Free A WILDer Kind of Love by Angel Payne

him burn to rip the thing off—while vowing to keep it on. Some crazy logic dictated that if the cover stayed, he could ward off the images, so vivid and merciless, of Tess giving her submission to another man.
    Just what you told her to do, asshole.
    Kneeling for him. Undressing for him.
    Because that’s better than her doing it for you, right? You’re still too fucked up to handle it. To even consider handling it .
    Wrapping her full ruby lips around his fingers…
    The sound that emanated up his gut and out his throat seemed more beast than man, even pushing Max back by two steps. That was just fucking fine. Took away the hassle of having to slam Brick against the employee lockers as he retied the mask, double-knotting it this time, then whipped off his leather jacket and T-shirt.
    “The rose is going to be fine.” He embedded his ownership on every word. As each syllable growled out of him, he wasn’t surprised to watch a slow, knowing grin grew across Max’s lips. Or to receive his buddy’s respectful utterance in response.
    “Understood completely, Sir Daniel.”

Chapter Four
    ‡
    “L ittle rose.”
    Tess jumped out of her chair. Literally. Not that it had been a particularly comfortable chair. She’d found another wingback in the second of Catacomb’s living room areas, hoping she’d have better results in here with the whole calm-down-and-talk-to-somebody-dammit efforts.
    And how did all that go for you, missie? Did changing rooms help you escape one drop of the feeling that you’ve showed up at Prom without a date, three damn nights in a row ?
    She’d given herself until eleven o’clock to get the stick out of her ass and strike up a conversation with somebody, or just leave. No use sticking around until midnight when she didn’t even have mice, a pumpkin, and glass slippers to worry about.
    All of a sudden, her fairy godmother of BDSM got a huge damn clue.
    And delivered a prince who defied her wildest, kinkiest dreams.
    And not because he instantly reminded her of Dan.
    Get off the Colton crazy train! Especially now !
    It was his hair. It looked so much like Dan’s dark blond waves, she was initially captivated—though her perception was undoubtedly hindered by the thick velvet strings from his mask, tossing all kinds of shadows through his thick style.
    About that mask…
    Dear God .
    Sometimes great minds really did think alike. Though it covered half his face and transformed his eyes into daunting mysteries, she tilted a little smile. She was looking for daunting, right?
    She’d just had no idea how much. And one look at this man, powerful and beautiful and looming before her in nothing but his huge black boots, faded jeans, and that mask, revealed he probably had a doctorate in daunting.
    She’d only concentrated on his covered parts so far, too. The face she couldn’t quite decipher. The legs, endless and powerful, converging at a bulge beneath his zipper that stripped the moisture from her throat. But everything else was…
    Dear God .
    It bore repeating. Probably out loud. If she could only figure where the hell all her air had gone.
    He was beautiful. Almost unreal. She’d only had this sensation a few times in her whole life, like the moment she’d gazed at her first Michelangelo statue in Rome, or gasped at a Cirque performer who supported three others in his palm. His lean but rock-hard build emphasized every captivating striation of his muscles: the hard ropes of his neck, the shoulders and arms that rivalled Red Rock for ridges, the abdomen that was another mountain range all on its own, as well. He moved closer to her with grace that reminded her of an eagle’s flight, deadly force honed for efficiency and grace.
    Was he even real?
    She yearned to reach out and learn that answer for herself.
    She’d never been more afraid to move in her life.
    She cleared her throat. Tried to straighten her stance, but wondered if she should lower her head, instead. Or bow. Or curtsy? Or