Beast: Learning to Breathe Devil’s Blaze Duet

by Jordan Marie

  I push her panties to the side so that the fabric doesn't block her soaked little cunt from me. At first, I do nothing more than hold my hand against her warm heat. A firm hold, one of ownership and God help us both, I want to own her body. I will own it.

  "So wet for me," I murmur, against her shoulder. "My Beauty needs me to make her come."

  "Michael," she cries quietly, but it's a cry full of need, with just a mixture of fear blended in.

  I let my fingers slide between the swollen lips of her pussy. The feel of her heated flesh against my fingers is like liquid torment. I should take this slow, but I wish with everything inside of me that it was my face between her legs right now, eating her out until she couldn't recall her own name. Soon. Soon it will happen. I make that promise to myself even as I let my fingers move against her pussy and seek out the swollen nub which literally drums against my fingers. Her clit is swollen and thumping against my touch. I push against it, applying harsh pressure. It gives in as her body jumps at the sensation. At the same time, my other hand has pushed her bra up, releasing her breasts to me. I squeeze her bare tit in my hand, kneading it over and over slowly. My other fingers move around her clit in a tantalizing circle. I don't go fast, I don't want to speed this up. This, with Hayden, this moment needs to be prolonged—savored.

  "You feel so good, Hayden. So hot, sticky, and sweet against my fingers," I murmur, nibbling against the inside of her neck, then moving down to place tender bites on her shoulder. My teeth rake against the skin at the same time I capture her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pinching and pulling the hardening bud.

  Her cry is like music to my ears, and in reward I increase the friction I'm giving her sweet clit, rubbing across it and then back again, faster, though still not fast enough.

  "You’re so wet you’re drowning my fingers. It feels so fucking good I wish it was my face. Someday soon, sweet Beauty, you are going to ride my face, and I'm going to drink up every last drop of you," I promise her.

  “Michael…I’m…Oh God, I think I’m close,” she sobs, her hips undulating, her ass pushing against me.

  I could come in my pants like this. I could come like a fucking school boy. My hold on her breast tightens, as I torture her nipple. My persistent fingers move on her clit faster, their pressure increasing as she tightens her thighs on my hand, trying to ride it. Her ass punishes my cock, those plush, ripe cheeks pushing, grinding against it, while her head falls back against my chest and her fingers bite into my neck.

  “I’m going to…Oh fuck! I’m going to come, baby,” she cries. She goes completely still for half a second, and then her climax rakes through her body like the force of a hurricane. Her cry rings out, her body shakes, her nails biting into me as her legs threaten to give out. I hold her and continue to manipulate her pussy, gradually slowing down until she rides out the orgasm.

  Her head is still thrown back, but eventually her breathing calms and she stops trembling. I haven’t pulled my hand away. Jesus, if I could keep my fingers in her pussy all the time I would. It’s that fucking good. Her nails have sunk into the skin on my neck.

  When I look into the mirror I’m not surprised to see a small trace of blood mar what little skin is exposed. Her hold has little shards of pain hitting me and I love it. I watch the mirror as bit by bit her eyes open revealing their silver color dilated and beautiful. It’s only then I can make myself take my fingers from her pussy. She gasps and pulls up straighter to look at me, and I can see embarrassment start to cool her desire. I bring the fingers to my mouth, and I hold her stare as I lick them clean. I lick them, with the sound of her calling me baby still ringing in my ears. Her taste is indescribable, but one taste and I’m addicted. One taste, and I know I’m going to need more of it.

  One taste and I know it will be something I crave until my last breath.

  59

  Hayden

  What did I just do? That’s the question that keeps echoing through my mind. I can’t believe I let Michael do that…I can’t even describe what that is, because the memory serves to make me wetter. Even after a mind blowing orgasm, where Michael only touched me with his fingers, I’m still wet. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing.

  “Stop it,” his rough voice demands, and I jerk my head back up to look at him. He turns me around and I let him, because quite honestly, I can’t control my own legs at this point.

  “What?” I ask him, trying to escape his eyes. That doesn’t work when his hand comes up against the side of my neck and he angles me to look up at him, refusing to let me avoid him.

  “Do not overthink what we just did,” Michael says, and I take a deep steadying breath.

  “My past—”

  “We’ll talk about it, and you’ll tell me. But I could give a flying fuck about Blade and his damn trained monkeys.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, I’m a grown man. I do whatever the fuck I want, and trust me when I tell you, Hayden, that right now. I. Want. You.”

  “I’m pregnant,” I remind him, as if he could have forgotten.

  In response, his hand comes to mine and he grabs it, pulling it to the soft cotton material of his sweats. He presses our hands against the obvious outline of his cock.

  “Does it feel like that bothers me at all, Hayden?” he asks, and the intense desire apparent on his face and the vibrating of his voice combine to rock my body with need. My nipples harden, and I wish I had done more than just put my bra back in place earlier. His dark gaze drops down, and I know he can see the evidence of my excitement. I’m pretty sure he’s got a smile hiding behind that beard.

  “We really need to trim that jungle you’ve got going on.”

  “You keep bringing that up,” he mumbles, raking his hands through his hair and reaching over to finally turn off the shower I had left running. It’s probably completely cold now. I was hoping for a hot shower.

  “I like seeing your face,” I tell him and even to my own ears I sound defensive.

  “You’ve seen some of the scars,” he growls, and he turns away from me to walk to the door. I shouldn’t have pushed him. I regret it, but something about what he says bothers me.

  “Do scars bother you?”

  “Scars are nothing,” he says and his voice is monotone. His back is to me, so I can’t tell, but I get the impression that he’s lost in his own thoughts.

  “It was only a suggestion. I just find myself wishing I could see your lips easier and maybe…”

  “Maybe?" he asks, finally looking over his shoulder at me.

  “It’d be nice to see more of your face. To be able to touch it,” she shrugs. “Scars don’t bother me, Michael. I’d be the last person to ever be bothered by someone’s scars.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asks, and I’m definitely taking that to mean he’s done with this conversation.

  “I could eat. I should definitely try to make sure Maggie gets some breakfast,” I try to joke, though it feels a little weird talking about her, considering I’m half-naked.

  “Then finish cleaning up, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Michael says, and he turns to grab my upper arms. Then, he brings his head down and puts a kiss on the top of my head before walking out of the room.

  I sit down on the toilet, ignoring the way the cold porcelain feels, and bow my head, letting it fall down on my arms, as I think about everything that has happened since I got out of bed. I’m thinking I could be in deep trouble here.

  I just have no idea what to do about it.

  60

  Hayden

  “What’s that smell?” I ask, curling my nose when I stop by the kitchen door. It reminds me of burnt plastic. Michael turns around and looks at me, his eyes rake over me and cause a shiver to run through me. I can’t be sure, but the heated look on his face tells me he likes what he sees. I’ve never felt beautiful in my life. Not once, but Michael could make me believe it when he stares at me like that. How can he look at me like he could eat me alive? I’m not bea
utiful. I’ve never been. I’m plain…and I’m pregnant. How could he ever want me? It’s unreal. Yet, he did want me. What he did to me…the feel of him…his reactions…those were real…Weren’t they?

  “I’m scrambling eggs,” he says, and I can tell by the way his skin wrinkles around his nose that he’s smiling.

  “You don’t cook much, do you?” I ask him, walking over to the stove. The aroma from the eggs is worse close up. I look down at the skillet.

  “I made soup for you,” he says, stirring the wooden spoon through the eggs again.

  “Michael, I don’t think eggs are supposed to be brown,” I tell him. They’re like a brown congealed mess, and I know I see a couple shells mixed in there. “Go sit down, and I’ll make breakfast,” I tell him, reaching for the spoon.

  “Anyone can make eggs,” he grumbles.

  “Those shells and that smell seems to argue with that. Now hand over the spoon. Our stomachs demand it.” Michael looks at me and heat coming from him makes my stomach twist in knots, and I can feel tingles of electricity shoot through my body. My thighs grow sticky wet, and I feel my body throb with need—all with just one look. Without warning he bends down and gives me a kiss. It’s over before I can really respond, but I find my body leaning towards him as he pulls away. “What was that for?”

  “I wanted to cook for you. You wouldn’t let me, so I found something else I wanted and took it,” he says with a shrug, handing the spoon over.

  “Do I get to take what I want next?” I ask him bravely. Shock reads on his face for a minute, his eyes go heated.

  “What do you want?”

  “Let me trim your hair and beard,” I tell him without even blinking.

  He rakes his hand through his hair and down his neck, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “I want to see your face…I want…”

  “What?” he asks, when I break off because I feel the embarrassing heat creep up my face.

  “I want to be able to touch your lips and…”

  “And?”

  “Kiss them without having to search for them,” I finish lamely, staring at his hand instead of his face.

  Which is apparently what he doesn’t want, because he puts his fingers under my chin and pulls my face up to look at him. “You can kiss me now,” he tells me, and the vibration in his voice feels like it slides against my bare skin.

  “I want to see more of you, to touch more of you.” I see the indecision on his face. I know I’m pushing it, and I couldn’t explain why—not really. It feels like he uses it to hide from me, though and I don’t want that. I want…to see him as he doesn’t allow others to.

  “After breakfast,” he says, and pleasure hits me like an explosion.

  “You mean it?”

  “Just a trim,” he grumbles, moving to the table and sitting down. “That’s all,” he warns, grumpily.

  “I’ll take it,” I tell him, feeling like dancing and giggling.

  In response, Michael shakes his head like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have—but it feels good.

  61

  Beast

  She’s under my skin. I can feel her latched on in a way that I know it’s going to be hell to get her out. And what do I do? Like a fool, I let her sink deeper. I let her cook breakfast, I listen to her laugh, I watch her blush, and I find any excuse under the sun to touch her. Most recently, I pretended there was a crumb on her lip.

  “Michael?” she questions.

  I reach up to wipe the non-existent crumble away, letting my finger press against the corner of her mouth and watching as her lips break apart to allow a shudder of breath pass through. I put a little weight on my finger, and just like that the tip is in her mouth. Almost instantly her tongue brushes against the tip of my finger. I release a sound which is guttural. I have to fight to escape the image of my cock sliding into her mouth and disappearing inch by aching inch.

  Almost seven motherfucking years without thinking of sex, without even wanting it, and now it’s all I can think about. My cock feels like concrete. Getting Hayden off was almost innocent, and yet it is the most erotic thing I’ve ever done with a woman. It wasn’t about what we did, it had everything to do with the fact it was Hayden and what she’s doing to me. We share some kind of fucking connection I’ve never experienced before. I should be discouraging her, and instead, I agreed to let her cut my damned hair. I’m swimming in stupidity. You would think I would have wised up after years of dealing with Jan. Suddenly mad at myself, I move my finger and steadfastly ignore the confusion that clouds her eyes.

  “You had something on your lip,” I lie, clearing my voice and refusing to look at her. “You sure you even know how to cut hair?”

  “Will you quit worrying?” she responds, draping a towel over the front of me.

  “What’s this for?” I ask her, grabbing it. I’m sitting in a chair she pulled away from the table. She’s got a comb and some scissors on the table while she’s standing above me, hovering nervously, looking down at me with those large gray eyes. Sad fuck that I am, I wasn’t able to resist looking at them for long.

  “So the hair I cut off doesn’t get on your shirt and drive you crazy,” she says, looking as if it should be self-explanatory.

  “You’re not cutting that much off,” I warn. God’s truth, I am having trouble figuring out why I agreed to let her do this in the first place.

  “I won’t. Though to be fair, you have so much hair, we should shave you bald and donate it for wigs,” she responds, her fingers, combing through my hair, pulling it away from my head. I can’t see her face because she’s standing above me, but suddenly I wish I could. Her rounded stomach is right in front of me. The pajama top she’s wearing keeps rising up when she moves her arms, revealing glimpses of the peach skin beneath it. It should remind me that she’s pregnant with another man’s baby. A man I despise. It doesn’t.

  Hell, my cock is rock hard and has been since the moment I stole a kiss before breakfast. I pull the towel away, putting it on the table. “Michael, honestly if you don’t—” I stop her by pulling my shirt up and over my head. I can hear her breathy rasp and she’s stepped away from me now so I can see her eyes. The desire inside of them leaps out at me. It’s there for me to read. No coyness, no disguises, nothing premeditated about it.

  How different would my life have been if I had met Hayden earlier. If she had been Annabelle’s mother, Annabelle would still be here. There’s a lot about Hayden that is a mystery, but I don’t doubt for one second that she would lay her life down to protect her child. Thinking of my daughter makes that familiar pang in my chest hurt. I reach up and rub it unconsciously. Even that doesn’t dim my hard-on, however, and I feel guilty for having it. I came here to get away from everyone, to retire from the world. Hayden is making me live again. I feel torn and out of control.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever given a haircut to someone without a shirt on,” she says, and despite my earlier thoughts, I find myself smiling again.

  “I’m the one without the shirt,” I tell her, choosing to interpret her words differently than she obviously meant them. “But I do like your idea,” I agree, and I grab her pajama top and even sitting down and at this angle, it’s ridiculously easy to lift it up. Hayden tightens up and her hands try to stop me but I ignore them and don’t stop until her shirt is gone and she’s standing in front of me in her pajama shorts and bra. I eye her bra. I want it gone. Hayden must read my mind, because she’s shaking her head.

  “The bra stays on. In fact, I’m putting the shirt back on,” she grumbles, reaching for it. My hand lays over top of hers as her fingers curl into the fabric.

  “The shirt stays off,” I tell her, leaving no room for argument.

  She sighs, and I fully expect her to argue.

  “You do realize I’m pregnant, right? That I have scars…stretch marks?”

  “You’re beautiful,” I answer, letting my hand move over her stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t find her sexy, because Maggie is not
my child, and Hayden is definitely not my woman, not to keep. I can’t have that. I don’t deserve that…but I want it. I close my eyes as the truth of that delves a little deeper in. I push it aside, not prepared to think about it, or the repercussions right now.

  Hayden’s hand captures mine before I can push her shorts down and see even more of her.

  “If I have to cut your hair without a shirt, then I should get to trim that beard up… a lot.”

  “No,” I tell her, not wanting her to see the scars. I don’t know why she ignores the ones she can clearly see now, but there’s no point in—

  “Please?” she asks. “I’ll owe you one,” she adds, and the idea of Hayden owing me anything sends my blood pressure skyrocketing.

  Fuck. I nod, yes without even thinking. I’m on the verge of telling her that I wasn’t serious, but the look of pleasure and victory on her face stops the words. She’s too happy.

  And I’m fucking screwed.

  62

  Hayden

  “You have beautiful hair,” I tell Michael as I run my comb through it. I can’t help but let my fingers follow. It’s so soft it’s like silk, but it feels warm and comfortable like cotton…. like something you want pressed against your skin forever.