by Mary Frame
“Of what?”
His smile is small but definitely uneasy. Too fast.
“We’re moving too fast?” I ask, but he immediately shakes his head no. “Oh, you’re worried you’ll be too fast.”
Already was. Ducks his head to kiss me, hiding the embarrassment.
“It’s okay. We have all night and actually, I think it’s pretty hot.” I swallow, “Knowing that I can make you feel that much. That turned on. Because I am right there with you. You’re not alone.”
He signs again and my brain is a fuzzy haze of need and want and desire and I have to focus to figure out what he’s trying to tell me. I want to taste you.
“You want to taste me?” My stomach flips.
He nods.
“I may have just came from you asking.”
He grins. Now? he spells out.
“Um, yes.”
His fingers trip along the waistband of my shorts, rubbing soothing little circles along the delicate skin of my abdomen.
His lips move from my mouth down my neck, fingers plucking at my top. He leans back so I can whip it off over my head and throw it somewhere. His eyes are locked on my chest.
I’m wearing the simplest of bras. It’s white, for god’s sake. I look like a teenager. On top of that, my chest isn’t the best or the biggest. Beast’s hands are so large I’m nowhere near a handful, but he’s staring at my chest like it’s the Ring of Sauron. I guess size is irrelevant.
He traces his fingers around the globes, circling with careful fingers until he’s almost at the tips and I’m more than ready for the final contact. But then he pulls away.
I groan. “Beast.”
With a wicked grin he leans down and sucks one nipple into his mouth through the cotton. I arch back, my hands going to his hair, threading through the strands. One big hand spreads across my stomach, holding me in place while he uses his other hand to tug the cup of the bra down. His mouth covers me, the heat of it hot and demanding. He lavishes attention on first one and then the other and then he pulls back again, his breath hot and heavy.
Desire is a living, wild thing inside me. Beast kisses down my stomach, tugging at my shorts, pulling them down and off along with my panties until I’m completely bare.
There’s no room for embarrassment or worry. His hands are worshipful, rubbing soothing lines up and down my thighs, his eyes hungry. He presses my legs apart with careful strokes while he gazes down at me in wonder.
He leans in, tugging my legs over his broad shoulders, one and then the other, his breath feathering over my heated flesh. My body is as taut as a bowstring stretched tight and waiting for release.
It’s relief and torture when he finally kisses me. At first, it’s just a careful press of his mouth. Rubbing his lips up and down in soft, sweeping motions. And slowly, the pressure increases.
He’s using everything I’ve shown him, from the first kiss so many weeks ago to the other night when I bared myself to him, guiding his touch. When his tongue finally comes into play, he presses it in slow circles, just like I used my fingers, stroking me with deliberate effort.
When I groan and arch underneath him, I’ve become a feral creature, holding his head in my hands because I’m about to burst. I roll my hips back and forth, undulating against him, concerned only with my own satisfaction. Only then does his tight control shatter. His tongue thrusts inside and my spine bows with the force of the orgasm ripping through me.
He doesn’t let go, instead staying close and gentling his movements as I ride the waves of pleasure until I’m boneless and shaking in the aftermath.
He rests his head on my thigh and looks up at me, his eyes churning with his own leashed desire. Then he stretches up, covering me with his body, braced on his elbows. I’m surrounded in the best of ways.
“You’re still wearing clothes,” I complain, running hands up his shirt-covered back, lifting it enough to play at the skin just above his belt.
He nuzzles my neck in response.
“It’s my turn.” I shove at him playfully.
His breath stutters against my skin, a physical manifestation of everything he’s holding back. He moves away, kneeling on the bed next to me.
I sit up and cross my arms over my chest in a fake pout. “Time to join the naked party, buddy.”
His smile is slow and his eyes dip to my breasts before returning to my face with a lopsided grin.
I tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head. Reaching back, I unsnap my bra and slide it down my shoulders. Beast’s eyes are on me, tracking the movements with no attempt to hide the heat in his eager gaze. I push at his big shoulder. He lies back on the bed without resistance, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
He stills. Watching. Waiting. The bulge in his pants twitches and I tug at the buttons. He helps me undress him until he’s as naked as I am.
“That’s better.” I take him into my hand.
He hisses a breath between his teeth. His hands clench into fists at his side. His head falls back, but he doesn’t close his eyes, watching me from beneath lowered lids.
Bending over, I take him into my mouth and revel in the way his body twitches and strains, thighs rigid, stomach muscles bunching and tensing.
I lift up to say, “It’s okay to touch me.” I grab his hand and put it on my head. His fingers tunnel into my hair.
I lick him like an ice cream cone and then suck on the tip before moving down as much as I can.
His hand flexes against my scalp, the air filled with his rough breathing and the wet sounds of my mouth. Having this giant of man at my mercy floods me with heat and melts everything inside me, a wave that’s empowering and arousing. Within minutes, he explodes, shuddering and shaking until his whole body relaxes back on the bed, eyes shut. A gentle hand tugs on my hair, his other pressing at my shoulder, encouraging me to move up from my position between his legs.
Complying, I snuggle up next to him and he wraps an arm around me, pulling me into him and kissing me on the mouth.
He leans back. Embarrassed.
“Dude. Any longer and you might have broken my jaw.”
He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at my exaggeration.
“We’ll build it up. It’s not a big deal if you last longer. It’s not like I take forever. In the meantime,” I grin, “this is fun. There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. I like that I turn you on that much. Because you turn me on the same.”
To illustrate the point, I run my hands down his chest, spreading them around his hips, grabbing his butt.
He laughs silently. We spend long minutes enjoying the feel of skin pressed together, reveling in the intimacy of learning each other’s dips and valleys and freckles and scars.
At some point, I must doze off because I’m jarred awake by a pan clanging in the kitchen.
I sit up, glancing around the empty room. I grab one of Beast’s shirts from a drawer. It smells fresh and clean and it goes down past my knees.
Padding down the hall, I stop in the doorway of the kitchen. Beast stands at the stove, putting together a midnight snack. Mr. Bojangles flicks a tail at me, then chases after some invisible foe in the hallway.
Something sizzles on the skillet in front of him. His sweats are slung low on his hips, his back a perfect sculpture of muscles and sinew. I’m getting horny again just watching him.
And he’s all mine to do whatever I want with.
For now, Delores Umbridge sneers. I eject her from my brain with a good old-fashioned expelliarmus. This night is not meant for thoughts of tomorrow. If this is all I get, I intend to enjoy every second.
Chapter Twenty
“Well I guess if I had to choose . . . I’d marry Swamp Thing, screw the Hulk, and still kill Aquaman.”
–Overheard at Comic-Con
* * *
Beast must sense my simmering perusal because he turns, eyes sliding to my toes and back up, a motion as effective as a caress. His eyes are bright and his mouth tips up at the corners.
He holds out his arm and I immediately move into his side. With his free hand, he flips the sandwich frying in the pan, exposing a perfectly toasted, golden surface.
“Grilled cheese.” I point at the other simmering pot. “And tomato soup? Smells delicious.” On the counter, he’s spread a variety of cheeses and artisan bread. Of course. I’d bet money the soup is homemade. He releases me after a quick squeeze and moves away to grab something from the fridge. I pick up a nearby spoon and stir the soup.
A few seconds later, he’s behind me, not touching, but his broad expanse emits enough heat to span my entire back.
His fingers play at the hem of his stolen shirt, knuckles brushing against the backs of my thighs.
Air hisses between his teeth the moment he realizes I’ve got nothing on underneath. He’s motionless behind me, not moving, just breathing. I help him out a little, tugging the shirt up and exposing my bottom to the air.
He moves, fingers tracing my skin, nuzzling at the back of my neck, lips sucking and nipping at the corner where my neck meets my shoulder. I gasp and arch into him.
“Beast. Touch me.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs. His fingers slide between my legs from behind. I’m turned on already, his fingers slipping against me with ease.
There’s a humming rumble in his chest, reverberating through my back and into my whole body. I press against him, his hard length a rod against my spine. His breath whooshes in my ear. His fingers play me like an instrument, one hand sliding up under the shirt to pluck at my nipples while his other explores between my legs.
Within minutes I’m shuddering against him, hands up behind me and locked around his neck while he tortures me into sweet oblivion.
When I finally come back down to earth, I turn into him. My arms circle around his waist, holding on but boneless. One of his hands strokes my back while the other cups my bottom.
I speak into his chest. “I didn’t know I could orgasm so many times in a twenty-four-hour period.”
I lean back to catch his expression. It’s a new smile, not like his lopsided grin or sheepish tipped corner, this smile is wide and satisfied, all male satisfaction. His cock is a hard, needy length between us.
“It’s my turn.”
His brows lift.
“Feel free to keep cooking so it doesn’t burn.” I glance behind me at the food. “I’m starving. But I think I’ll go for an appetizer.”
I kneel in front of him.
He lets out a big breath and before I can pull down his shorts, he reaches down, scooping me into his arms bridal style.
“What about the food?”
His eyes flick from me to the food, in the direction of the bedroom and then back to me.
“I’m hungry, big man. And we need energy if we’re going to keep this up.”
His eyes brighten further, one brow quirking.
“You’re going to be insatiable, aren’t you?”
He nods.
“I can’t say I have a problem with it.”
Walking quickly, he carries me to his room and literally tosses me on the bed. Then he holds up a finger and disappears for a few minutes, coming back with a tray laden with food.
“Food and Beast. It really doesn’t get any better than this.”
We eat and fool around and spend time exploring, experimenting, teaching the other how to best bring pleasure. Learning things about him and myself that I didn’t know before. Then we snuggle, entwined like vines. My favorite position is lying on his chest, listening to the slow and steady beat of his heart while caressing the ridges of his body.
His lamp is on, sitting on his desk in the corner. It’s a muted light, a soft glow adding to the quiet comfort. Our own little world.
“George. Does anyone else know your real name? I mean, besides Jude and Grace.”
He shakes his head.
“Did you sign up for school using your real name?”
He smiles. Shakes his head again.
“Why do you go by Beast and not George?”
He takes a breath, watching me, and then comes to some sort of internal decision. He starts to sign more, but then holds up a finger and grabs his phone from the bedside table.
It’s a nickname Jude gave me. We met him at the library in Valdosta. Grace would use the computers and Jude was there a lot, too. He said I would glower so hard, he could hear it. Like I was growling. It became a bit of a joke. My real name has bad memories so it stuck.
I pat his chest. “Beast definitely fits. But you also registered under Beast. How the heck did you pull that off?”
Jude signed me up for school when we came here looking for Grace.
I tilt my head. “Annabel mentioned something about Grace running away and coming here. It must have been terrible for you. I bet you were so worried.”
He nods.
“You have been through a lot together.”
He nods again. I’m glad we’re here. Having a stable home, and Granny, helped mellow Grace out a lot.
I turn, scooting to face him more fully. “Why does your real name have bad memories?”
He’s unmoving for long enough that I’m not sure he’s going to answer. But there’s no tension in him, he’s relaxed as he rubs a hand up and down my arm. Then he starts typing.
Grace is my half sister. Same mother, different dads. My dad died when I was little.
“Beast. I’m sorry.” My arms tighten reflexively around him, as if I can reach inside to the boy he was.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head and keeps typing. A few years later, Mom started dating Grace’s dad and they had Grace. Grace’s dad took off when Mom was pregnant. I don’t even know if he knows she exists. Our mom had some problems with drugs.
I almost ask him to stop, wanting to shield him from his own past, but he keeps going.
Mom wasn’t always, he stops for a second, head turning to the wall, thinking, present. Even if she was physically there, she always seemed unaware, of me or anything else. I learned how to find my own food because she would often forget to eat herself. I had issues with stuttering. Mom got better when she was pregnant with Grace. Less volatile, more aware. But then after Grace was born, things got bad again. Eventually, we were taken from her and sent to live with our uncle, Mom’s brother.
He lifts his hand to rub his chin.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me everything. I know it must be hard.” Even this, the least of details, is hard to envision. I can’t imagine what an upbringing like that would do to a child, let alone this sweet giant of a man who even now rubs a hand over my back, soothing me, when he’s the one sharing his difficult past.
He shakes his head and returns to thumbing over the phone.
It was fine at first. Our uncle wasn’t a bad guy. He was a mechanic. But then he hurt his back and was laid off. And then everything changed. He changed.
I don’t think he minded raising us at first. But after he lost his job, money got tight. I needed new shoes every month. Grace liked to take things apart to see how they worked, the toaster, clocks, computers, the microwave. He couldn’t afford to replace things and we were too young to understand. We were a lot to deal with. And he hadn’t wanted kids. We weren’t his. I think he resented us. I know at some point he started dealing drugs to get money. Things sort of got better for a time. Then they got worse when he started using.
He puts the phone down, his hand running down my back and pulling me tighter against him, like he needs to remember where he is and it’s not back there. He’s not a child dependent on adults he can never trust, with a sister he’s trying to defend.
“How old were you during all this?”
Nine when Mom died. Grace was four. When we left our uncle, I was thirteen and Grace was eight.
That makes sense since Grace is fourteen and Beast is nineteen. They’ve only been in Blue Falls for a little over a year, which means it’s been them against the world for five years.
> When he started using and things got real bad, I was maybe ten or eleven. He used to yell at us a lot to shut up while he was doing his deals or having parties in the garage. It was important we keep quiet, stay away, not catch the attention of his friends. In some ways, I think it was to protect us. If we misbehaved, he would withhold food, even water sometimes. Stopped letting us go to school. I used to sneak into neighbors’ houses to get food for us.
My chest constricts at the thought of Grace and Beast as children, forced into taking care of their most basic needs at a time when they should have had no worries beyond school and making friends.
It was hard for Grace. She was curious about everything, a chatterbox. I was never a big talker because of the stuttering. But I had to take care of Grace. I tried to turn it into a game, who could go the longest without talking. Once during one of his parties we were watching a movie in our room and when I went to use the bathroom, she snuck out. I had to go after her, get her back before anyone saw. But I got caught. He locked me in a closet for three days as punishment.
My body tenses and flashes with cold. “Beast.” My voice is thick with emotion. “You don’t have to keep going.”
But he just shakes his head and continues.
After that he told me, if I messed up again, he would do the same to Grace, or worse. That’s when the anxiety was nearly uncontrollable. I had even more trouble speaking. Even when he wasn’t around, I would remember what he said and my throat would fill to the point I couldn’t talk around it. And then I went so long without talking, at some point it was too late to go back.
A tear slips out of my eye and lands on his chest. “I’m so sorry. Is your uncle dead? Tell me he’s dead. If he’s not, can we kill him?”
He shakes his head, his hand rubbing my arm. Consoling me.
He went to prison a few years after we left. I knew I had to be stronger, so I started doing whatever I could, running, push-ups. I was growing like crazy at the time. By the time I turned thirteen I was over six feet tall. We made a plan and left. You know Grace is smart. We took care of each other. She got us money using computers. And then we found Jude. Or he found us.
