What about choosing your true self
?
Shocking, how she didn’t automatically attach Dan’s voice to that. She had no doubt about his influence over it, though—a paradox she couldn’t ignore. For a guy who spent most of his time hiding himself from the world, he loved riding
her
about the let-your-light-shine thing.
He hadn’t always been the ashamed ogre under the bridge. She smiled a little, remembering the “Hot-lanta cowboy” of just last year, stealing hearts and slinging hokey one-liners everywhere he went. She missed the crap out of that guy sometimes—but that Dan Colton probably never would’ve grown into the man who’d become her closest, dearest friend.
A frown set in. She still hadn’t told Dan about the development with Newport, and felt like shit about it despite her practical reasons for delay. Someone way above her pay grade had Newport’s deal snagged in red tape, hoping the tensions with Russia would die to a dull roar by the time the paperwork got as high as the Oval Office. If they didn’t need Newport as much, his outrageous demands would have to be altered—if they were lucky, even revoked.
In the meantime, she maintained a lie of omission with Dan—even met him for drinks and gushed about how much she was looking forward to this new experience with Sir Sexy—selfishly using his listening ears, patient smiles, and “Domly” advice without dropping a clue about the potential shit to hit the fan from the Newport deal. But what if it didn’t? She’d be torqueing Dan for no good reason. His not-so-little “adventure” with Stock, a stunt he got away with only because he wasn’t on active duty with the Agency, might be just the right juice for the rockets he’d aim Newport’s way. And even if he chilled on that shit this time around, did he deserve the agony of knowing the asshole was sleeping on silk and dining on filet every night, instead of rotting in a jail cell? He’d been through enough pain because of the general’s greed and corruption.
“It’s better this way.” She nodded, decision firmly made. Her head was on board with the message. She just wished her heart would get its act together.
Right now, she needed to get her
shit
together, period. Why was she stressing over one man when only minutes away from meeting with another? Even if “meeting” wasn’t the most accurate term…
A gulp sliced down her throat.
A thrill raced through her stomach.
A tremor claimed her whole body.
No. “Meeting” wasn’t the right word at all.
Giving. Taking. Servicing. Submitting.
Only ten minutes now, and the griffin would be sliding his huge hand against hers once more. Lifting that slow, knowing smile. Speaking those deep, perfect commands. Taking over her body before one stitch of clothing came off…
Who was she kidding? He’d started taking over from the moment she picked up the phone yesterday.
When she thought of what she’d done for him, in the middle of the office, based on the power of his voice alone…
Another shiver. Deeper this time. Spiraling through her blood, taking over her marrow, pounding into her ears…
She could barely wait another moment.
Just knowing he was probably inside the club already, maybe at the bar nursing a drink, perhaps even watching the door for her—
“
Eccckkk
.” She rolled her eyes at her reflection while sliding on some lipstick. “He’s
not
watching the damn doorway for you, dork.” As Mom was so fond of reminding her,
devoted princes exist only in worlds where girls have birds, mice, raccoons, and other disease-bearing animals as best friends.
At least her makeup was being cooperative. Her lipstick was a shade called “Slaying the Enigma,” designed by the new cosmetics division of Stone Global. Thank God Killian Stone’s wife was a redhead, because this stuff looked great with her own coloring, too. It was a perfect match for the dress she’d bought on her lunch hour today at an “alternative” boutique downtown: a bolder choice than the last time she’d been here.
Much
bolder.
The crimson leather and vinyl one-piece, featuring a sweetheart neckline kept together by corset-style ties, tapered into a flared skirt that barely covered all the important stuff—the reason why she’d also purchased a pair of flattering red panties to go with it, topped with black lace and tied at the sides with dainty black bows. The sales clerk had helped her finish off the ensemble with a pair of black gladiator-style heels. Overall, the look gave her a little more cleavage, a lot more leg, and a bit more confidence.
She took a deep breath and checked the time again.
“Five minutes.” Okay,
now
she could go in. Five minutes didn’t make her desperate anymore. It just made her punctual. Griffin would appreciate that. He was a Dominant who paid attention to the details, meaning timeliness was likely a hot button for him.
When she walked in and peered around, she indeed found him eyeing “details”—on a petite little thing with a Tinkerbell haircut and an eye-popping rack, dressed in a top and skirt that looked more like fancy-wrapped duct tape. In short, a showgirl with curves that could fascinate a man for days.
And yeah, the man looked fascinated.
Insecurity swooped in, making Tess back against the wall. Her heart lodged in her throat. While she was certain the man wouldn’t back out on their “appointment,” would he consider the time merely an obligation now, to be filled on his way back to the duct tape fairy? She wasn’t certain about the answer even as he looked up, locked onto her with his mesmerizing stare—
And lifting the most wicked, wanton grin she’d ever seen.
She was suddenly grateful for the wall. Holy shit, how he could emulsify her in a matter of seconds. Even with the mask, which now just seemed a part of him, instead of something that frustrated the crap out of her. He’d developed lots of other ways to do that, anyway. The way he stepped forward—leaving the pixie stuttering in mid-sentence—to get a better view of her. The way he stopped as soon he did, sharply pulling in air, eyes glittering with lust. The way he squared his shoulders before restarting his approach, boots pounding the stone floor, leather pants and vest gleaming with every graceful move of his tawny muscles.
Frustration was her friend and enemy now. It took over as she watched him, hardening her breasts and pooling between her thighs, deepening with every powerful step he took. He wasn’t moving fast enough.
Closer. Need you closer. Now.
Her breath was a freight train by the time he finally got there.
He crashed his mouth over hers with the same force.
It was the last thing she expected. The only thing she wanted. She mewled as he pushed in, letting him dominate her tongue as he slammed against her body. The rugged aroma of his leathers and the earthy scent of his skin spooled their way through her senses, driving the heat in her blood to fevered intensity. If he demanded she strip and kneel for him right there, she doubted she could refuse.
Even with the duct tape fairy watching
?
The thought gave her the will to pull away. It didn’t sit well with the man still pinned against her. “I’m not done with this part yet,” he growled.
“Even with your new little ‘friend’ taking notes?” A fast glance confirmed that the blonde pixie had indeed tracked his every move since leaving her, even this one.
The griffin huff. “She can compare info with them.” A jog of his head made Tess look the other direction, across the room, to where a pair of men stood with Scotches in their hands, and gazes fixed on her. They were both attractive and commanding but had to be utter nutcases, since they raised their glasses and smiled as if conveying,
if things don’t work out with the guy nailing you to the wall with his crotch…
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, damn.”
“Sounds about right.” His rougher timbre matched the new texture in his energy. His jaw was a crag beneath his dark gold stubble; his biceps rippled as he splayed hands against her hips. “
Damn
, red. I’m the luckiest fucker here tonight.”
He took her lips again, though did it with a shocking sweep of tenderness. Though his tongue was just as hot as ever, he rolled it with hers like a sensual stream instead of a pounding wave, teasing her passion higher by calculated increments. That all changed when she freed a moan into his mouth, unable to hold back anymore. As if she’d pulled the pin on his dam, his passion surged. He groaned hard, dragging her thighs around his waist, never once breaking the pressure of his mouth, the grind of his hips, the heat of his assault.
He only broke the kiss after working a hand against her slit, exploring her from behind—before piercing her with a hard scowl. “You’re wearing underwear.”
“Duh.” Mouthy? Yes. But accurate? That would also be a yes. “Have you looked at this thing?” She nodded downward. “More precisely, at the length of this thing?”
“From the second you walked in the door.” His eyes glittered brighter, so gorgeous and blue, behind the mask. Between that and his growled words, her belly tumbled like a penny off the Empire State Building.
“Really?” It was even mouthier, but at the moment, she needed the sarcasm. “Could’ve sworn you were a little preoccupied when I walked in the door.”
His lips flattened. “You going to keep bringing that up?”
“That all depends. Did
she
‘bring you up’?”
“Fuck.”
His disappointed mutter made her squirm, battling to reset the buttons he pushed. Dammit. She’d wanted to be perfect for him tonight, his sexy little subbie, not this ball of petty jealousy. Certainly not the girl who created drama over him simply standing next to another woman—and her barely-wrapped boobs and booty. But for anything to work between them, tonight or any other night, he also required her truth—even copping to the claw of insecurity that dug into her because of duct tape girl.
So, she could be perfect, or she could be authentic. One was impossible, the other disgraceful. At least right now.
She let her head drop.
Sexy didn’t try to lift it back up.
He even lowered her legs, purposely setting their bodies a foot back from each other.
Shit.
Shit.
The happy flips in her stomach were now taunting clowns—all wearing Band-Aid dresses. She wanted to vomit. Then run out the door.
Then he spoke again. A command. In the deepest, gruffest tone she’d heard from him yet.
“Take them off.”
Her stare jerked back up. Searched the eyes behind the mask for confirmation of his meaning. Sure enough, his irises had gone from sun-glowed cobalt to midnight smoke, thick with sexual intent.
“You know what I mean,” he pressed, reading the question on her face. “Take the panties off, rose. Then present them to me in your hands, palms up, with your feet in attention pose. Is that clear?”
She was vaguely aware of the long moment she took before answering. How had the rest of the room turned into mere fuzz and background noise, in the space of but three sentences from him? And why did she even care? All of it—the eyes she felt suddenly turned to them, the whispers flying through the air—were a sibilance of irrelevance to what really mattered here.
Obeying him.
But actually doing it? Oh, yeah.
That
part. Though the club wasn’t busy tonight, there was no ignoring the task being asked—commanded—of her. Stripping the covering over her most intimate parts, in front of strangers. Offering the evidence to her Sir in a formal position of submission, minus the kneeling. She should be grateful for that, at least…
The dirty work doesn’t get done by itself
.
It was one of Dan’s favorite phrases, and she used it to steady her hands as she reached beneath what little skirt she had, tucking her thumbs under the band of the panties she’d half an hour picking out. At least her efforts wouldn’t be for naught. Everyone was going to get a real nice view of them now.
With her eyes lowered—looking up meant gaping at one or more parts of his anatomy and she
had
to stay focused—she let the panties drop to her ankles. Reached down, retrieving them off the heel of one sandal. Her throat felt as dry as the wind whipping outside, her balance just as tumultuous. Her body’s cruel plot twist? Her pussy had never been wetter, responding at once to its naked freedom—and the griffin’s growling prompt.
“Now present them.”
Her cheeks aflame and her arms trembling, she gathered the red silk in both hands and extended it. Why she wasn’t adding an incensed glare, she couldn’t fathom. This was humiliating. Unnerving.
And totally arousing.
Sexy stepped back toward her. Another step, even closer, to the point that he pushed her elbows against her sides, hands just below her breasts. Dipped his head in, pausing a moment to draw in a breath of the bundle in her palms. Then tucked his lips against her neck, abrading her jaw with the fitted leather of his mask.
As he bit down into her flesh, he cupped a hand over her naked mound.
“
This
is all I desire tonight.” His fingers curled in, taunting her moist layers like steeled hooks. “This is mine to rule. To use. To possess.” He shifted his lips to her ear, infusing her with his torrid breath before sinking his teeth into the tender shell. “To fulfill.”
The world fell away.
Tess moaned. Her head fell back. Her eyes slid shut. Heat cascaded through her body like stars on fire, her fingers clenching around the fabric in her palms. A sigh erupted past her lips. Or at least she thought so. Nothing was clear. She didn’t give a damn. Not one.
“Now tell me too, little red. Say it for me.”
There was no confusion about what he directed. She knew what he wanted; somehow she just knew. “I am yours to rule tonight.”
“And…?”
“And to use. And to possess.”
“And…?”
“And to fulfill.”
His tongue was like honey down the column of her neck. “Yessss…”
As he suckled at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, he shifted one finger up, into her throbbing channel. Then another. Tess bit her lip to keep from yelping. “Oh, my God. Oh…my…God.”
The bastard unfurled a low laugh. Tangled the fingers of his free hand into hers, capturing her panties between them. “If you were still wearing these right now, would they be wet, babe?”