Beautiful Beast: Part 2 of 3

by Jenn Marlow

  BEAUTIFUL BEAST

  Part Two

  By Jenn Marlow

  Copyright © 2015

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 1

  When he opened his office door, he expected to see his client, but instead, he saw her. With plump, pink, naked lips, she was just begging to be ravished. His favorite things in the world were full, pink, and naked; one thing in particular—and he could only wish in that moment that he could have it. He knew she wanted it as much as he did.

  Her bottom lip held a deeper shade of pink, and he wondered if it was from their passionate tussling and his aggressive biting when they kissed. His cock tensed against the fabric of his underwear just thinking about it, and he knew he had to keep it together. It was funny; he never felt addicted even though he knew that he was. He smiled, as her dark chestnut hair quickly covered her visibly reddening face as she looked down. He knew that she was embarrassed. He was staring, but it wasn’t like her to be shy. He had to admit, although he acted as if he hated her unpredictability, part of him was very fond of it. She kept life exciting and new.

  Her hair fell past her shoulders and brushed against her full breasts. His dick strained against his pants again. He didn’t know much more he could take, and she was only just standing there. She hadn’t even spoken yet. He did wonder though, despite wanting to fuck her senseless, why she hadn’t said anything. In fact, more importantly, he wondered why she had knocked on his office door.

  She shivered, as she felt his gaze on her and felt an unexplained pressure against her skin. It was almost like he had touched her with his stare.

  The hairs on her neck stood on end. She could have sworn she felt a whisper of breath against her skin. She closed her eyes, knowing she was hallucinating. He hadn't touched her. She was just nervous. That's all. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm down, knowing that she was not coming across as she had intended. She wanted this to be sexy. She wanted this to be sexually fulfilling for both of them. She wanted him to like it. Because, damn it all, she wanted him to want to do what she was there to request.

  When she turned back to look at him, he noticed for the first time that her eyes were wide and scared. He was curious as to why, but he smiled, knowing that she would tell him. Eventually. Hell, that's what she came there for after all.

  “I touched myself tonight!” she blurted before she could stop herself. And then—just like that—the mood was destroyed. She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that; she wanted it to be sultry and provocative. Her confession was far from that.

  “You came all the way over here to tell me that you touched yourself tonight?” he asked, confused. She couldn't decide what the inflection in his voice indicated. He sounded skeptical—if not a little dumbfounded.

  She tried not to think about it and simply answered, “Yes. But what I’m saying was that it wasn’t enough.”

  His brows furrowed, and then he gave her an evil smile and licked his lips seductively. Normally, she would have scoffed at the comedy of it, but she was horny, and she wanted his cock more than anything. So, she licked her lips, too.

  “What were you thinking about when you were playing with yourself?” His voice went low, but not hoarsely so; it was smooth as silk.

  She stiffened, not ready to admit the truth. “Nothing,” she replied, simply.

  “You're lying,” he replied in an even darker and lower voice than before.

  “How do you know that?” she questioned, her resolve failing. She seemed almost erratic in her question, scared even. And she was scared. She didn’t know what was happening to her, happening to them. She didn’t know when the line blurred, but she knew that she had somehow crossed it.

  Hell, she was pretty sure that neither of them were really aware when exactly they started feeling anything about the other, let alone noticed the similarities with the other. She had no idea when she felt this connection—which was far greater than simply a physical one—begin. In fact, she knew that the line had been clearly defined. One moment they each felt so distant that they were almost alien species in parallel universes, able to see the other, but never really able to step foot on the other's world let alone travel it. Not that they would have wanted to travel together; they hated one another.

  He bought her. He bought her for sex. He bought her to use her. She let him so that she could use him; they were equally using one another for their own personal gain. He was rough, demanding, and cruel, and she had no idea when she felt herself fall under the trap of empathy. She felt a connection to him. She couldn’t explain what it was, or why it happened, or when it happened. All she knew was that it existed. And ever since, she felt herself drowning in a sea of desire.

  He laughed, and it was dark and low. And even though she wasn't positive, Alex could tell by the way that he was looking at her that he knew.

  “Because the average person has fifty to seventy thousand thoughts per day, which means around thirty-five to fifty thoughts per minute. That’s a new thought every other second, if not nearly every second,” he mused, matter-of-factly, and she was overwhelmingly exhausted at his attempt to be clever. He was clever; she had to admit it, but it didn’t mean that his wasn’t a comment worthy of an eye roll.

  She wasn’t sure if the average person should ever have that much useless trivia muddled throughout their mind, and it was then that she wished—for just a moment—that she could swim in his mind, swirl the water of his mind, and take a glimpse of all of the thoughts which swam within. “And that means you thought of something,” he finished, his ego pouring from his tongue and reflecting in his eyes.

  She lowered her gaze, and her head followed. She didn’t want him to know the truth. She couldn’t. She wouldn't. How could she admit her attraction? But when he reached a hand out and grazed her cheek, with some sort of emotion that suggested some sort of fondness in return, she wondered if the attraction had really been as ill-placed as she had thought. The flesh from her blush-red cheeks tingled from his touch.

  She hated clichés, but she felt everything coming to life in that moment. It was as if the world was black and white, and as soon as he touched her, it all lit up and transformed into a beautiful masterpiece of art and wonderment. It was like the fucking Wizard of Oz just touched her and made her world something it wasn’t, something bright and colorful. It was as if it were something full of life, something full of being, something that made her feel alive for the first time in a long time.

  His fingers slipped down to her chin, and he slowly tilted her face up until she met his gaze. His eyes were searching, looking for answers. It was almost as if he was—as crazy as it sounded—looking into her soul.

  “Tell me,” he pressed.

  And before she could think about it, before she could even stop herself, she heard her own voice begin to blurt out the truth. “I was thinking about you.” Then, she smiled and decided to be clever, herself—or funny—or whatever she could be to distract from the truth. “Roland. Roland-fucking-Peters. Roland Peters: my captor, to be exact.” She was laughing by the end, laughing at her own joke, her own musings. He smiled in return, but it was short lived. He began to
express a look something of a more serious nature.

  Though she had made light of it, the sound of his name on her lips turned his stiffening cock into a throbbing iron-clad arousal that he couldn’t hide if he wanted to. He fought the urge to tell her to say it again, to press her against the wall and have his way with her. But he knew that he couldn’t. He was expecting a client, and his personal life was something that could never be discovered. The more he could remain secretive and separate from his professional life, the better.

  “So, you think of me often?” he asked, amused. She couldn’t help but wonder if he was distracting from the tender moment they had just had, distracting from the fact that he had some humanity left him after all.

  With his hand still on her chin, he could feel her tense slightly and try and turn her head away. He ran his hand down her neck, hoping that she wouldn’t think he was trying to choke her. She tensed more, and he knew his fear was well-placed. He opened his hands slowly, as if to say that he wasn’t going to harm her; and he ran his fingers gently down the exposed skin of her neck. It seemed to soothe her. Her body relaxed with his touch, and he could see tiny goosebumps on her perfect, creamy, smooth skin.

  He could feel her pulse beating quickly and strongly under his finger tips and her breath went deep and slow. She bit her lip again, and he didn’t know why it caused so much arousal to creep into his body, but it did. His cock was growing stiff again. Fueled by his desire, he pressed a little bit harder against her flesh and down to her chest.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she finally responded, and he smiled again, his inner-demons ready to play.

  “Oh? Then, you came all the way over here to tell me that you played with yourself, but you don’t think it matters if you thought about me while doing it?” he mocked, massaging her chest before laying small butterfly kisses along the flesh there.

  “I came here to tell you I was playing with myself, but it wasn’t enough…” she responded, truthfully. He stopped kissing her chest abruptly and looked up at her.

  “And you want my cock to service you?” he sounded flirty and devilish at the same time. The words were like silk in her ear, and she felt her heart begin to pound even harder.

  “I want to try something… new,” she blurted. Immediately, her cheeks blushed with a red-hot intensity, and her breath caught in her throat. She was mortified.

  “Oh? Do tell?” He was interested; she could tell. His hands fell from her, and he crossed his arms and leaned against his desk in wait.

  He smirked with a cocky fortitude and waited for her to delve more deeply into her fantasies. He knew that he seemed interested for an egotistical reason, but that’s what he wanted her to think. In truth, he had the errant thought that he was still asleep and this was all just a cruel dream, displaying a fantasy that he could never truly have—or could he? He did own her after all.

  But then a fact dawned on him like the morning sunrise. It wouldn’t be the fantasy, not really. If this moment wasn’t real, then the most he could ever hope for was to force her into replaying some version of it, a role-play version of it. He wondered if in that moment she was too perfect to be real. Without her realizing it, and without himself knowing how truly desperate he was to know—how much he really cared—if it was real, he pinched his forearm. “Well?” he pressed, making sure to keep his voice low and intimidating.

  She shook her head like she wasn't going to tell him, so he pressed again.

  “You came to say it, so say it,” he whispered. “Your secret's safe with me.”

  He reached out to her again and touched her chest, but rather than massaging it as he was before, he slid his hand lower—until it brushed gently over the swell of her cleavage. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest increase in rhythm. She was breathing hard, almost panting.

  He smiled before dipping his middle finger into the crease of her cleavage. His finger swooped the large “v” of the neck down, as he continued further down. He looked at her again before cupping one of her breasts with his strong palms.

  She moaned, and it only fueled him more. “Tell me,” he pressed once more, his desire fueled more and more by the second. He thought that he might burst, but he wanted her to break before he did. He could never allow himself the displeasure of breaking first. It wasn’t in his character. “What were you thinking?”

  He pinched her nipple roughly, propelling another moan out of her. The sound danced across his ears and tickled him throughout his entire body until its electric current found home in his groin. He ached for her, longed for her. However, he had to know; he had to press; he had to know if she was just as kinky as he was. He had to know if he had—for once—bought something that was perfect, something of greater value than anything he had ever bought before, something that didn’t require fine-tuning.

  “Something more,” she finally whispered, exasperated. “Something dirtier; something different.”

  “Dirtier than what?” he asked. “Than me making you my fucking slave?”

  She hesitated. She didn’t really know what to say to that. Usually that would have been taboo to her, but there was something different lately. Something more. She had merely given in to make things easier, and hell, she liked sexual release. But now, now it was almost arousing to know that he owned her and she couldn’t say no even if she wanted to. She couldn’t believe that it was true, but it was.

  She always thought of herself as a feminist of sorts, but here she was ok with being owned by a man. “Your skin …” he said, a tone of wonderment dancing over his voice, as he slowly slid his finger up along her sternum, “It's so soft. It’s so smooth…”—he kept tracing her skin up and down, leaving small goose bumps in his fingers’ wake—“… and warm.”

  He looked into her eyes, that same wonderment evident in his eyes, and then she understood. He did own her, but only to some degree. Because in this moment, she knew, that now she owned a part of him, as well. He may not have known it—and she sure as hell didn’t want to admit it—but she did.

  “And you know what else is warm? Your fucking pussy, and it’s going to be mine,” he whispered seductively, yet harshly in her ear. She smiled.

  “Thought you wanted me to tell you what I want?” she asked, amused.

  “You’re actually going to tell me?”

  A long silence passed between them, and he was scared he pushed her too far. But just when he was about to pull away, she stepped in closer. “Yes.”

  And that’s all she said before all of his defensed shattered, before she told him exactly what she wanted and left his office without allowing him the pleasure of complying. He couldn’t believe it; he couldn’t believe he was even thinking of giving in, of taking orders from her, but there was something about it that aroused him more than being the alpha. He knew she wanted control, and he would give her that. He would let her think she was in control. In all honesty, something about it caused a heat to radiate through his entire body and almost seemed to begin to fill all the voids in his sexual desires.

  He didn’t know what she was doing to him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it, but he was going to ride it out for the time being. He knew she would never get close enough to truly do damage, so in the meantime it only seemed natural to play along. Her coming to him would definitely make things easier and even give him something different. And after all, that’s all he really craved. He hungered for the unknown. He hungered for it all, and maybe she was willing to give that to him if she thought she was in control. Just maybe.

  Chapter 2

  “Tell me you want more,” he breathed, back in the privacy of his own home.

  She nodded her head, but that wasn't enough for him. He had to hear more after her abrupt departure from his office.

  “Say it,” he whispered roughly.

  “I do,” she told him. “I want more.”

  He wanted her to feel in control, but he also wanted her to fill holes in his desires that had never been filled. He wanted a woman to vo
calize her want for him, honestly and truthfully. And the truth of it was, he had never experienced it.

  He had dated women, but it seemed he was always attracted to a specific type, shy, non-vocal, but not entirely submissive either. They wanted intimacy and lots of it. Once his drive became all about sex and completely opposed romance and intimacy, he turned to prostitutes and then sex slaves. And he knew that none of them really wanted him. Alex was different though. She seemed to despise him at first, but now at least respected him—and possibly more, but at the very least enough to adore his cock—and he was fine with that.

  Neither knew, but they both felt like they were in some sort of erotic dream or movie scene, but it was real. It was really happening.

  And they were both—in the flesh—so much better than anything either of their imaginations could ever have concocted in their own minds, let alone a movie scene. Nothing could have possibly explained the level of arousal each felt, nor could anything explain the feelings they harbored at that moment. They weren’t romantic feelings of intimacy or love; they were something else.

  The feelings were raw; they were instinctual; and they were theirs, as they ritualized one another like animals. They teased; they flirted; and they commenced in something close to a mating dance ritual for one another, as they circled each other, touching, piercing each other with their longing gazes, lustfully and seductively whispering. It was all to further iterate their wants and needs. All of their actions aimed at one common goal: arouse the other to no return and make them powerless to their whims.

  “How much more do you want?” he asked. They weren’t touching, but he could already feel his pleasure heighten. As they continued to circle one another in an almost challenging fashion, he felt himself aching to ravish her, but he wasn’t sure he would. He knew that she wanted to be in control; and he wanted something, too. He wanted her to be vocal with how much she wanted him. If he could somehow give her what she wanted while getting what he wanted, he could tell that his night would be more pleasurable overall.