A WILDer Kind of Love (18 page)

“Me? Well, wow. Was that before or after you decided he was arrogant?”

She smiled. “You forgot ruthless.”

“Ohhh, right. And ruthless.”

The smile bubbled into a laugh. “Dan Colton, you are so full of shit sometimes.”

Her eyes twinkled like fairy dust again. The tears were gone, thank God, and he held her through a pause of easy silence. If she was on to him, even a little, he was pretty certain he’d know. Firsthand, he’d witnessed the woman turn into a sabretooth over the
idea
of deception. Granted, the fuck-up in question was usually a bunch of traitors on the other side of the world, but to Tess, it made no difference. Her drive for the truth wasn’t just the nucleus of her nickname at the Agency. It was woven into the center of her character. Façades didn’t come easily for her, even in the name of gaining greater truths, such as adopting a cover story for a mission—or donning a mask for her first visit to a kink club. It was why she wasn’t interested in field ops, and probably why she’d yanked off her mask so fast after they “met” at Catacomb. And yeah, as much as she’d respected his right to keep his cover on, she’d still tried to sneak a peek at him, too. Thank fuck he’d nipped that little temptation in the bud—

A lucky break he wouldn’t be getting again.

He harbored no illusions about that—or about how close to the cliff he’d truly danced on Friday. While he would gladly do it all over again, it was now another secret to be buried for the rest of his life. There’d be no “having one too many” with Tess and letting it slip past a booze haze. Not another “moment of weakness” when they got together for bad action movies and ended up spilling their guts to each other on the couch instead. And for fuck sake, there’d be no letting his dick, his pride, and his possessiveness collaborate on making a decision for him again. About
anything
.

She broke their silence by pulling him into another heartfelt embrace. “I’m glad you’re here. Thanks for coming over.”

He wound his arms around her in return. “You’re welcome, ruby girl.”

She lifted a hand, playing with the hairs along his nape. He tunneled fingers under her brilliant curls, doing the same.

“This feels good,” she murmured.

“You’re right,” he replied. “As usual.”

As she chuckled against his neck, a thought occurred. Maybe he’d been enduring a little drop of his own. It happened to Doms all the time too, not that he’d ever dealt with it himself—but he’d always had a high-octane job waiting.

He’d also never had a scene like the one he’d shared with Tess.

The connection. The heat. Her body. Her bravery.

Magic.

She was, he decided, extraordinary. More so than he’d ever given her credit for.

She sniffed. It was softer than the sobs, tamped again when she swallowed hard. “I’m still such a mess,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry.”

He twined fingers deeper in her hair and chastised, “No.
I’m
sorry, sweetheart.”

“What? Why?”

Well, wasn’t this little resolve for secrecy going well already? “Because…I’m a guy.”
Lame. Ass
. “And guys do dumb things. Even Dom guys who are—how’d you say it—”

“Amazing? Commanding? Mysterious? Sexy?”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Even Dom guys who are all that.”

“But he’s not the dumb one here.” A few new tears threaded her confession. “
I
am.”

He huffed. “Tess—”

“I fucked it up, okay?” She was really clinging to this one—another non-surprise, considering how doggedly she pursued everything from domestic terrorist cells to her new CrossFit classes. “This isn’t his issue. It’s mine. Somewhere along the line, I didn’t just blur the line. I stomped right over it. So just tell me. Be honest, Colton. That’s why I’m going through this now, right? I did this to myself.
Dammit
.”

“Okay, red light,” he finally barked. Pushed her back enough in order to get a straight-on view of her face. “Hold up the hay cart, honey. What the hell are you talking about?”

She responded with a dutiful, deep breath—perhaps one of the most gorgeous sights he’d ever seen—though a week ago, it would’ve flown right over his head as the truth it really was. Her strength and talent at work had blinded him to a truth that was there all along: Tess Lesange really was submissive.

Stunningly, perfectly so.

“I tripped up,” she began again. “On the expectations side of things. Does that make sense?”

“Not entirely. Go on.” He said it after a long moment of studying her. He’d always noticed the obvious things about her beauty: her collector doll eyes, vibrant hair, and of course, those plush, pouty lips. Why had he never looked further? Observed how her eyes turned velvety when she talked of naughty things? Noticed how her cheeks flushed dark pink…and her back straightened, trying to relieve the pressure that built in her aroused areolas? Of course, he was rarely treated to the view he had now, those puckered peaks stabbing at her tank top, making him harder by the second…

“We—Griffin and I—walked into that playroom with open eyes,” she explained.” I wasn’t expecting hearts and roses and collars afterward, and neither was he.” The rose hue took over more of her cheeks.
Fucking perfect
. “This may sound weird, but…I think it made me more relaxed. Like I was a different person in that room, you know? No worries about what I’d say during the afterglow, or how awkward our goodbye would be. I just focused on each moment as it happened.”

“Yeah. I get it.” He reached for one of her hands and squeezed. “And no, it’s not weird.”

It occurred to him that the last time he’d done this, they’d been at lunch at Mundo. Like then, a palpable current zipped between them, sizzling with connection. To Tess, little had changed about that fun, friendly spark. To him, everything had changed. In seconds, all his mind’s eye could see was her nude beauty, spread and bound and clamped beneath him. Then her eyes, dilated and dark. Then her chest, rising and falling, as she waited for him to feed his cock into her tight, wet, readiness…

Damn.

Just get through this, and everything will get easier. She’ll move on, you’ll
move on, and so will the memories.

“So…” She sucked in a rickety breath. “What the hell’s wrong with me, Dan?” When he pulled a little, wanting to just get her close again, she climbed all the way into his lap. “What the
hell
is wrong with me?”

He wound his arms around her, hating himself for her tears, but with disgusting selfishness, welcoming them—at least now. He’d been off-balance since Friday, too—and only now did he realize the reason why. He was a Dom who craved the darker edges of D/s, which meant the balance of lavishing his subbies with his softer side, too. He’d never skipped on aftercare with a submissive—until Friday.

Dumb ass.

Maybe now, he could right the axis again. For both of them.

“Tess. Sweetheart.” He buried his lips against her hair, savoring the citrus of the product she lavished on it. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Which is why I can’t stop blubbering?”

He stroked fingers up and down her spine. “You know damn well what’s going on. Say it for me, ruby. Let me know you understand.”

She swallowed hard but uttered, “Sub drop?”

“Good girl.”

“But it’s been three days.” She angled a little, in order to raise her face toward him. Her irises were full of dark green tumult, soaking his chest in a new storm of remorse. “Three
days
, Dan. Typically, a submissive will display signs of sub drop for only a day or two after the dynamic with their Dom, especially after a scene of just an hour.”

He snorted and wasn’t shy about it. “Which textbook did that one come from?”

“All of them.”

“Then all of them don’t know shit.”

“Excuse me?”

He embraced the excuse for bracing the side of her face, locking her stare into him. “For starters, you picked Catacomb for this little stunt of yours. Since that place isn’t listed in the tourist guides or on the lifestyle directories, I assume you researched the choice—meaning you know
it
isn’t textbook, either.”

Her lips compressed. “It wasn’t a ‘stunt.’”

His gaze descended. Tight or not, he loved looking at her strawberry-dark mouth. It was his personal fetish, making him clench all over, battling the new surge of his erection. Fuck, how he longed to kiss his apology into her. Hard.

“Sorry,” he finally muttered. “Bad choice of words. But I stand by the intent.”

“I know.” Her response was equally soft, staying in the cocoon sealed by his hold. It pulled him a little closer. Shit…when she got all raspy and trusting like this, all he wanted to do was turn into her real cocoon, never letting anything or anyone hurt her—a thought that opened the way for others, sudden and troubling.

What really would’ve happened if he hadn’t been there at Catacomb?

A Friday night, at the dungeon known for allowing its players to walk on the harder edges of BDSM. Some Dom
would
have noticed her and taken her willing submissiveness as permission—for anything. Screw the limits, let alone a safe word. Who knew better than him that dickheads could find their way past any barrier, even a screening process like Max’s?

“Tess.” No use holding back the intensity of his anxiety. “Why the hell did you pick Catacomb?”

His desperate tone seemed to puzzle her. “Are you pissed that I picked it, or that I didn’t tell you?”

“Both.” At least he could give her this truth. “And I’m not pissed. I’m—”

“Yes, you are.”

“Tess! God
damn
.” He constricted his grip. “I’m—I’m scared, okay?”

That
got her attention. Should have. Fear wasn’t his default mode. It was the rare gear, and he hated indulging it. But this time, it had gotten the jump on him. Bitten him so hard, his throat turned his next words into sandpaper.

“You could’ve been sitting here dealing with a lot worse than sub drop,” he accused. “
A lot
worse.”

She sighed. Looked tempted to roll her eyes. Neither helped his tension. “You want to give me some credit here? In case you’ve forgotten, I peg lying assholes for a living.”

“Through surveillance footage and radio chatter,” he rebutted. She fumed a little and tried to pull away. He yanked her back in, purposely letting her chest press to his. “Things are a lot different in a dungeon and you know it. When the light is dark, the air smells like leather, and a Dom is looking at you like he wants to take you to heaven and back,”—he paused, savoring the catch in her breath and the dilation of her eyes—“the bad guys aren’t so easy to discern, are they?”

Shit. Why hadn’t he taken off his jacket? Her nipples were probably tighter now, incessant buttons that would stab past her shirt
and
his, teasing his skin with their erect heat…

“You know what?” He drew her in even tighter, molding her thigh along his. “Even
I
could be a bad guy.”

Her breath snagged again. So did his. When they inhaled again, they also did it together. One rhythm. One energy. Just another couple of inches, and he could turn it into one kiss, too. One taste…

Her lips parted.
Fuck
, her lips.

“How bad?”

He pulled on her. Another inch gone. Her whisper still vibrated the air. He could practically taste her now. The salt of her tears. The thickness of her desire. The promise of how good both would be, swirled together on her tongue…and his…

What could one kiss hurt?

With a groan, he jerked back.

Everything. It could hurt absolutely everything.

What would she taste on
his
tongue? Would she recognize the flavors of her griffin once her eyes were closed, her other senses opened? What then? Even if she didn’t make the immediate connection, what would such a move do to her—processing the kiss from one man while dealing with the fallout from being dominated by another? Why the hell did he even consider fucking up her brain that way? Had he gone insane?

In disgust, he faced the inexorable answer to that.

Yes.

When it came to thinking about anyone hurting even a hair on Tess Lesange’s head,
his
head rammed into the socket marked
insane
.

“Bad enough,” he finally answered her. “Which you should take as another lesson, dammit.”

Tess sat up a little more. “All right.” She parted the air with outward sweeps of her hands. “All right. I get it. Yes, Sir.”

Every word of it, even the last two, was sweetly compliant—raising every red flag in his brain again. There was only one reason she’d capitulate so fast about this.

“You’re going to go back.” He didn’t hold back the brutality of the snarl. “To that place. Aren’t you?”

She bolted to her feet. Folded her arms. “‘That place’?” she retorted. “It’s not the middle of Bogota, okay?”

“You’d be safer in Bogota. At least you’d be conscious of the danger you’re facing.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Right.” He angled back, also crossing his arms. “Because you did so well handling everything from your first visit. Those shadows under your eyes are just my imagination. The corn chips on the counter
and
that empty ice cream bowl in the sink, same thing.”

“Stop it,” she seethed.

“No,” he snapped. “You’ve holed up in here like a hormonal teenager, Tess—for three days. Ignored calls and texts. Sleeping patterns off. Is this the behavior of a submissive who’s acting in her best mental and physical welfare?”

He made damn good points—but as the words spewed out, they felt and sounded all wrong. He was channeling his inner griffin, including the arrogant and ruthless knobs cranked to eleven.

Tess’s furious flush confirmed it.

“Get out,” she spat. Arrowed a stiff arm toward the door.

He didn’t blame her. But nor was he going to heed her. “All right, all right. Wrong choice of words again. But—”

“No,” she spat. “No wrong words. Wrong
concept
.” Before he could react, she turned one of the throw pillows into a
throw
pillow. It smacked his head with a
whump
. “You know what? Go screw yourself, Colton. Seems to be what you’re hell-bent on doing anyway so don’t come in here and grandstand about my precious ‘submissive safety’ when I offered it to
you
in the first place.” A new wince crumpled her features. “Thanks for that new tune in the key of humiliation, by the way.”