And when my Beast gathers me into his arms and carries me from the room, I sink against him, my mind still blissfully quiet as I listen to the solid thump thump thump of his heart in his huge, warm chest.
Ten
Beast
That didn’t go as planned. She wasn’t supposed to be a virgin. I was so sure she wasn’t a virgin. That she was a liar, just as corrupt as the rest of them.
But I was wrong. I was so wrong.
She’s a rarity, a hardy winter rose among flashier summer blooms, made of sterner stuff and all the more beautiful for it. And the way she unfurled before my eyes…
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I whisper into the silky fall of her hair. Hours of freezing torture in the tower, and she’s as beautiful as ever, her olive skin flushed from the pleasure I gave her, if a bit smudged from sleeping on the dirty stone. “Time to clean you up.”
She murmurs a protest when I set her down in the tub.
I turn the gold knobs and test the water temperature until it’s perfect. There’s a new cake of soap waiting to be unwrapped. Rose scented, of course. I lather a soft washcloth and place it between her legs. She winces with a little moan.
“Sore?” My deep voice echoes around the bathroom and brings a deeper flush to her cheeks.
Biting her lip, she nods.
“Was that the first time you’ve had something inside you?” I still can’t believe she’s a virgin.
She raises her chin, looking regal even though she’s wet and naked. “That’s none of your business.”
Still that fire in her eyes even as she gave in to me so beautifully. My cock is hard as a rock from just remembering her sweet submission.
I growl and pull her hands away from where they cover her breasts. “Everything about you is my business. You belong to me now, Daphne.”
“I don’t belong to anyone. I’m my own person.”
“Really? Is that why you’ve worked so hard to be a clone of your father?” And Adam Archer, I add silently, though I won’t say that fucker’s name. Maybe I don’t have to kill him now, since he hasn’t defiled my precious rose.
It wasn’t supposed to be about her. It was supposed to be about revenge…but now. After having her here, after watching her shatter beneath me, inhaling her virgin scent as she detonated in her first ever orgasm that I and I alone wrung from her—
To my surprise, she gnaws her lip. “That’s also personal.”
I catch her chin. “You’re not theirs any longer. You’re mine.” This is the only thing I’ve become absolutely sure of over the past hour.
She’s changing everything.
But it doesn’t mean I can’t have my revenge still.
She will be my revenge now. I will take Dr. Laurel’s daughter and make her mine. I will snatch the woman Adam Archer wants right out from under his nose. When I’m done with her, she’ll crave no one else but me.
Except maybe…maybe I’ll never be done with her. If she continues to be what she appears, if she really is pure, then…
I gaze down at the perfect beauty, naked before me. Steam rises from the tub and she groans in pleasure. Can she really be all she appears to be? There’s so much more of her to explore. Not just her body, but her mind.
The tub is one of the few modern accoutrements I’ve added to the place, along with all the modern plumbing and lighting. One of the few pleasures I allow myself. It’s large and when I reach over and turn on the jets, Daphne murmurs happily.
Other than her few spitfire moments since we finished earlier, she’s mostly been like a sleepy cat. She reaches for me again and again, and I have to capture her wrists before she tries to dig her paws into my chest.
I’ll have to train my kitten, won’t I? No touching her Master.
Only I do the touching.
But she’s had enough lessons for today.
So I gently wash her. She tries to cover herself, but I tsk and pull her hands away. After a moment, her raven head sinks back against the tall edge of the tub.
“What am I doing?” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “This is so wrong.”
“Why?” I ask, sifting my hands through her long, dark, silky hair. I pour some shampoo into my hand. I added a feminine sounding shampoo to my grocery order yesterday and the scent of roses soon fills the bathroom. She leans forward when I direct her, bowing her head.
I love the shape of her tiny, delicate skull in my hands as I massage the suds in. So much life embodied in such a fragile container. And her amazing brain. I know just how smart Daphne Laurel is.
That she has the capacity for such genius and also such beautiful submission… My hands tremble as I continue to wash her hair and I’m glad she’s facing away so she can’t see.
“What do you mean, why?” she asks. “You’re my, my captor,” she sputters.
I purse my lips and continue to massage her scalp. “Or we’re two consenting adults and for a while you’re deciding to give your power over to me. You’re just realizing how good it feels to lay it down. To let me take care of you.”
I slide one suds-slippery hand down her neck and down the front of her chest to her breast and lean close. “Maybe you realize how good it feels to be bad. To let go.” I bite at her ear, and it's more than just a nibble.
She gasps and her nipples that have only been pebbled before turn hard as rocks, peeping out just above the roiling jet water.
“What’s so wrong about that?” I continue whispering in her ear before pulling away and sliding my hand back up into her hair.
She’s left panting and I smile. No one’s ever reacted to me the way she has…but maybe that’s the point, too.
I’m only able to be my true self with her. Only with each other are we able to be our true selves.
Only with each other are we able to be free.
She doesn’t say anything else as I pour pitchers of warm water over her head to wash out the shampoo.
I continue talking and washing her sweet, petite little body. “That’s right. Let go. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to do a thing.”
I lift her arm and run just the tips of my fingers up and down her forearm, then up to her biceps. I brush a bar of pink soap underneath her armpit and she giggles and drops her arm back down.
It’s the most precious and adorable sound and I immediately want to hear it again, so I pull her arm up and repeat the motion. Her giggle is even more high-pitched this time. She squirms and splashes, trying to get away from me.
She flips like a fish in my arms but I’m even quicker, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the sides of the tub as I flip, too, looming over her. Water droplets gleam like gemstones on her eyelashes and she’s still laughing but she quickly sobers, her eyes searching mine back and forth.
“Will you take off the mask?” she asks, breathless. “I want to see you.”
If there’s one thing that could sour my mood, it’s that question.
“No, you don’t,” I bark, pulling back, but only so that I can grab her by the waist and bend her over the side of the large tub.
“Elbows on the marble. On your knees.” The tub has a wide marble lip on all sides and I indicate where she’s to position herself.
Her eyes flash back up to mine uncertainly and I narrow mine at hers. This isn’t a democracy. “Now,” I order.
She nods and gets into position, knees in the water so that just her rear end peeks out of the water, arms on the wet marble. I frown. The marble might be uncomfortable on her elbows so I reach for a towel and place it underneath them. Her breath hitches—at my nearness or because she’s thankful for the towel, I’m not sure.
Without thinking, I lay a hand on her spine and run it up and down—a gesture of comfort? No. I wouldn’t know how. I just want contact with her. Every second I go without touching her feels wrong somehow.
All I know is my own body relaxes as soon as contact is reestablished. “That’s a good girl,” I murmur. “Such a good girl.”
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I grab a soft washcloth from the ledge and dip it into the soapy water. “I’m going to make you dirty, over and over. I’m going to make you such a filthy girl.”
I run the hot, dripping cloth down her perfect, peach-plump ass and her back arches ever so slightly. Always so responsive.
“And then I’ll clean you up so good.”
I drag the cloth up the inside of her thigh beneath the water, emerging right at her sex. “I’ll clean this sweet little pussy after you cum and squirt your filthy juices down your leg.”
A shudder runs down her spine and my own cock lengthens. But this isn’t about me. Not yet. I’ll take this so slow, so achingly slowly, that she’ll be begging me. And then I still won’t give it to her.
A smile curves my lips. Oh, how I’m going to torture her. And not out of revenge. No, I’m going to torture her so that I become her only Master.
I’m going to initiate her into every pleasure she never imagined even existed. I’m going to introduce her to her own body, to her own desires, and finally, finally…maybe I’ll even introduce her to me?
No. I immediately back away from the thought. It’s enough to master her desires and her body. To deny them—those who have betrayed me—and keep her for myself.
Even if she never knows who I am.
Eleven
Daphne
I wake up and I’m so warm. Gods, I’d swear I’d been cold for years and to finally be warm, snuggled in the most comfortable bed with piles of blankets on me and my face warmed by— I frown and open my eyes slowly.
It is a fire!
I snap to attention and sit up, blankets falling off me as I do. There are no fireplaces in my extremely functional city apartment.
But no, of course, I’m not in the city anymore, am I? I’ve fallen through the looking glass. I look slowly around. It’s far from the cold stone of the monastic room the Beast first thrust me into.
There’s a huge, thick Persian rug on the floor, and on the window-sill, I shit you not, there’s a legit bird just hanging out and tweet-tweet-tweeting. Um, when did I step into a fairytale movie? Then I giggle, my face flushing as I remember back to all the things that happened last night—definitely not PG.
I cover my face with my hands. Am I really at the stage where I can giggle about all this? What the hell is happening and can Dr. Daphne Laurel, PhD please return to the building?
Then I drag my hands back through my hair—hair that’s extra soft from whatever girlie shampoo he used on it. I never think about stuff like that and just buy whatever’s cheap and functional.
Let go. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to do a thing.
I wrap myself in a blanket and slide off the bed, padding to the window. The bird flies away when I press my forehead to the glass, staring down several stories of sheer grey-green stone. My chest cinches tight. I can’t just do that. Let go. He doesn’t know what he’s asking. What seemed so natural in the moment feels impossible now. I clench. I’ve clenched all my life.
When Mom got sick. When Dad said it was up to us to save her. I clenched, got down to it and studied my ass off. Mom died and I clenched even harder, hold it all in, don’t let anyone see, Dad needs you, be strong for him, for all the people still struggling with Battleman’s disease.
Gods, I literally have to take medication for constipation I’m so damned clenched all the time. I know, sexy. It’s just my normal.
Until him. Until last night.
I mean, the medical exam was one thing, but then there was the bath. He stayed clothed both times, but his hands on my body were as intimate as anything I’ve ever… My eyes drop closed at the memory of his caresses.
He did exactly what he said. Dirtied me, making me come over and over and then washing me only to flip me to another position in the tub and make me come another way. Until his touch felt like the most natural thing in the world. Until I was pruned and so exhausted, I barely remember him tucking me into bed like a sleepy, compliant kitten.
I step away from the window. My hand shakes as I brush my hair behind my ear. Then I look around for my hair tie. I always wear my hair in a bun. A tight bun.
Clench.
My hair tie is nowhere to be found. Neither is my purse where I always carry plenty of extras.
Instead my hair fluffs around me in an unruly mess. Not a complete mess. It’s brushed. …He brushed it last night before tucking me into bed.
The wave of relaxation that washes over me even at the memory of his touch calms some of the panic that’s been creeping in…until that itself freaks me out. What the hell? Nothing relaxes me! Nothing and no one! I’ve tried everything. Meditation, wine, hot baths… but shit, thinking about baths just reminds me of last night, again.
I’ve got to get the hell out of here or I’m just gonna go nuts battling with my own thoughts. I’m exhausted and I just woke up. I’ll go stir-crazy if I sit here much longer.
I pull on a soft sweater and another pair of thick leggings and socks and head for the door.
I pause when I reach out to touch it, sure it will be locked. Even after last night? Then I scoff at myself. You think that changed anything? Really?
But when I grab the knob, it turns easily.
Not locked.
I push through and then step out into the forbidding castle, squinting to see in the dimly lit corridor.
At the far end of the corner, light beams in diagonally from a high window, making dust motes dance in the air. But even as I walk towards it, the light falters and I hear thunder rumble overhead.
I shiver and think about calling out hello? But no, I’m not ready to see the Beast again so soon. Besides, how hard can it be to find the kitchen and get myself something to eat? My stomach rumbles, urging me on. This place might be big, but the kitchen will always be down, right? On the first floor or maybe the basement? That’s how old places like this were built? Upstairs/Downstairs kinds of arrangements?
I wrap my arms around myself and when I come to the end of the corridor and open a heavy door to a stairwell that heads up and down, I hurry down the stairs.
Damn, my feet are freezing. I wish I had something more than socks. It just makes me hurry faster. I pass one landing and keep going down. I was on the second or third floor, right? I think so, judging from when I looked out the window earlier.
When I come to the landing for what I think is the first floor, I keep going down. This has to be a servant’s stairwell, for as little frills as it has—I run my hand along down the railing as I go and then grimace—and as much dust has gathered. I take it the Beast doesn’t have a cleaning staff or call in a service. I wipe my hands on my leggings as I get to the bottom of the stairs and the dust smears on the soft black fabric.
Finally I push through the door at the bottom of the stairwell and—
It’s pitch black.
I gasp and stumble back, making sure the door doesn’t close behind me. The last thing I need is for the door to shut and lock behind me and leave me down here lost in the dark.
But I catch the door and when I fumble along the wall, I easily find a light switch. Oh thank goodness.
My thumping heart slows down but then I step forward, curious.
It’s a…gym.
Okay, not what I was expecting. But it helps explain the hulking muscles of my captor. Captor? Really? Can you still call him that after last night? You were the one begging.
Heat flares in my cheeks. Nope. Not thinking about that right now. Maybe not ever.
I walk closer to the weight bench and run my hand along the smooth, worn leather and then the stand of neatly stacked weights. There’s also a treadmill, a stationary bike, and a rowing machine. Well, good to know I can still keep up my cardio if the Beast will let me borrow his toys.
I cross the stone floor to the door at the other end of the room. The lights from the gym spill into a dark hallway. I flip another switch and a light flickers lazily on overhead, just one for the entire hallway. It�
��s the basement, so there aren’t any windows here to help relieve the unrelenting darkness.
I should turn back. I’m not seeing any kitchen. And it’s damp and cold down here. I can’t feel my toes anymore. I should’ve just waited in my room. It’s not like the Beast is going to starve me. He was probably about to bring me breakfast.
Then I scoff at my thoughts. Since when do I wait around for people to take care of me? I’m Dr. Daphne Laurel. I see problems and I fix them. My litany of failed experiments flash through my mind. Well, I try to fix them anyway. I will fix them, in the end. Starting with finding myself some freaking breakfast.
I straighten my shoulders and start down the hall. I stop at the first door I come to, doubting it’s the kitchen but determined to check every one anyway. Learning more about my surroundings can only be a good thing.
I flip on the light and laugh. Seriously?
A bowling alley?
Okay, it’s just one lane, but still, it looks regulation length, and there are pins set up in formation at the end and everything. I look around. Like, surely, this has gotta be some sort of joke.
But nope. The Beast loves…bowling? Or maybe it came with the place? Unlike the stairwell, though, there’s no layer of dust here, and I walk over the smooth, polished wood floor to the stand of bowling balls. There are various weights on the balls, but all of them have huge finger holes. I slip my slim fingers inside them and they’re engulfed. I yank my hands back. These are definitely the Beast’s balls. Of course they’re twice the average size. Snicker.
I step back and turn off the light, closing the door as quietly as I can behind me. I don’t know why it feels like peeking in these two rooms; it seems like I’m seeing into an intimate part of the Beast’s life. Parts he doesn’t share with anyone else. Things maybe no one else in the world knows about him.
I back away from the door. But I don’t turn and go back upstairs to my room. I head further down the hallway. I’m hungry for more. All I have are such incomplete pieces to the puzzle that is the man that’s suddenly taken over my life. It’s just a survival instinct. That’s all.
Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set Page 7