Mastered (The Enforcers 1)

Without a word, he began to massage one foot, taking care not to hurt her or cause her discomfort.

She emitted a soft moan and for a moment, her eyes closed and she sagged, some of the tension evaporating from her body. He worked on the first foot, covering every inch and paying special attention to her tender arches. Then he turned his focus to the other, giving it equal care.

He watched her intently, absorbing every reaction and the sheer pleasure reflected on her face. She was so fucking responsive. Absolutely honest, no faking. She was genuine to her toes and so damn beautiful his balls ached.

Last night had given him a hard-on he’d carried the entire night, making sleep impossible because every time he closed his eyes, he tasted her, smelled her, could hear her soft cries of ecstasy, and he replayed having her spread out before him on his desk like a goddess being offered up as the most priceless of treasures. Certainly nothing money could buy and nothing a man with his power could produce on command, and that was something rare and precious indeed. Something worth a thing he wasn’t used to demonstrating. Patience.

It had taken every ounce of his restraint not to tear his pants down and plunge so deeply into her that she would feel him to her soul. He still wondered why he hadn’t. Only the nagging warning in the back of his mind telling him he had to tread carefully with her and not push her too hard, too fast, had kept him from slaking his hunger without regard for whether he scared the holy hell out of her. She’d been freaked out enough by him going down on her. It was equally obvious that her only lover—her dickhead ex—hadn’t given her anything. He’d just taken. Her ex had let go of something most men would kill for, but Drake didn’t spare an ounce of pity for the idiot. His loss was Drake’s gain, and he intended to move in, take over and make damn sure that from now on she was in his bed, under his command. And by God, she’d never go without anything in his power to provide her.

He let his hands slide leisurely from her foot and she murmured a light sound of protest.

“Why the hell are you working yourself to death in that shithole bar every night?” he asked bluntly.

She made a huffing noise and glared at him.

“You could at least continue the fabulous foot massage if you’re going to interrogate me,” she said in a disgruntled voice.

He nearly laughed before he caught himself. He didn’t laugh often, and when he did, it wasn’t usually out of amusement. People tended to get nervous when he laughed. Nor did he smile. But he was amused by her show of bravado. She was intimidated, and uncertainty was evident in her body language, but she was damned if she was going to show it. Good. The last thing he wanted was a meek doormat. Yes, he demanded obedience and submission, but that didn’t equate to his woman being a mindless robot, programmed to do his bidding with no thoughts or opinions of her own. He liked her fire. And her pride. He liked that most of all because it was a trait he was intimately familiar with and respected.

He closed his palms around the other foot and resumed his gentle ministrations.

“You going to answer my question now?” he asked in a deceptively mild tone.

Sudden alarm replaced the look of languid pleasure and her body went rigid when just moments earlier, as soon as he’d begun massaging her feet, she’d melted bonelessly against the back of the sofa. She bolted upright, her feet dropping from his hands to the floor with a thud.

He cursed, his already fraying patience threatening to completely unravel along with his anger.

“What the hell is wrong now?” he demanded, his narrowed gaze aimed at her.

If he thought the not-so-subtle reprimand would make her back down, he was wrong. She stared up at him with wide eyes that were laced with worry and he was seized by the need to allay any fear she had. Goddamn it, he didn’t want her to be afraid with him, but she wasn’t exactly making it very easy for him.

“My girlfriends,” she stammered out. “Oh my God. They’re probably out of their minds with worry. They may have even already called the police! I was already late getting off work and then I was dragged into a car by your henchman and brought here. What time is it, anyway?”

Drake sighed and managed to rein in his simmering temper. Barely. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what her roommates thought, but he did care that Evangeline was in obvious distress, and he did care that the police could already be involved. If questioned, Evangeline would no doubt have any cop convinced that Drake had abducted her and was even now holding her against her will.