Her Beast_A Dark Romance Page 7

  I rubbed the soap on the back of her neck. Her whole body seemed to sigh, though she covered it quickly, stiffening her spine.

  “Take pleasure when it is offered. There is nothing wrong with it,” I found myself telling her. “Your body was made to feel pleasure, to respond to touch,” I continued as I worked my way down between her shoulder blades.

  It seemed she was making a genuine effort, breathing slowly, deeply, and unclenching her shoulders. But it also seemed, like this, it was far more difficult for her. When her body was revved up with intense arousal, it was near-impossible for her to resist it. It clouded her thinking and probably helped to quell her father’s voice in her head—the son of a bitch who’d tried to warp his daughter into thinking there was something wrong with her simply for being human, for being a woman.

  Even if her innate interests leaned to the dark and erotic side, there was nothing wrong with her acknowledging them. Hell, a girl with interests like hers could have most of the world’s population of men wrapped around her finger in five seconds flat. What the hell could be wrong with that? And though it shouldn’t make a bit of fucking difference to me, I wanted her to believe what I was saying, to accept that there was nothing wrong or dirty about what she liked. She wasn’t a whore—no matter what her fucked up father thought.

  “Stop listening to it, to the voice in your head that told you there was something wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with what you like, Pet. It pleases me very much to know your body can respond to me, no matter what I’m doing to you.”

  To emphasize my point, I slipped my hands around in front of her and cupped her breasts, catching her nipples between my fingers and squeezing harder than I usually would, but knowing now that her body would turn that pain into something more, something irresistible for her.

  Her hands shot out to the wall to support herself as she squealed in response, but she didn’t try to get away.

  “Very good, Pet. Now, keep going. Wash the rest of your body.”

  I’d intended to just watch, but I kept my hands on her breasts as she returned to her stomach, and then her hips. I slipped down to massage her ass when her hands started soaping down one leg and then the other.

  As she worked her way back up her thigh, she slowed. There was only one place left that required her attention. Her breath was already coming faster, but when I released her ass and turned her around to watch her, there were tears on her cheeks.

  No, damn it. I would not feel guilty. She was still the same girl she was before I’d read that fucking journal. And my guilt did her absolutely no good. The objective trainer I’d been for years is what she needed.

  “Now,” I commanded.

  She knew what I meant, and she slipped a trembling hand between her thighs. Her fingers glided between her folds and her breathing sped up even more.

  “Very good,” I said but persisted. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Her body was obviously responding—but to what? Just the feel of her slippery fingers? Or was there more to it?

  She shook her head vigorously, and I reached around to spank one, firm cheek. She squealed, but her hand pressed harder against her pussy.

  “I’m…I’m thinking about being watched,” she spoke quietly to the shower floor as tears dripped off her chin. “…about you watching me.”

  Fuck. She was just too damn much.

  I brushed her hand away and replaced her fingers with my own, honing in on her clit peeking out above her lips. Her body jolted and she reached out her hands to steady herself but jerked them away fast. Because it was my shoulders she’d latched onto for support.

  Oh hell, yes. This was happening, I decided as I stepped into the shower with her, still fully clothed. She gasped and took a step back, but I kept my fingers on her clit…and she didn’t look disappointed.

  I kept rubbing her, watching her inhibitions slowly give way to the woman she kept locked inside. Little by little, her eyes glazed over and her hands returned to where they’d been, clutching my shoulders to keep herself up.

  Her head tilted up then, and that surprised me, especially when her eyes met mine. She was confused, but on fire, and while I didn’t particularly want to stop to punish her if she lashed out, I wanted to taste her mouth. So, I did. I pulled her close slowly until my hand between us on her clit was all that separated our bodies. The fire in her eyes blazed brighter, but the confusion grew with it.

  “Stop thinking. It’s not a request, Pet. Stop, or I will tie you up and whip you until you bleed,” I told her sternly. Her body would make this easy for her; life as a slave would be easier for her…if she’d just stop interfering.

  “I can’t. I don’t know how…”

  “You’re not a whore,” I said, coming down to the heart of what plagued her. “You’re a woman. A sexy as hell, submissive woman. Let it go,” I demanded harshly, more feeling behind my words than I would have liked.

  I swooped in and claimed her lips, feeling a possessiveness I hadn’t experienced before. I knew the swift movement would throw her off-balance, making her mind reel with sensation and giving her body the chance to take over.

  It wasn’t instantaneous, but with my finger keeping up my pace on her clit, I won out.

  Her lips parted for me and I thrust my tongue inside, a mimic of how I desperately wanted to be fucking her pussy. She moaned into my mouth as her hands slid up the back of my neck. But I had no intentions of letting her stop there.

  “Take off my shirt,” I said when I’d released her lips. Her fingers stilled. It was one thing for her to be passive and even to cling for support. What I was demanding now was a whole new level of difficulty. Too bad. She needed to learn. So, when she hesitated, I spanked her hard—hard enough to feel the sting in my own hand.

  She yelped and jerked, thrusting her clit hard against my fingers. And when she moved to comply, her fingers were trembling so much that the buttons on my shirt were difficult for her. But eventually she managed and she slid the shirt off to where my hand against her prevented it from dropping to the ground. She raised her hands, but she didn’t quite touch me. Her fingers hovered less than an inch from my chest. But she wanted to touch me. It was clear in her eyes.

  So, I denied her.

  “Take off my pants,” I said instead and I increased my pace on her clit, just to make it a little easier on her.

  She fumbled with the button and fly, eventually succeeding in her task. Her fingers lingered when she hooked them into the waist of my pants to slide them off, but whether in hesitation or as an excuse to touch me was up for debate.

  Making her think she’d been given a reprieve, I stilled her hands and yanked them off myself. Her eyes went so wide that I stood still for a moment and let her look her fill. And she did look, though her cheeks flamed an even deeper shade of pink than her normal blush.

  Instead of returning to her clit then, I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her down. My whole body was taut with anticipation.

  Tears were still trickling from her eyes, but she didn’t fight me. When she was on her knees, she looked up at me—an intensely erotic sight—but nevertheless, an error I would have to correct.

  “Never look at your master unless you’ve been told to. As a slave, you are to keep your eyes down—always.”

  Her eyes flashed with angry fire at the reminder of her position, but still, she didn’t try to get away, even with my cock less than an inch from her hot, little mouth.

  “Open,” I said, but I got impatient waiting for her to obey and I thrust forward and I grabbed hold of the back of her head to hold her still while I pressed against her lips. She parted for me and the head of my cock thrust in. She actually leaned up higher to accommodate me better and started working my cock deeper into her mouth.

  Fuck, she was incredible. So easily aroused, and her dark, horny mind let her breech even the most stringent boundaries. By all rights, she shouldn’t be working me into the back of her throat. I shouldn’t be
feeling the quick convulsion of her throat around the tip of my cock unless I’d forced it in there against her will.

  She worked her way back to where she’d started and then took me in again. Watching her was fucking amazing—the sexy, little seductress on her knees.

  She kept it up at a tortuously slow pace. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she knew exactly how to drive a man mad. After a while, I grabbed the back of her head and held her still as I started to increase the pace, thrusting deep, faster. Her hot mouth felt so fucking good. And she looked so god damned hot.

  Her eyes darted up and then back down, more than once, and I should have corrected her, but I loved those eyes. I’d always loved those eyes. And they were sexy as hell now.

  It was hard not to find a woman hot when my cock was filling her mouth, but this…her…I didn’t think a hotter woman could possibly exist.

  And she did a damn good job keeping up, taking a breath every time I withdrew so she was ready for me when I drove into the back of her throat. She was a natural. Whether she liked it or not, she was made for sex, for submission…for me. So fucking hot.

  I fucked her mouth harder, faster. Every thrust made her breasts bounce enticingly. She looked up at me with her sexy as hell green eyes, and they were clouded with her own desire. Sucking my cock had kept her aroused—it was clear in her gaze.

  And it was just too fucking much. My balls drew up tight seconds before I thrust in deep one last time. Shockwaves of lightning shot through my body and I spurted my cum at the back of her throat, watching her throat swallow over and over again.

  I withdrew from her mouth when she’d swallowed everything I had, and I stood there watching her for a moment, just enjoying the view.

  She looked up once more, but I wasn’t caught up in fucking her mouth now, so I cocked an eyebrow and she dropped her gaze. But not before I’d seen what was in it. Arousal, hell yes. But it was something else that caught my attention. Or more precisely, there was a lack of something else. It was if she’d been stunned—by the way she’d responded so enthusiastically to sucking my cock? Maybe, but something wasn’t right.

  She was too still, like the calm before the storm. I really hoped she wasn’t preparing to lash out now. I’d actually regret having to punish her after such a stellar performance. No doubt, she had conflicting feelings about what she’d just done, but as a slave, she needed to learn to subdue them, to keep them to herself. Her new master would tolerate nothing less.

  I stood there for another moment, letting the showerhead massage the backs of my shoulders. Because with each passing second, the feeling grew stronger. There was a storm brewing, and it was only a matter of time before my little tempest let loose her fury.

  6

  Scarlett

  I knelt there on the shower floor with so many emotions coursing through me that I didn’t know what to feel. Or whether to feel at all. I’d liked it. God damn it, I’d liked the feel of him in my mouth. And the sounds he’d made…knowing I was the one responsible for them…it had made me heady.

  But now, I was hovering on the brink of insanity, and it was so tempting to let myself tumble over, to let it swallow me up. Whatever else it did to me, I didn’t care so long as it took my mind with it. This was too much—too much even to process how I should feel.

  It wasn’t what the devil had done, or even how my traitorous body had responded to it. I would gladly go back to that now, to the depraved way my body had responded to him watching me, to him touching me. I’d happily relive him forcing me to my knees and shoving his cock in my mouth and the wicked thrill that had shot through me.

  Yes, I wanted those things back. I didn’t want to remember what had happened after when he’d looked down at me with his vivid, blue eyes and they fell into place in my mind. I knew now why they’d seemed like a comfort when I’d first seen him, why he so easily fit into my depraved dreams.

  The devil who had handcrafted my own personal hell wasn’t a nameless, faceless devil at all.

  He was the place I had once run to in my mind, always, the last person who’d genuinely seemed to care about me. And now, he was pure evil. He was humiliation, and pain, and hopelessness.

  He was Derek…though I wished with every fiber of my being that he was anyone else.

  He was talking to me. I could hear his voice through a haze, but I couldn’t make out the words. I didn’t want to make them out. I didn’t want to understand what he was saying.

  His voice grew louder, but still no words, and I closed my eyes, trying to block it all out. For the first time, I longed for the nothingness, but I knew it wouldn’t come. The devil wouldn’t let it.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder. Its grip was firm, but not unbreakable. He wasn’t trying to haul me up. I had no idea what he was doing. I didn’t want to know.

  And then his hand began to shake me, and it jarred me out of whatever stunned state had gripped my mind. But all at once, everything collided.

  I didn’t curl up on the floor in abject misery. I didn’t cry. I didn’t sob. I didn’t even lash out.

  A scream rose up from deep inside me. I had no idea where it came from. Some conglomeration of every bit of anger, fear, bitterness, and betrayal, it knit together and rocketed outward, and I covered my own ears in some feeble attempt to block out my own sound.

  He yanked me off the ground and dragged me out into the other room.

  “Don’t you touch me you son of a bitch. I hate you. I hate you,” I screamed over and over again.

  He handcuffed me to the post, but I didn’t care. Finally, I opened my eyes and looked at him. It was so obvious now. How could I have missed it?

  He was confused, but he was angry too. I kept screaming. I couldn’t stop. I watched him stride back into the bathroom, no doubt in search of the belt on his soaking wet pants. I didn’t care. His belt could never hurt me as much as I was hurting now.

  I was still screaming when he came back into the room, but he wasn’t holding his belt. He had a plastic cup in his hand.

  Acid—it was the first thought that came to my mind, but even in my crazed state, I dismissed it. He wouldn’t do that to me—though how the hell I could be so sure of that when he would do all the other things he’d done to me, I didn’t know. Again, I didn’t care.

  The noise continued, my own ear-piercing scream that hadn’t lost an ounce of momentum since it had risen up and burst forth from my lips.

  He stopped in front of me, his brilliant, blue eyes full of concern. Concern?—Ha! Like a monster was capable of that emotion.

  He stood there, looking indecisive for a brief moment. I didn’t care. It just didn’t matter to me what he did to me. If he killed me, it would be better. To put an end to this misery—yes, it sounded like a reasonable plan to me.

  But he didn’t raise a hand to me. Not exactly. He lifted the cup and splashed its contents on my face. No burn. It wasn’t acid. Icy cold water. It was just water. But it stunned me into silence.

  The scream I thought would never end died abruptly on my lips and fizzled out in my throat. “I hate you,” I whispered, finding it suddenly too painful to force anything louder past my throat.

  “What am I supposed to do with you, Pet?” he asked. It almost sounded like a genuine question. Almost. But I knew he didn’t give a damn what I thought.

  “I don’t care what you do with me…” I answered anyways. “…Derek.” I could barely choke out his name. It was as if by forcing it out, speaking it out loud, it made it impossible to take it back, to pretend it wasn’t true.

  Surprise flashed through his blue eyes—eyes I wished desperately I could claw out at that moment, to erase the proof of who he was.

  “No matter whether it pleases you or not, I am master to you. Do. Not. Ever. Forget. It.”

  “Fuck you. I wish it had been anyone but you. Anyone!” I croaked.

  “Is that so?” he seethed as anger flashed in his eyes. A possessive anger, it seemed, though it was probably just my ima
gination.

  Then again, it wouldn’t be terribly surprising. I was a thing to him. A possession to use and to break.

  “Do you realize if I had been anyone else—like you so much wish—and you had dared use my name, you would have been whipped until your back was an irreparable, bloody mess. So, maybe you should think twice before wishing for a new master, Pet. But don’t worry, you’ll have one soon enough.”

  His hands were clenched into fists so tight his knuckles had turned white. I waited for the blow, to feel him letting loose his anger on me like a human punching bag. But he just stood there, silent. Ominous. Maybe he was trying to figure out how much he could hurt me without killing me so he could keep it up until he’d vented every ounce of the anger that brewed and churned inside him.

  But then he turned and strode right out of the room, leaving me shackled to the post but unharmed. Why? And then his words hit me, “But don’t worry, you’ll have one soon enough,” he’d said. A new master? He was getting rid of me. He didn’t want me anymore—the result of my crazed rant?

  I should be relieved, but I wasn’t. Relief was nowhere in the mix of emotions that coursed through me. Bitter anger over what he’d done. Betrayal over who he was. And heartbreaking sadness that he didn’t want me. He was done with me. He was going to hand me over to someone else, and in no time at all, he was going to forget about me.

  His face, and all the sides of it—my childhood hero, my captor—would haunt me for the rest of my life while mine faded in his mind until I was nothing more than a fuzzy memory of the pathetic girl he’d humiliated and hurt…and discarded.

  Why did that even matter to me? After all, I’d been through—after all he’d done to me—why was that what stayed at the forefront of my mind?

  I hated him, even more than before when he hadn’t been the boy I’d looked up to and adored. Why wasn’t I glad that he no longer wanted me?

  Because he was still Derek, damn it.

  Whatever else he was, whatever he’d become, he was still the face of every fantasy I’d ever had. And he was still in there, somewhere, wasn’t he? There had been something so tender about him all the times he’d caressed my face and ran his fingers through my hair. So many times, I’d actually let myself think he cared about me, that there must have been something that made him this way and it was the only way he could experience affection. I’d wondered what it was that had happened to him, what horrors he’d been exposed to, or suffered himself, to need this.