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“Nero’s house?”
He holds up a second finger, and my body reacts as though it heard him saythat’s two. “I am not going to let you sit around for the next four hours with pieces of glass, or whatever it is, in your fucking feet.”
I’m hardly even listening to him. But he’s right. I don’t want my feet to throb for the next however many hours. But his little scolding has my body responding, and I also don’t want to wait the same number of hours until we’re back atNero’s houseto do something about it.
Leaving me where I am, Hans stomps out of the office, and I assume he’s off to find a first aid kit.
I shift on the seat, but the hard metal chair is uncomfortable against the bruises that are definitely forming on my ass.
Gingerly, I climb onto the floor.
If Hans wants access to my feet, he can have it.
CHAPTER126
Hans
After repressing every feeling,aside from rage, for the past twenty years, I feel like I’m vibrating with emotions.
Relief and sadness over my past battle with fear and pride over my woman.
Cassandra.
I force my heart to slow.
What she did.
What she did for me.
I can’t decide if I want to spank her ass for doing anything other than sitting meekly while waiting for me to rescue her, or if I want to shower her with affection for being exactly what I need.
She’s my everything.
I’d pulled the office door shut as I left, so I shift the first aid kit and bottles of water into one arm and open the door.
And then lust slams past all my other emotions because Cassandra is there, on her knees and elbows, with her lush ass in the air.
I slam the door shut behind me and depress the flimsy lock button on the handle.
“What the fuck are you doing?” My words come out choked.
She turns her head to look back at me over her shoulder. “That chair was hurting my butt.”
My mouth opens and closes as I look between her face, her perfect ass hugged in black tactical pants, and the soles of her feet that are facing the ceiling and smeared with blood.
I stomp to the windows and lower the cheap blinds as quickly as I can. If anyone inside the hangar saw her like this…
“Cassandra Lynn,” I growl.
“Hans…” Her face scrunches up. “What’s your middle name?”
“Tomas.” I don’t want to humor her in this, but there’s nothing about myself I won’t tell her.
“Hans Tomas, my butt is sore from sliding down the stairs. My hands are sore from holding that gun. My feet hurt”—she wiggles her toes—“so on my knees and elbows is the most comfortable way for me to be right now.”
I shove away my desire to reach out and rip her pants down her hips and focus on the fact that my Butterfly is hurting.
Then she smiles at me. “And if being like this makes you want to fuck me, well, I bet that would make me feel better too.”
