “Do I have to keep guessing? What kind of wickedness have you gentlemen been up to in here?”

Annnnd there was the goddamned erection again. One mention of “wickedness” in her playful drawl and he was hard as granite all over again.

Because tonight, he was going to blow her mind with wicked.

Christ. He’d really sworn off the dungeon for too long. After the disaster with Abbie then the cluster fuck of Kaesong, he’d been thrown off the horse twice in a row. Brutally. The last thing he’d wanted was anything even reminding him of the saddle. No leather. No buckles. No riding crops. No thoughts of riding anything or anyone.

Now, he couldn’t think of anything else.

Especially with this stunning woman. His stunning woman.

Who would, gods be begged, soon be his perfect submissive.

He battled the thoughts with his most rigid poker face, to no goddamned avail. His gave him away, burning with needs he could barely keep in check. He knew it because of the answering bursts in Tracy’s gaze, igniting more as he moved around the island too, ensuring the bulge in his cargos got hidden from Luke and shown off to her.

Her gaze got bigger.

So did his smirk. Why the fuck not? And why the hell had he waited this long to learn good subterfuge didn’t always involve spooks, assets, shadows, and night goggles? What a way to reassign his skill set—in the name of a much more enticing mission.

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