A WILDer Kind Of Love

by Angel Payne

  Maybe Mother and Father were always right. Maybe you’re just a dreamer who simply wants perfection too damn much.

  But what if it was the only explanation that really made sense?

  What if they hadn’t just met by accident?

  What if some crazy “higher power” had really brought him across the room to her that night—when others had had the chance for two whole nights before that? How else could she justify how instantly right it felt to be standing at his side…following him to private dungeon space…surrendering to him without fear or hesitation? How else had he known exactly what needs she had as a submissive…all the dark, wicked parts of herself that wanted to be tested, pushed, shattered?

  And why else was she lingering in the warmth of this moment and the heat of him, instead of asking for her clothes and seeking the nearest exit back to the safety of reality?

  Because reality didn’t feel so safe anymore.

  Because he began that dribbling water thing over her shoulders again, and it felt

  so

  damn

  good.

  Because it felt safer to lean back into the broad strength of his chest once again, challenging in a murmur, “You didn’t answer my question.”

  This time, his fingers didn’t stop. “Which one?”

  She splashed him. His leathers were already drenched to the calves; a little more H2O wouldn’t hurt. “How about the only one?”

  “Wasn’t that rhetorical?” After she sent more water flying up, he chuckled. The sound, filtered by the voice disk, was as decadent as the kiss he lowered to her nape. “Shut it off, babe. Typical aftercare is for typical submissives. And you are far, far from typical.”

  Her lips parted to reply. No words brimmed. Not a syllable. Dammit, she needed just one go-to line, something coy and smooth and elegant. The Charlie to his Maverick. Tell me, are you a…good pilot? But even Charlie had eventually peeled off her seamed stockings, and this man had exposed so much more of her than that. In the last couple of hours, she’d shown him more of herself than most people saw over years. It was more than just the steamy naked stuff. It was the baring of her soul—the parts of her that were womanly and vulnerable, a little scared yet yearning to battle free from those limits, too.

  He had seen it all. Understood it all.

  He’d freed it all.

  And that scared the living crap out of her.

  He couldn’t have it all. Nobody could. She’d divvied her life into clean compartments for a reason—a damn good one. If one of the sections collapsed, the others would remain intact. Nothing to get hurt. Everything safe, by the rules. That had even explained her initial fascination with BDSM and submission. She could dress pretty, follow the rules, obey the orders, and get a prize. Hell, the best prize of them all.

  But now she knew the truth. It was about so much more than that. Too much.

  The broadside hit again. Her senses rebelled, unable to process anything more. She tensed, knowing the griffin would surely notice the change in her muscles. His indrawn breath betrayed that he did. Panic grabbed deeper. She couldn’t let him get in the verbal kicker again. He’d say something magical and wonderfully captivating, then add a soft kiss or ten to ensure her bones were fully liquefied.

  And she’d never get out of tonight without half her soul missing.

  “I’m getting prune fingers in here.” Not the greatest but an acceptable start. “I’d better start thinking of—”

  going home.

  The words were ditched as soon as the man lifted her from the water, turned her in his arms, and swathed her in a huge towel. Home might just need a new definition tonight. She was so warm. Calm. Safe. Though her condo had a killer view of Red Rock and a kitchen to make any foodie drool, nothing about returning to it felt like a blanket to get lost in, a safe harbor in which to drop anchor.

  Nothing about Sir Sexy should have, either.

  But everything about him…did.

  Still moving as if she hadn’t said a thing, he carried her to a wide chaise-style bed tucked into an alcove near the pool. A mountain of gold and blue pillows was arranged against the headboard. Near the foot, another ornate serving tray supported more food—correction, one of the best chocolate selections she’d ever seen—along with bottles of the flavored fitness water she liked so much.

  As Sexy settled her against the pillows, patterns of light were reflected from the pool, dancing over his sculpted chest and biceps—boulders in shades of aqua and white. She absorbed the sight greedily, barely resisting the urge to join those lucky light rays and fondle every inch of him.

  Barely.

  Resisting.

  He was so damn mesmerizing…

  What harm would it be to trace the edge of just one perfect pectoral? Embrace the bulge of just one sinewy shoulder?

  “Just one,”? And what alternate universe are you living in, Lesange, that you think you’ll stop there?

  He became her knight in half-soaked leathers, saving her from herself by climbing in for the perfect spoon, instead. Nestling her head into the crook of his shoulder, he curled up one hand to finger-comb her hair. His other hand snuck beneath the towel, lightly stroking the curve of her thigh.

  It was a textbook finish to quite possibly the best night of her life—doubling her guilt for letting a frustrated huff break free.

  “Okay,” the griffin murmured. “Talk to me.” He synched up his touches, matching the massages of her scalp to his fingertips’ spider act on her hip.

  Here it was. Her open door of opportunity. She just hadn’t expected it that wide. His insistence on the mask, on the voice alteration, on using nicknames for her most of the time, and even the burner phone he’d used to call her from yesterday (yeah, she’d checked in spite of herself)…none of those factors were huge screams for the Great Tess Inquisition. In short, she’d come to this part of things completely unprepared.

  Can I use my phone call to a friend, please? She smiled in spite of herself, wondering exactly what Dan would say about all of this.

  “Rose?”

  She tilted her head, responding to his undertone of alarm, discernible despite the voice disk. “I’m just thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About how to broach the subject that I barely know you.”

  She didn’t anticipate that would surprise him. Sure enough, neither of his hands faltered. He only shifted an inch, pressing closer behind her. “Do you really believe that?”

  Every syllable he uttered was like a kiss of completion. Every breath he pushed against her neck was matched by one from her own lungs. In so many ways, he was right. They were so right.

  “I don’t even know your real name,” she persisted.

  “And I know yours?”

  He had a point—at least halfway. She tried to push away. He locked his arm around her waist. She capitulated, facing the futility of resistance. Okay, so there was the newness factor about feeling up an eight-pack with her ass. There had to be some scientific value to the world in that research. She was willing to take the step for humanity.

  “I—I work for the government,” she stated. “I have to be careful. I rely on the trust and respect of others to get my job accomplished. While my free time choices should have no bearing on that—”

  “It’s not always the case.” He finished for her in a deep mutter. “I understand.”

  Just like that, he’d cracked open his door a little more. “You do, don’t you?” she returned.

  Was that why he needed total anonymity? Was his day job just as intense as hers? Maybe moreso? Was he a high-ranking officer from Nellis? An elected city official? A famous performer from one of the shows on the Strip? Even in Vegas, public perception was a huge quotient of acceptance. Kink was still “wrong” to so many. In short, one could sin in the City of Sin as long as they were nobody.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered. “This is just strange for me. Sharing what we’ve shared, twice now—”

 
“Which won’t change in importance if we exchange birth certificate details,” Sexy interjected. Though humor laced his voice, she also felt the intent beneath it—how strongly he stressed the word “importance”.

  “You’re right.”

  Obeying a sudden impulse, she tilted her head back, seeking his kiss. He obliged readily, forming his mouth to hers though keeping tongues totally out of the picture. Even so, her core awakened for him again. Her tunnel constricted in need. Unbelievably, it was one of the hottest kisses they’d ever shared.

  When he finally pulled up, she gulped then rasped, “Damn.”

  “Yeah,” he grated back. “Damn.”

  “That really didn’t stop me from wanting to know everything about you.”

  He chuckled as she rolled back over, letting his lips continue out along her shoulder. “Nor I you, sweet woman. Nor I you.”

  Another sigh escaped her. This time, it was pushed by much different emotions. Fulfillment, but longing. Satiation, but thirst. Feeling complete, yet utterly broken.

  She swallowed. Clenched her teeth against the stings behind her eyes. When Sexy felt the change in her, accommodating by pulling her yet tighter, she fought the urge to elbow him in the gut for it.

  “Don’t,” she begged. “Please. Don’t…”

  “Ssshhh.”

  “No.” Dammit, now her voice cracked. “I don’t want to ssshhh. I don’t want to have to.”

  “I know.” He scraped her hair a little harder. His arm cinched her waist tighter. “I know.”

  Screw it. She let the salty rush come, flowing over her cheeks. “This is it, isn’t it?” she charged. “With us. With this. You’re not going to call again, or even come back to Catacomb again. That’s the reason you arranged for the Cadillac aftercare. The pool, the fruit, the chocolate. We’re not going to do this again.”

  She had a mental short list of possible reactions from him, but the little push it took for him to get her on her back, fully beneath him now, wasn’t one of them. As he braced himself over her on his elbows, Tess could stare straight past the mask, into the intensity of his eyes. They were like dual oceans in a storm, whipped by winds of conflict, tides of sadness.

  Finally, he muttered, “Do you think that would be a good idea?”

  She didn’t speak the answer. She already knew it—and saw that he did, too. Tonight’s “play” session had to be—well—one of the worst-named hours in the history of kink. None of it had been “play” for either of them. Every touch, every word, every command, and every obeisance had been another drop of glue in a bond that would only deepen if they entered another dungeon together. Even tonight, that glue had become part of her blood…that was thick in every tear on her cheeks now.

  Tess wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down against her. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  “No.” Though he growled it before her final word was done, his throat clutched on the sound. He repeated it, just as broken, while hammering the opposite effect with the thrust of his hips between hers. “Not yet,” he rasped into her ear.

  “Not yet,” she echoed, letting the towel fall free and her thighs fall open. The fly of his leathers was taut again, the button he’d left undone now a wonderful scratch against her abdomen. “Please.”

  “I’m here,” he told her. The slash of his zipper was as perfect a sound as the pool’s lapping waters. “I’m here.”

  And then he was.

  Sliding on another condom, then moistening it with the juices from her needy folds. Making her shudder again as he teased the broad head along her erect clit—then slid it deeper, deeper still, nudging her open more, more—

  Then filling her as no one had before.

  As, quite possibly, no one might ever again.

  In ways she didn’t even want to contemplate.

  Not now.

  Dammit…not ever.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‡

  “Master?”

  The little redhead who’d just entered Dan’s living room directed the request over her shoulder, at the tall, tawny-haired man with whom he’d just broken from a gruff guy hug.

  “Yes, my beauty?” Levi called in his smooth Georgia accent, reminding Dan it had been too damn long since he’d been back home. Maybe it was because he realized that he’d soon be seeing more of Atlanta than he cared to. In another year, maybe two, Dad would be officially resigning the helm of Colton Steel—to him. This place, with the ranch-style layout and the rich desert colors he loved so much, would only be his vacation home.

  His chest clenched. His gut twisted.

  Focus on the moment. Not the future, not the past. Just now, goddammit, and how good it feels to be just living it.

  Seven years of field work in the CIA had taught him to carve the mantra into his brain—especially after the mission that had changed his life.

  Two nights of being inside Tess Lesange, and it was all razed to nothing.

  He’d start the engraving all over again tonight. At least he’d try, considering the circumstances. The resolve enforced the smile on his lips as little Bella Stratham turned to them, hands braced on her hips, exposing the green and gold tattoos that swirled up both her arms. The same colors were woven through her casual sweater dress, worn over heeled suede boots. She gave his buddy, Levi Cowell, a scowl of such domestic ire, nobody would’ve guessed they weren’t wifie and hubbie, or even brother and sister.

  In many ways, their relationship went deeper than either. They were submissive and Dominant, one of his favorite couples from the Shadowlands club back home.

  Okay, technically not home home, but Tampa wasn’t a long hop in the company jet. Using the thing had always made him wince a little, until having a compelling reason to use it. He’d never thought that cause would arise until a couple of years ago, when taking a brief leave from the Agency to help Dad handle an issue with a Colton steel ex-employee. When the bastard started getting violent, Levi was called in to supervise extra security measures for the Colton HQ buildings, and became a friend Dan would value for the rest of his life. Bonded initially by their Georgia roots and mutual quest for the perfect slice of peach pie, the friendship moved deeper the moment they discovered another mutual interest: the BDSM dynamic. Levi introduced Dan to Dominants who helped him understand and embrace his attraction to the darker side of kink, not to mention a few submissives who shared the same passions.

  There’d been some extraordinary sessions with those wonderful women, times he’d never forget—but they, and those nights at the Shadowlands, were just memories now. None of it resonated in the core of him, the crater deep inside that had yet to be flooded with the fulfillment of bringing a woman every drop she needed from the beauty of Power Exchange, too. He’d begun comparing himself to a loser Don Quixote, chasing a Dulcinea who simply didn’t exist—until the session last Friday night that had changed everything.

  Focus. On. The. Moment.

  Isabelle—Bella to everyone except her parents and the IRS—certainly helped on that level, twisting her lips and blurting, “Didn’t you tell me Dan wasn’t seeing a woman right now?”

  Dan scowled. “I’m not.” He glanced back at Levi, who gave an urbane shrug. “Why?”

  Bella looked around the room again. “Oh, I get it. So you’re seeing a man.”

  “Excuse the hell out of me?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it, Dan.”

  “No shit. But why the hell do you think—”

  “Please.” She arched a brow. “Candles on the mantle? Fresh flowers everywhere? Napkin rings and bread plates on the table? You wouldn’t think of this shit if you were tied down and forced to read every Lauren Conrad blog post on the ’net.”

  “Lauren who?”

  “Annnd there’s my point.”

  “What point?”

  Bella glowered. The look emphasized her own burn scar, a silvery path that disappeared down the left side of her neck, reminding Dan why she could get away with th
is sass with him. He owed her. She’d reached out at one of the darkest times of his life, after the docs had told him much of the burn damage on his face would be permanent. While Tess had been there as a friend for his heart, Bella had been there for his head, coordinating with Tess through hours’ worth of video chats. The woman’s unique mix of sarcasm and pragmatism had been invaluable. Unlike others, she’d never made him feel like a victim—because he sure as fuck wasn’t one. Nobody had forced him to run into that burning building. While he’d been on crisis autopilot, thinking only of getting those nurses out alive, he’d also been jacked on his typical idiotic swagger. He’d dodged bullets, escaped battle zones, and been catching the bad guys for years. What the hell was the issue with a burning building?

  The answer to that had come the hard way. As every mirror on the planet reminded him, every single day.

  Bella’s huff yanked him back to the moment. “Don’t play coy, Colton. Where is she?”

  Levi cocked a brow at his woman. Though the guy had ditched his typical dark suit for a fitted blue sweater and black casual pants, he still looked ready to commandeer a tank if he had to. “Sugar, it is Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanksgiving weekend.” She nodded toward the appetizer plates on the coffee table. “The Food Channel’s already moved on to recipes with leftovers, but this guy has crackers arranged like a flower.”

  Levi stepped toward his subbie. Looked at the table. Raised a brow again—at Dan. “She’s right. You have a cracker flower.”

  Dan chuckled. Stretched a finger along his temple. “All right. You got me. Her name is Olga. I found her on Craig’s List for a song. They have a new category there. ‘Betty Crockers for Crabby Bachelors.’ She’s been great. Doesn’t exactly look like Betty Crocker, though. If you can ignore the wart on her chin and the hair in her ears—”

  “Watch it, pal. You’re on thin ice there.”

  He didn’t have to worry about a good comeback for Tess’s interruption. Bella’s squeal handled the job fine. She nearly tackled Tess, making him damn glad his little rose had kicked off her own heels in favor of bare feet beneath her pink, retro-inspired jumpsuit. As the two redheads enjoyed their first in-person hug, Dan joined Levi in snaking a couple of “petals” from the cracker flower.