by May Sage
Silent, he could see her for what she was, the impossibly perfect unattainable beauty; however, the feisty, friendly, and – if he wasn’t mistaken – flirty banter she threw his way was confusing his senses.
Dammit.
“No screaming.”
Please, no screaming, he would have begged, if necessary.
He stopped after he’d guided her upstairs; no one was going to follow them, here. They’d done their job for the night. It was time to retire to his rooms, and to let her return to hers.
They’d both stopped at the top of the grand staircase. She didn’t say a word, nor did he. Goodnight, while appropriate, just didn’t want to come out of his lips.
She was looking up at him and he couldn’t think of a thing that he wouldn’t have given to know what was happening underneath the brown-auburn waves right then.
On impulse, he grabbed his keys and opened the door in front of him. He walked in, refraining himself from formulating an invitation. She could go to bed if she wanted to.
The old library had been turned into his man cave. He’d left the books on the walls, but there was also a giant TV screen, plenty of movies, two different gaming platforms, a minibar and a really good sound system.
He always closed the doors, unwilling to let it become some sort of a social place – it was his chill out room. His.
Yes, Aiden was a bit on the possessive side of the scale – however, he didn’t have anything against sharing with her, for some reason.
He sank right onto his favorite sofa, grabbed the remote and turned on a good tune, as if everything was just peachy. As if the most beautiful woman in the world wasn’t on his threshold, pondering on whether she wanted to walk in.
He expected she wouldn’t.
♦
Everything about the Beast said bugger off, I’m relaxing. His eyes were closed, head thrown back, arms folded behind it.
But damn, she’d had a long week, too. Preparing for a battle, she straightened her spine and stepped inside.
She’d been solely focused on the Beast, before, but now she took in the surroundings and her mouth fell open.
Most people ended up doing a job to pay the bills, but there was a reason why Belle worked in a library, and that reason was the books.
She was fond of reading, and it was practical – not to mention, cheap – to do so on an electronic device; she’d bought a second hand eReader ages ago but, to her, nothing compared to the smell, the feel, the pleasure of holding a book. Especially a well preserved, old one, at that. There were half a dozen of originals in the Royal Library, and she valued them like the treasures they were.
The circular walls were completely covered by priceless, ancient books. Her hand shakily went to the first shelf on her right, and grabbed a hand written manuscript of the Old Tale.
Belle could recall the illustrations of the original; and that was it. She recognized the logo stamped at the back as well as the neat calligraphy in green ink.
She almost dropped it, in her daze. Fuck. No. It was just a masterful copy. Right?
She put it back and resolved to step away from the shelves.
Turning, she saw the Beast glancing her way; he seemed very amused. She breathed out; of course it was a copy. He would have stopped her from grabbing it without gloves, if it hadn’t been.
“You like books?”
“I like coffee, cake, good music and soapy movies. Books? I adore. That’s quite the collection.”
“Family heirloom,” he responded with a shrug. “These are only those that were given to me when my grandmother passed away. You should see my father’s library.”
It was strange, imagining the Beast had a father, a grandmother; she frowned, wondering why it didn’t compute in her mind.
Probably because of his appearance. It was definitely standing out, and most children did somewhat resemble their parentage. No eminent figure had looked like that before he’d come out of the shadows a few years ago, and to possess such a library, his family was obviously part of the crème de la crème.
It just seemed strange.
On the other hand, Belle looked nothing like her fair “siblings,” so he might have been like her – raised by people who weren’t his flesh.
She wondered if he had more answers than she did; did he know where he came from, or had his parents just died on a cruise before saying a word to him?
She couldn’t ask, though. Asking would mean revealing what she was – something Ben had made her swear she’d never mention to anyone. Medically, her body was the kind of miracle that should be studied and understood by scientist, if it helped cure some ailment; she’d just rather live a long, happy life and die of natural cause before spending some time under the scalpel.
“What?” he asked, taking in her baffled expression.
“What’s your name?”
He had to have a name and it couldn’t be Beast. No parent was that cruel. Although, to be fair, what hers had called her translated to “So Beautiful,” in the ancient Jereenan tongue; she’d take Beast any day.
“It doesn’t matter,” he replied.
The tone was harsh, final; which meant that it did matter quite a bit.
Belle narrowed her eyes, irritated.
“How would you feel if you didn’t know mine?”
He didn’t bother responding, which meant he knew she was right.
However, he also had a point: it wasn’t any of her business and she had to respect his wish for privacy.
Even if it killed her.
Belle was way too curious for her own good, and mysteries kept her up in the middle of the night, plotting and wondering until she solved them.
The first technique crossing her mind consisted in annoying the hell out of him until he gave it up.
“Well, I’m going to have to make a name up aren’t I? How does Herbert sound?”
Chapter Six
Tease
Sibelle had been right: her presence was doing wonders for his reputation, Marcus Bales had obviously been impressed, and he ran the largest network of underworld clubs; the word would go around quickly, with him in the loops.
But that being said, he had to get her out of here as soon as possible. Having her here was unhealthy.
After lasting his requisite two hours in the casino on the second night, he sent her to bed and gave a call to Stella.
It had been necessary; he’d never bothered asking for a private session before, but he couldn’t very well have joined the queue gathered around Marie, when everyone in the room assumed he was getting off with the likes of Sibelle Thornton.
Calling Stella took some deliberation, but he gave in. Right now, his balls needed attention; not the kind he could give himself, either. He’d tried.
Stella came in wearing her long coat, and nothing underneath.
“I hope you’re wet. We’ll have to skip foreplay today.”
Foreplay had been walking around holding the fucking hand of a perfect, sensual, pantiless woman. He needed release and he needed it now.
Stella was wet, as it happened, but he still applied a generous amount of lube, because he was merciless. She came repetitively, but her whimpers were bordering on pain within the hour.
Fuck, an hour. Aiden wasn’t by any means one to end the game too quickly, but he’d always been disciplined, able to come practically on demand within minutes, when necessary. If he had the time, he made it last long enough to ensure every party enjoyed themselves.
But an hour was a new one. He wasn’t anywhere close to satisfaction, though.
He cursed and stopped the hips of the woman who was riding him; there was no point, he was just hurting her now.
“Sweetheart, stop it,” he cooed to her when she attempted to persevere; he realized her failure to make him fly had hurt her pride. “It’s not you. I’m in a funny place right now.”
Like, somewhere next door.
“Are you seriously giving me the it’s not you, it’s me talk?”
&n
bsp; He had to laugh; he was, wasn’t he?
“Look, let’s just call it a day. I’m hurting you, now.”
“You haven’t hurt my mouth.”
Good point.
She pushed him to lie down on his bed and climbed him, on her hands and knees, placing her own sex on his mouth.
“My pussy is burning, boss. What are you gonna do about it?”
This woman was a godsend. He licked her out while she sucked him, recalling all the reasons why this was enough.
He came, hard.
♦
Belle wasn’t sure why she was quite so worked up about the fact that the Beast had fucked someone next door; or rather, she completely refused to acknowledge the emotion she recognized.
She’d never felt it before, but she’d witnessed enough people around her giving in to that self-centered feeling to name it for what it was: jealousy.
It was plain stupid, but she’d envied the faceless woman last night.
The headboard had hit the wall so hard. She’d screamed at the top of her voice a couple of time, and moaned in obvious delight; there was nothing forced about those noises.
Belle had never felt anything that had made her genuinely moan. She didn’t recall her one sexual experience, and it hadn’t been consensual, in any case. If anything, she was certain she’d been screaming in agony.
But the Beast had made his partner come – unless the woman had been a hell of an actress. Then, there had been the laughter – the playfulness – and yes, she’d been jealous of that, too.
That was harder to justify; any woman with a functioning pussy might have envied a good orgasm, but why was she annoyed about the familiarity? It didn’t make a blink of sense. She didn’t like the Beast, owner of a casino-slash-sex club.
It wasn’t going away, though.
Over the next few hours, she wondered if the faceless screamer was a girlfriend or if they had a casual deal; she bet on casual, given the fact that the Beast had requested Belle to pretend to hook up with him; a girlfriend wouldn’t have approved of that.
Unless they had an open relationship.
Belle repeated and reiterated a firm it doesn’t matter to herself, but her brain just didn’t want to compute that information.
She was grumpy at work. When she made it back to the Nest around five, to find a dress, this time – a little more demure; it was tight and backless, but entirely decent otherwise – she was even more annoyed.
She didn’t even bother answering to his invitation to join him for dinner; she couldn’t have, as she was mentoring the kids at the skate park until nine, again, but even if she hadn’t been, it would have been a big, fat no.
The kids normally cheered her up, but she was still incredibly annoyed when she made it back, muttering as she slipped into the new dress. She purposefully left the underwear off, bra and panties, ignoring the elegant backless bodysuit he’d left to fit her dress.
Belle wasn’t sure what that was supposed to achieve, but her little rebellion did make her feel better – more empowered, somehow. She knew he disliked it and that was a good enough reason for her.
That did not make her desperate for his attention. At all.
Fuck, she sucked at the whole man thing.
The Beast met her at the door, again, and sighed as soon as he drew closer; as his eyes had just taken in the front of her dress, she smiled. Oh yes, the girls were out to play. Take that.
“You’re making it very hard,” he told her.
“Pun intended, I hope?”
She was chastising herself for flirting, but a chuckle did escape him and her inner remonstrance fell flat. She felt victorious, before wondering what the hell was happening to her and whether she needed to get her head examined.
Seriously. She’d been pissed off all day and now she smiled, because she’d managed to get a laugh out of him? It was ridiculous. Belle hated women who defined their worth through opinion of men around them. She was better than that.
Pondering over her own reactions, over the course of the boring evening, she decided that it was due to the fact that he didn’t look at her like the other guys she met – as though she was prey.
Beauty bestowed a lot of power upon the bearer, such as an uncanny ability to see who was a total moron. The Beast wasn’t. He might or might not have appreciated her physical appearance, but he didn’t seek to claim it; it was reassuring.
And infuriating.
Belle grew bored again quite quickly; her eyes frequently were drawn to the mysterious platform, because well, there wasn’t much to do expect to gawk at the poor girl who was currently sandwiched between three guys.
“Want to join in?” the Beast asked, catching her latest glance.
That was an interesting question; nothing in the world might have made her participate to this public fuck-fest, because she had some respect for herself, but on a basic level, now she got over the whole uppity “they shouldn’t do that,” it was incredibly sexy.
She imagined that all the men in there were probably old and unattractive; the woman didn’t get to choose who she took. She was paid for it. Sibelle had no respect for her, but she couldn’t help the physical response: it made her horny.
She didn’t bother with any answer, mainly because she couldn’t formulate a sincere one.
“We hosted a wedding last month. The wife and groom met here, so they found it fitting. They set up the honeymoon suite in here, and gave us all a show.”
Fuck. Just like that, her legs got drenched.
The Beast chuckled again; oh, the prick was doing it on purpose.
See who would win that game.
“That’s sexy. I’ll fuck myself while imagining that, tonight. Clocks did say I could take anything from the rooms downstairs; I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed one of the long blue dildos, by the way?”
She’d turned to the Beast as she spoke, and had the pleasure of seeing his jaw hit the floor. Take that.
“Blue?” he repeated, corking an eyebrow.
She blushed as his eyes narrowed. Yes, she’d gone for the light silver blue, so sue her.
“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, with a man like me,” he told her after a beat.
She could imagine it was, actually. Flirting with some boy at the library was one thing; one simple, harmless thing she never did anyway. Doing so with the Beast was like skating down a slippery road.
Sibelle smirked; good thing she was a great skater.
“Right back at you, Archibald.”
He groaned, before pointing to the door.
“Go upstairs. Now.”
She laughed on her way out, until a voice she unfortunately recognized said her name, making her shudder.
“Sibelle Thornton.”
She was pretty damn certain they hadn’t shared this detail with the dick who had been introduced to her as Marcus.
“Beautiful as always,” he said, appraising her from head to toes like the creep he was.
“Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
She’d turned her heels and made it for the stairs, but the man got hold of her wrist, and then, Belle noticed three different things.
Firstly, every single member of staff in the lobby stopped what they were doing and looked straight at her, their glance questioning. If she wanted help, they had her back, that much was obvious.
Secondly, Marcus enjoyed this; restraining, frightening women. He reveled in her discomfort, she read it on his face.
And finally, Belle knew down to her bones that she really was a freak.
Because the moment he touched her, thereby invading her personal space, her brain stopped seeing the flesh covering his body. She only saw what mattered. The precise location of his heart, a way to reach his brain through his eyes, his jugular pulsing.
Ways to get rid of the threat.
It had been a while since her mind switched had to the predator mode. For once, she almost let it slip.
But he hadn’t don
e anything – not yet – so she forced her way out of the funk.
“Know this, little Sibelle. You’d be welcomed with open arms in my clubs. You’d earn more than you could ever imagine – much more than you can dream of getting at the Nest.”
She didn’t know how she managed to, but she forced a smile.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” she lied, before yanking her hand back and walking up as fast as she could.
She was running. Not because she was afraid of that low-life; she was afraid for him.
Of one thing, she was certain: if he carried on making her feel uncomfortable, like he wished to touch her, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from ripping him apart.
And she’d enjoy it.
♦
The brother came in the next day. He was armed with a gun as well as a sword.
The gun was taken care of in about the quarter of a second. One instant, it was in the stupid guy’s hand, and the next, inside Adler’s mouth; the dog had just jumped and grabbed it, before throwing it asides, and going back to licking his paws clean.
Ben was glancing towards it, obviously planning to retrieve it, but Aiden growled “don’t do it, boy.” He winced at the thought of explaining to Sibelle that he’d unadvisedly killed her dear sibling in self-defense.
Because there was no chance – absolutely none – that the thief might have won. His new surhuman forces aside, Aiden had been trained to fight – and to win. Ben hadn’t; the fact that Lightwoods had overthrown him made that clear.
Aiden thought back to the previous night.
Sibelle had joined him in the library, as was their new, but nonetheless firmly implanted custom.
She had a thing about sitting on anything, save for the furnishing designed for that purpose; she’d been perched on the window, at first, and then, she’d climbed on the bookshelf’s ladder.
Finally, at one in the morning, just around the time when he’d been ready to head to his bed, she’d taken the book she’d borrowed and sat right there, against his sofa, her head resting quite close to his knees.