A WILDer Kind of Love (7 page)

She’d finally understood, thank God. They’d hugged to affirm the new course of their friendship, righted on a fresh keel of honesty.

Then why hadn’t his demon gone back into hibernation?

Why was he taking four days of radio silence from Tess into something more than they were? Why didn’t he believe himself when rationalizing she’d likely just been thrown an intense case? Why was he so restless that he’d called Franz and suggested they go out?

Why was he so messed up, he’d thought a few hours in Catacomb would
calm
him? That all this would
help
with the images she’d evoked the other day? That he’d be able to banish the dream of her nudity as she stripped for him…then the fantasy of her dark red curls beneath his fingers as she knelt at his side? And the imagining of her lips, so plump and red, wrapped around those same fingers as he slipped them inside her mouth. Then the words he’d murmur, telling her how good it would feel when he fed her his cock in the same way.

Shit.

No more thinking of your best friend’s mouth like that, dammit.

Not even as Max slipped his fingers between his little
tamago
’s lips, damn near picking up where his fantasy left off.

Dan grimaced. “
Dude
. Want to show some mercy to the hard-ups?”

“Speak for yourself,” Franz snarled. “But
you,
”—he speared a finger Max’s way—“are still being cruel.”

“
Pssshhh
,” Max volleyed. “Cruel would be neglecting to tell you who just walked in the door.” After Franz spun on his stool, eyed the cute blonde goth at the door then appeared to swallow his tongue, Max chuckled. “Yes, I called her when I knew you were coming. And yes, you’re welcome.”

The half-Samoan swung his friend a pleading stare. “Tell me you reserved room five for us and I’m naming my firstborn after you.”

Max barked a laugh. “The thought of your progeny bearing my name is a terror I’d never unleash on the world.”

“Whatever. Room five?”

“What’s in room five?” Dan cut in.

“Not much.” Max smirked. “No carpet, pillows, or cushions on the rack. Fairly primeval.”

“Exactly what she begged for the last time we scened,” Franz filled in.

“Damn.” Dan smirked. “Dog face has found a soul mate.”

“Right?”

“Just give me some advance notice for the wedding date. I lost my social coordinator a few days ago.”

Franz glowered. “Mention the
w
word again and you’re castrated.”

Outwardly, Dan chuckled. Inwardly, a different growl echoed.
Castration would be a mercy, my friend. At least my body won’t remember what I’m missing.

Max held out his hand to Franz. A medieval-looking key hung from his finger, engraved with a fancy number 5. “All yours.”

Franz’s lips burst into a grin. “You’re a god.”

Tamago slapped his arm. “My line again!”

“Easy, baby.” Brick’s words were cute but the tone was command. He stressed the point by tucking a hand beneath her corset and sharply pinching one nipple. After she grimaced, Tamago dipped her head Franz’s way.

“Apologies for the outburst, Sir.”

“Accepted, my girl.” Franz threw a grin at Max. “Guess we’ll both have our hands full tonight, buddy.”

The pronouncement actually gusted Dan with relief. He’d bit off more than he could chew tonight. Mix, mingle, and make-nicey were normally smack-dab in his wheelhouse but that was in another life, a Dan with another face—a guy who’d walk into a club as incredible as this and barely pause at the bar, let alone think of camping out at it all night, nursing good Scotch and Shazzam-ing tunes from the stream of sensual EDM flowing from the speakers. By this point, he’d have a sweet subbie writhing under his ropes as he contemplated which flogger would make her screams the loudest, her pussy the wettest…

Fuck.

He was going to need a lot more Scotch.

But wondered why Max contemplated the bottle with equal intensity. “Go have your fun, dude,” he told Franz. “I think I’ll be pulling public duty for a few more hours tonight, at least.”

“Huh?” Franz volleyed. “Why?”

“We have a new girl in the house.”

He nodded toward the second living room area that the bar overlooked. Both spaces were crowded tonight, lots of people hanging out in couples or small groups, chatting or snacking before deciding what playrooms they’d be going to. In general, the crowd struck Dan as experienced and informed—not that newbs had the word stamped on their forehead—but there
was
a nervous energy that first-timers to the scene usually gave off, especially women. It made them as detectable as cheese to rats—a perfect comparison, since that was usually how the Doms in the room behaved once the chase was on.

Dan gazed across both rooms again. No swarming rats yet though there was a lone figure, sitting in a wingback chair, at the back of the second room. From here, she could only be viewed from mid-torso down. And damn, what a torso it was. Even half her cleavage was a pleasure, imagining how high and pert her tits likely were, spilling from her red latex corset. Delicate tattoos feathered from her bare shoulders to just above her elbows. Her stiff forearms led to the tight clasp of her hands in her lap—perhaps because she knew that from there down, the ensemble needed an overhaul. As in, huge. Where the hell had she gotten that black lace skirt? Its layers looked more Dolly Parton than dolly kinky, stopping at the tops of lace-up boots that looked like she’d really tromped across the desert to get here tonight.

“What the hell?” Dan groused.

“Right?” It came from Tamago, who glanced up at Max for the clearance to say more. When he nodded, she went on, “After Master gave her the orientation three nights ago, I tried talking to her about the Little Match Girl look. She’s been too nervous to give it up.”

“Too
nervous
?” Dan echoed.

“She won’t come out and
say
it.” Tamago shrugged. “But a girl knows when another girl says she’s ‘fine’ and means it—and when she doesn’t.”

“Is she in the right place?” he inquired. “She had orientation
three
nights ago?”

“And keeps coming back,” Max filled in. “And just sitting in that same chair.”

“And not a single Dom’s requested her?”

Tamago offered, “Well, she also insists on the mask.”

“The—” Dan couldn’t help his double-take. “There’s a
mask
involved, too?

“Well, it’s a super
pretty
mask.”

“Pretty or not, she’s a bank of virgin snow at this.” Which had its own set of plusses and minuses, though the mask clearly belonged in the latter column. “How’s a Dom supposed to read her if she’s wearing a damn mask?”

Max spoke for everyone with his weighted exhalation. “Now you know why I’m a little uppity.”

“Uppity?” Franz grunted. “You did not just say ‘uppity.’”

Max rolled his eyes. “Don’t you have a subbie to flog?”

Franz’s lips lifted again. “Now that you mention it…” He shoved to his feet. “You all know where I’ll be. Knock on the door only if there’s really a nuclear apocalypse. Wait. No. Only if there’s a
zombie
apocalypse.”

Apocalypses. Zombies. World destruction. All the connections were too easy—and cruel—to reach, as Franz stepped away, just as the woman across the room fully rose from her chair fortress.

And the bottom fell out of Dan’s gut.

Yep. There was the mask, easily covering half her face—its strings tied beneath a waterfall of brilliant red curls.

Rose Temptation.

The color he hadn’t been able to forget for four damn days.

Framing the face that had clung even tighter to his mind.

The proud carriage of her neck. The determination beneath her heart-shaped chin. The high, sweeping cheekbones. And damn—
damn
—that perfect pinup girl’s mouth, defined by her favorite cherry red lip stain, glistening anew as she swiped her tongue nervously between the curved surfaces…

“Fuck,” Dan grated. He spun back around on his bar stool as her gaze circled toward them. Ducked his head, leaning it into his right hand.

What the hell
? Why was he hiding from her? Wouldn’t be like she’d be stunned to see him here. She knew all about his dark side. Probably too much.

But you told her, anyway. You told her more because she always begged to know—and that felt good. Damn good. Better therapy than what the “assigned” shrinks had done for you. Because that was something you were
ever
going to bring up to a person who could decide if you got your job back, right?

There was that.

Which didn’t do shit for
this
. All the craziness in his nervous system, still breaking down the fact that Tess stood across the room, looking like
that
. That she was so determined to find a Dom, she’d come to the most hardcore club in the city by herself, for the third night in a row—

Where she eventually
would
find that Dom.

The guy who would be good to her. Would be good
for
her. Every Dom and Domme in this place had to pass Max’s rigorous evaluation process first. They’d been studied, screened, and tested. They were men and women damn good at what they did, serious about their responsibilities to the people who knelt and served them.

She’d asked
him
to be that guy.

He’d turned her down.

Karma’s teeth did
not
feel good in his ass.

“Dan?” Max’s query was low with concern. “You chill, man? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

He forced a nod while sneaking another glance at Tess. “Maybe I’d have preferred one.” God
damn
. One of the overhead lights caught the top of her head. Her hair was like fire, her skin toasted cream. He didn’t even dwell on her mouth. Hard-ons were tough to hide once they busted past a guy’s fly.

Max didn’t miss a nuance of his movement. “Now you know why I’m ‘uppity’ about her.” The guy cocked his skull-cut head while bracing his huge arms to the bar. “Though my screening process is rigid, I’m tweaked that some guy is going to hear ‘new’ and think ‘open to anything.’”

“Fuck,” Dan snarled. “You’re right.” Everything about Tess’s wide stare, nervous gulps, and lost lamb stance was like an open gate for a Dom who wanted fresh ground to churn with dark fantasies. But that was the trouble with plowing fertile soil. If tilled too deeply, it was ruined for any growth.

“Last couple of nights haven’t been a huge concern,” Max went on. “Midweek without a huge convention in town, we usually see only regulars and their bottoms. But it’s Friday now. I can already see a few of the weekend guys considering a re-set of their radars in her direction.”

“Who? Where?”

“Whoa. Easy there, Drothaki.”

“
Where
?”

“Snarls don’t earn you cookies. Or answers. What the hell, Colton? Do you know her or something?”

He wanted to lie but karma had it too bad for him as it was. “Yeah,” he muttered. “In a way.” Max’s snicker whipped his head up. “What the fuck’s so funny?”

“‘In a way?’” Max taunted. “Dude, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?” he snapped. “Breathing? Sitting? Enjoying my drink?”

“Gawking? Scowling?” The guy chuckled again. “And sure as hell not ‘enjoying’ yourself.” He suddenly frowned. “Don’t tell me you’ve played with her before.”

“No.” He had no idea why the clarification felt so important. “Fuck, no.”

Max settled in lower, meaning he leaned closer. Nearly beneath his breath, he murmured, “So do it now.”

“
Fuck
no.”

“You want to, Colton. Don’t tell me you don’t.”

He jerked up his head. “You know what I was doing one week ago tonight, don’t you? Looking at these hands as they shook, Brick.
Shook
because I didn’t know if I could hold myself back from killing Cameron Stock as we flew his sorry ass back to the states.”

“But you didn’t.” Max notched his stance one degree closer. “And I’ll bet, my friend, that you need to shut off the world as badly as she does. Maybe this is exactly what
you
need, too.”

He hated how much that made sense. How much he couldn’t retort that hooking him up with Tess would mean the monkey was off Max’s back. Max was a lifestyle purist who actually liked the monkeys, so that argument had no teeth.

What was he supposed to do now? Stride over and inform Tess that—
ta da
—here he was, and he’d changed his mind? That getting a good look at her in latex had reformed him about getting into a playroom with her? It’d be a lie. She could’ve worn a damn potato sack, and watching her walk off with
any
man would mangle him worse than a totaled semi.

Who was he kidding? He’d already been tossed into the scrap heap, dammit—and now glared hopelessly at the two metal plates about to crush him, one stamped with
Damned if you do
the other stamped with
Damned if you don’t
.

“What I need is to get the hell out of here,” he finally answered Max. “Look, if you can just call me a cab, then—”

He spoke to empty air. Max had gone ninja. Tamago didn’t provide any clues as to where he’d disappeared either, having moved to the other end of the bar, absorbed in conversation with a newly arrived couple to the club.

“Shit.” He fought a weird paralysis. He didn’t dare look back at gauge where Tess had traveled in the room. Did it matter? He could pretend not to notice her, that her mask was meeting its purpose, that her hair hadn’t already given her away like a signal flare.

Or he could really just get the hell out of here.

Just as he pulled out his phone and punched in a search string for reputable cab companies, a text blazed across his screen—from ninja boy.

:: I have an idea. Meet me in the storeroom behind the bar. ::

“Shit,” he repeated. “The last time I bought into one of your ‘ideas’, Brickham…”

Was all too recently. Tait’s bachelor party, at Gilley’s two weeks ago. Everyone had gotten blotto except him. Not one of the most memorable nights of his life—probably because he
could
remember it.

But going to the storeroom meant he wasn’t sitting out here, waiting for Tess to spot him like a fly on a pest strip.