The biggest difference, though, is that I see more emotion in her eyes.
Beauty was never as closed off as other people—Wolf and Charming—think. Her eyes are expressive and bright, a constant shifting window into her feelings and thoughts, and even if I can't see her face, I can read her like a book.
That expressive gaze is too heavy, too guilty, like she's fucked up and wants to fix it, but doesn't know how.
It's kind of exhausting.
"You don't have to keep apologizing," I say, two days after Wolf stormed the penthouse. Beauty pauses in the process cutting a bite of chicken and peers down at me.
"I have not apologized," she says, confusion in her tone, and I grin.
"Sweetheart, all you've done since Mal left is apologize. You even let me pick the damn movie last night."
"I am—" she pauses, and I lean away from her knee to stare up at her.
"Please tell me," I murmur.
Something like a sigh and resignation flickers in her eyes. "I'm aware that for the duration of our relationship, I have been inadequate. I don't know how to rectify that and I'm trying."
Whoa, whoa, no. "You weren't inadequate," I say firmly, coming up off my knees.
She makes a protesting noise and I shake my head, cutting her off. "No, Beauty. Listen. You weren't inadequate. You didn't know how much I value aftercare. I wasn't clear about that, and it wasn't something that we negotiated in the limits. You didn't do anything wrong."
"You used your safeword," she murmurs.
I did.
"That—shit, Beauty. We all do that sometimes."
She frowns at her plate and it hits me, harder than I expect, maybe because I didn't expect this at all.
"Oh, sweetheart. You're dropping too, aren't you?" Her eyes dart to mine, startled and then flit away, a little ashamed, like she doesn't want to admit something so weak.
"Ok, so... Will you trust me?" I ask, and her gaze goes curious.
"To do what?" she asks, licking her lips.
"I'm pretty good at handling subdrop," I say with a shrug, "And I've worked Mal through it enough that—I can help, if you'll let me."
She watches me for a long long moment and then nods, once. "Very well."
I grin and she motions to her plate. "After dinner."
That’s fine. It gives me a little time to figure this all out.
And maybe figure out how to make us work.
Chapter 15.
Beauty looks nervous, her hands twitching at her sides as I straighten.
"Don't look so scared, Beauty," I murmur and she shivers.
"Come on. I promise this will help."
I take her hand, just barely catching her fingertips so she can pull away if she wants to, and lead her from the dining room. She takes a slow breath when I open the door to the black bathroom, and her eyes dart to mine, a little bit afraid.
"It's ok," I murmur. I turn the lights low and pick up the blindfold I laid out specifically for this. Seeing the way her shoulders sag with relief makes me want to grin in victory, and hug her because she's being so fucking brave.
"I'm gonna strip first, ok? And then, you can put the blindfold on me and when you're ready, I want you to join me."
"Why?" she asks, quiet.
"Because you need to relax and you need to know I'm here. I'm not bolting because we had a bad scene."
Her dark eyes study me until finally, she nods.
I sigh in relief and slip out of my clothes quickly, then reach over to turn the lights down further. Sliding the blindfold on, I’m left in complete darkness, but I can feel the shift in the air as Beauty comes up behind me. She presses her body against mine, steadying me as I move carefully to sit down in the steaming water.
I hold my breath momentarily, the sounds of the water sloshing against the tub and my heart pounding against my ribs impossibly loud in the silence.
Then I hear the distinct rasp of a zipper and I let myself grin.
There's nothing quite as wonderful as the feeling of Beauty, naked and slick, settling in the space between my legs. I tug her gently and murmur, "Let go, sweetheart."
It takes a long second, and then she relaxes, all of the stiff tension draining out of her as she leans back against me. Her hair is soft and tickles my skin as her head fits into the curve of my shoulder.
"Do you do this often?"
"Mmm. The hot water is good for bruised and sore muscles. And come on. You have to admit it's relaxing."
Beauty huffs quietly and I resist the urge to press a kiss to her shoulder. She didn't give me permission for that. Tonight isn't about sex. It's about comfort and connecting to each other.
"James?"
"Hmm?"
"Why didn't you tell me you needed the aftercare?"
I shrug, jostling her slightly. "Because you didn't, and this is supposed to be for you."
She's quiet for a long moment, and then, "No. It's supposed to be for us. That's what a relationship is. And ours is—not ideal, I know. Not what you would have chosen. But I want you to be happy in it."
I open my mouth, and close it again.
I've got no fucking clue what to say to that.
“Maybe,” Beauty says carefully, “we need to communicate more clearly what we want.”
Well, that’s God’s honest truth.
“What do you want?” I ask, because apparently I like to open my mouth without thinking.
She’s silent, like she’s actually considering the question and how to answer it.
“I would like you to be happy here.”
“Would you believe me if I said I was?”
She shakes her head, so quickly I know that she doesn’t believe that even a little bit.
“No. But I think that maybe we could work towards it. I—“ She pauses, and I can almost feel the concern coming off her in waves. Instead of pushing the topic further, I tug her back against me.
“Let’s try communicating and see where that gets us, ok, sweetheart?”
She nods against my chest and I say, softly, “I want to kiss you.” I brush my fingers over the curve of her shoulder. “Right here. And then I want to get out and I want to sit in the living room and listen to you read to me until I fall asleep.”
She’s tense, and I think for a moment that she’ll say no.
“That is acceptable.”
Something in Beauty’s voice, in the shake and tremble of it when it has always been steady, makes my gut clench. I shiver in the water, clutching her closer. Her nails dig into my thighs, a quiet reminder, and I loosen my grip before I dip down and press a kiss to her shoulder, my lips opening just a little so that I can taste the salty warmth of her on my tongue, sucking a bit before I pull away.
If her breathing is a little choppy and short under my arm—well, I don’t mention that as I nudge her up and away from me.
I don’t mention it at all as she pats me dry and murmurs my name in the darkness: Beast.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone as badly as I want to kiss her now, but when I sway forward, leaning into her, there’s that damn mask. I make a low, angry noise, one of frustration and want and she hums against me, leaning her forehead against my mine.
Through the mask, I can feel her breath, soft and short and desperate, against my lips.
“Beauty,” I whisper, and she shudders against me.
This isn’t what we do. This is where we find ourselves. We’re submission and pain, taking and giving, and sleep mussed breakfasts and cold distance.
This isn’t us.
But holy fuck I want it to be.
~
It gets easier after that night. Some of the walls between us come down. There are days when I still feel like I don't know anything about Beauty, but then there are days where she turns off her computer and focuses all of her attention on me. There's one afternoon she sets up a Scrabble board and spends hours playing the game with me, arguing about definitions and spellings and I realize that
my girl is fiercely competitive and has a wicked sense of humor.
There's the day she tells Cook to take off. She spends two hours in the kitchen trying to make us breakfast before I finally offer to take over and get glared at for my efforts, and I realize that my girl is completely inept in the kitchen, and—she mentions this casually—her mother had once burned a pot trying to boil water.
She likes cucumbers and tomatoes, sliced neatly and served with a little salt and pepper when we're sitting on the balcony of the penthouse, and she likes her coffee lukewarm with a touch of cream and loaded with sugar.
She likes to play with my hair when we're reading, and I find she loves reading. I make a game of trying to find a book she hasn't read and it takes me three days to finally stump her, and she growls softly when I do, stomping off to order a copy of The Giver before she snuggles back next to me on the porch and listens to me read the rest of our chapter of And Then There Were None.
The scenes that still happen at night, when Beauty’s eyes go smoky with desire, are better.
They were good before, but in days and weeks after that terrible scene and subsequent fallout, they get better. Beauty stops holding back, and I come, screaming, writhing on the pain she handles with utter skill and conviction, but it doesn't end there, with me limp in her cuffs and cover in my own come.
It's stilted and awkward at first, but she's trying, and as the scenes pass, she gets it. She cleans me up and holds me in her arms, until my breathing evens out and my limbs stop shaking. She murmurs praise and presses me to drink juice and occasionally—after nights when she plays with her cane and paddle—she draws a bath for me where she holds me against her chest, all of my weight supported by her, and I should feel ridiculous, but I don't.
Held in Beauty's arms is where I'm meant to be. The longer I spend in her penthouse, the more I'm very aware of that fact.
Of course, nothing perfect can last forever.
Beauty is pressed against my side, her head propped on my shoulder as I read to her. It’s The Silmarillion today, which amuses me that Beauty has such fanciful taste in fiction. For all of her cool reserve, her eyes brighten in excitement when something magical occurs on the pages of the books we’re reading.
“Why do you like fantasy so much, Beauty?” I ask and she tilts her head at me, considering the question. “I like the impossible, where anything can happen. It’s a beautiful idea, especially since that’s not the way the real world works.”
She hesitates for a second and then adds, “The real world is ugly, James. It’s ugly and it’s fucking cruel. The worlds in these books,” her fingers brush the book almost reverently, “they’re hard and the characters struggle, but there’s beauty to it.”
Her gaze flits to me and it goes a little bit mischievous. “And I do so love beautiful things.”
My heart stops and she rolls her head away, getting comfortable, like she didn't just turn my world on it’s head.
Love doesn’t always mean love. She’s just talking. She isn’t talking about me.
“Beast?” she murmurs, and I give myself a shake. She isn’t talking about me, even if I wish like hell she was.
I read for another four pages before my phone goes off.
Beauty tenses against me and I pet her shoulder before I reach for it, hitting the button for speaker phone as I answer.
“Mal. What’s wrong?”
“Why do you always assume something is wrong?” he says, sounding almost affronted.
“Because something is wrong.” Mal’s been almost religious in giving me space, not intruding while I’m with Beauty. I work at the club with him—and Wolf, who refuses to find anything else to do when I’m on the premises—twice a week, and when I’m not at the Kingdom, he doesn’t call. He doesn’t text.
He doesn’t interfere at all.
I would think he’s pissed, except Mal’s never been the passive aggressive type.
“I’d like you to come to the Kingdom this weekend. It’d do the subs good to see their fearless leader.”
“No,” Beauty says, sharply.
“It’s work,” Mal says, his voice edging toward impatience.
I shake my head. “My contract has a clause, Mal. I don’t get to work the Floor.”
“Then have your damn Domme bring you on a leash. I don’t really care what the fuck you’re doing. I just want you to make an appearance. Half the club thinks you’re dead, for God’s sake.”
I glance at Beauty, who's staring back, her eyes decidedly blank, and I sigh.
“Mal, I’ll call you back.”
I hear a tinny protest and then he’s gone, his voice cut off as I kill the call and stare at the girl who controls my life.
“What do you want, Beauty?” I ask, letting my eyes drop. She let’s out a shuddering breath, like she needed that sign of submission, and I swallow my smile.
I can be what she needs.
“I don’t share, Beast,” she says.
I blink and stare at her. “What the hell?”
She frowns at me. “I don’t share. Not with Mal, nor with the Doms who think they have a claim on you because you’ve knelt to them before. If I take you to the Kingdom, they will expect that.”
I lick my lips and shift until I’m kneeling on the bed beside her.
“Not if you collar me.”
Beauty is quiet, so tense beside me that I feel a spike of fear.
“You don’t want that,” she whispers, and I frown at the bed. I keep my head down and my voice even when I say, “I want what you are able to give me, Beauty. I want everything—but you can’t give me that yet, so I’ll take what you can give me.”
She’s quiet and then says, “And if I can’t give you everything?”
I smile at her. “Beauty, I’ve lived with you, let you beat and fuck me for over a month, and I don’t know your name or what you look like. I’ve never even kissed you. And I’m still here. I’m not going to disappear because you don’t want to put a collar around my neck.”
She stares at me for a long time, her eyes so distant I can’t read them, and finally let’s out a slow breath. “We will go to the club on Friday night. You will wear a standard Kingdom collar, and a leash. And if I say we’re done—“
“We’re done. Of course.”
She nods and sits up on the bed. “I think that’s enough for the evening,” she says decisively, and moves toward the door.
I watch her, and I wish like hell she would stay—or talk to me.
“Thank you,” she whispers, pausing in the doorway. She doesn’t look back at me, but for a heartbeat, backlit by the hall, she’s lovely, all shadow and light, angles and curves and the blank shine of her mask that is as familiar as it is frustrating.
“For what?” I ask.
“For staying this long.”
I don’t respond to that and she doesn’t say anything else as she slips out of the darkened bedroom, and away from me.
Chapter 16.
I like people.
I like the energy of them rubbing against me, and the way they watch me and want. I like the constant give and take of relationships, and the buzz of energy from them.
I like people.
Yet somehow or other, I ended up with Beauty, who was so stoically anti-social she lived in a penthouse and only left twice a month.
I didn’t realize just how much I missed people until I’m stepping into the club, into my club, on the end of Beauty’s leash, and the sound of it washes over me.
I shudder, a full body thing that makes Beauty smirk at me, and I offer her a grin, wide and wild. There’s a hoarse shout—it’s early enough in the night that the club isn’t too busy to hear—and then Wolf is there, reaching for me, his eyes bright and alive, and I feel Beauty tense, feel the slack in the leash go abruptly tight, and I step back, dodging his hug.
I tilt my head, just a little, and his eyes go wide and startled. “Oh. Right, right. Sorry.” He flashes Beauty a smile, and steps away from me.
“Wolf,” she says in that low flat tone. His eyebrows twitch and I hide my own smile, because how can anyone listen to her and not read the amusement in her tone? I nudge her with my shoulder and her chocolate brown eyes dart to me for a long moment before she shrugs and says coolly, “If you’d like a moment, we can go to your office.”
Wolf doesn’t actually leap at the offer, but it’s a close fucking call, and I swallow my grin.
Charm is already here, seated on the dais in his ridiculous chair, slightly above the floor but in the middle of it all. Celeste is sitting on his lap, a shining white collar around her throat, and I hide my smile at it. Beauty watches them curiously and then turns back at me. “You would do it again?”
“I would do this even if it didn’t buy his happiness,” I say without thinking, and her eyes widen just a little before they smile at me from behind the mask, blindingly bright before she turns to Wolf. “Lead the way, please,” is all she says and I laugh at the low grumble my brother gives at that.
Mal is in the office. It’s a Friday night, and I am here, so where the hell else would he be? As the door opens and Wolf steps inside, Beauty pauses and her grip on the leash tightens again, the collar pulling taut against my skin before she forces herself to relax.
“I’m here,” I murmur, for her and her alone. “I’m not going anywhere, Beauty. They are my friends and brothers. I don’t want them.”
Unspoken is, I want you, Beauty.
Her breath shudders out and she nods at me, eyes hesitant and hopeful, before she steps away and I walk into the office that so often has felt like the center of my universe.
It doesn’t, now.
“You made a nice entrance, Beastie,” Mal drawls, his eyes laughing at me.
“At least they don’t think I’m dead,” I shoot back.
“Gonna put on a show tonight?”
I shrug. “My Domme controls that, Mal. Surely you know that. And she doesn’t believe in letting me in on her plans until we’re right in the middle of them.”
“You prefer it that way,” Beauty says mildly, looking around the office with curious eyes.
I shrug and take a step away from her, the leash unspooling between us until I can reach the chair and sprawl there, all inelegant mess of limbs and sex, and I grin at them.
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