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.”
She shifts her weight on her elbow and holds up three fingers.
I drop the first aid kit and sink to my knees behind her, the wound in my leg protests at the movement, but I’m beyond noticing.
Cassandra sighs and relaxes into the pose, arching her back and lifting her ass.
I shuffle closer to her, my pants catching on the rough carpet. But then I remember her bloody feet.
“Butterfly.” I lightly drag a finger down the outside of her foot. “You’re hurting.”
“Hans, I’m aching.” Her hips shift.
And I decide I can multitask.
