by Selena Kitt
“I’m not sure people do it for… fun. Exactly,” she countered.
“Well, let’s say enjoyment, then.” Mark shrugged. “Or if not that, let’s say… it’s cathartic. Common sense and logic tells us—you can picture me here with Vulcan ears if you like—it would be torture to watch unpleasant things, right? Why would we do that to ourselves? But we do. All the time. We watch Romeo and Juliet, not in spite of the pain—but because of it.”
“Hm.” She turned this idea over, hefting it, feeling its weight. Tilly saw the woman on the cross being taken down. The man wrapped her in a sheet, cradling her in his arms. She was shaking, crying, and the man soothed and calmed her in his arms. It was a tender moment, almost painful to watch in its intimacy. Even harder to watch, Tilly realized, than the woman’s sexual torture had been.
Catharsis indeed.
“In the end, I think the lifestyle has something to do with that,” Mark said finally. He was watching the woman and man, too, but he didn’t seem perturbed.
“Human beings are weird.” Tilly smiled, accepting another shot and downing it with a little shake of her head. The burn was pleasant now. The one in her throat, and the other between her legs.
They were surrounded by sex, and not just the suggestion of it. She imagined it must be what it was like working on a live porn set or something. Didn’t the cameramen—and women—get hard, or wet, respectively? I mean, even if you were just there to “do a job,” you couldn’t control your body’s reaction, could you?
She sure couldn’t.
Her pussy felt fat and swollen, and she was beginning to notice a man or two—and even a woman—watching her. Frankie, her fairy godmother, had insisted on dressing her hot tonight. Maybe she’d suspected they would be going to a dark place, and that affected how you painted yourself.
But Tilly was beginning to feel hot and sexy. It wasn’t a place she let herself go, at least not in public. Not very often. But she saw the way Mark’s gaze moved down from her face to linger on her cleavage. The way it made her feel was intoxicating. She liked it.
“You can say that again.” Mark knocked back his own drink, meeting her eyes over the rim of his glass. “By the way, I think you’re a natural, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“A natural what?” She blinked at him. “Redhead? Actually, I am.”
It wouldn’t be the first time some guy had asked if “the carpet matched the drapes.”
“No.” He chuckled. “But that’s good information. I meant, you’re a natural bottom.”
“Bottom.” She blinked again, feeling her ass clench.
“A submissive,” he said, like that would explain everything. It was like he was talking Greek. “I can always tell. Some people have great gaydar, but I can tell the tops from the bottoms—even wearing civilian clothes. In fact, I can usually tell tops from bottoms even when I don’t have a clue if they’re straight, gay, or bi.”
He smiled at her. Tilly wasn’t sure if he was feeding her some line or not, but she smiled back like she knew what he was talking about. Tops, bottoms, doms, submissives. She was starting to get an inkling of what this whole thing was about, but it felt as if she was standing on the tip of a very slippery iceberg, seeing only what broke the surface.
Underneath, lurked something buried, vast and unseen.
“Switches confuse me sometimes, but I usually sort it out.”
“Switches?”
“People who are sometimes tops, and sometimes bottoms,” he explained. “They switch.”
“Oh, that makes sense.” Tilly was actually grateful for his impromptu lesson. She was grateful that he’d stopped and talked to her when he saw her confusion—and obvious curiosity. The first boy at school during a strange, wanton recess who had paid attention to her, she supposed. But still, she liked Mark.
“So am I right?” His lips curled into a knowing smile. “You’re a bottom? You were meant to be one. Trust me, I know.”
Tilly opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t.
“I don’t know,” she confessed.
Those terms—top, bottom—made her remember the spanking Beast had given her. And that made her cheeks flush with heat. Top and bottom. Her body’s response during that incident had shocked the hell out of her. She’d told herself it didn’t have anything to do with the act itself, but the person who was doling out the punishment. Yeah, she was that pathetic, she admitted to herself in the darkness after it was all over. Even negative attention was attention, wasn’t it?
But now she wondered. Was she a bottom? A… submissive? What did that mean, exactly? That she was weak, controllable, easy to influence? God, all of that was true. Painfully so. Those things felt like giant, gaping holes in her character, when she looked at them from a certain angle.
From another perspective, though, that just made her a good girl—didn’t it? An obedient girl. And that wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? Glancing around, she saw obedience everywhere. Naked forms kneeling in subjugation. Is that where she belonged? Where she wanted to be?
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The voice that broke her navel-gazing was just a growl in her ear. Big hands circled her upper arms, squeezing so hard it made her yelp. She knew instantly who it was, would know that voice, that touch, anywhere.
Beast.
Chapter 6
He whirled her around to face him and she wasn’t sure which shocked her more, the look of fury on his face—she’d never seen him so angry, and that was saying a lot—or the fact that he was shirtless. He wore only a pair of black pants and black boots. His broad, inked chest and beefy arms were shiny with sweat, and he was breathing hard, like whatever he’d been doing just moments before had been physically taxing.
He was also shaking, she noticed, with even more surprise. The hands that held her by the shoulders now were literally shaking with anger.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, eyes glittering with anger. He leaned his weight against her, the edge of the bar digging into her back, and she gave a little whimper.
“Hey!” Mark interrupted this confrontation, brows drawn. He looked at Tilly, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Let me go!” She slipped out from Beast’s hold—only because Mark had distracted him long enough for her to do so—sidestepping and putting Mark between herself and her stepbrother.
“Let’s go.” Beast ignored Mark entirely, staring at Tilly. His voice was dangerously low and his eyes burned into her, twin beams of rage. “Tilly—don’t disobey me again.”
“Oh, hey—” Mark held his hands up. “Is she yours?”
“I am most definitely not his!” Tilly snapped, feeling anger beginning to replace both surprise and fear. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Get lost, Beast.”
The look of surprise in her stepbrother’s eyes gratified her. But then that look changed, hardened again, and he reached out to grab her arm.
“Ow!” she complained, trying to yank away, and he actually let her go when Mark stood to his full height between them. He was still a head shorter than Beast, whose early high school height of five-eleven had grown another half a foot before he graduated, but it was enough to get him to let Tilly go. Or maybe it was the attention they were drawing, the eyes beginning to turn in their direction, that made him hesitate.
“Tilly, come with me.” His voice steadied, lowered. “Let’s go.”
“No!” Her voice grew louder, more defiant, drawing even more attention, which seemed to make him even angrier. And his anger made her furious. What right did he have to be angry? What right did he have to tell her what to do—or not to do? “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Tilly…” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment, jaw working, leaning his hand on the bar. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her, something in his expression she hadn’t seen before. “I’m not doing this here. Come with me.”
“No!” She drew herself to her full height—
which still barely brought her to his shoulder—eyes blazing. “Who in the fuck do you think you are? You’re not my father! You’re not even my goddamned brother!”
“Fuck,” Beast swore, looking at Mark, then back to her again. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Do what?” she snapped, looking at Mark, poor guy—he was kind of trapped between the two of them, although he looked like he could hold his own, if he had to. “What are you going to do? Huh?”
What right did he have to demand anything of her? He walked back into her life after years—years, no Christmases or birthday cards or anything—of no contact, and felt he was entitled to, what? Tell her what to do? Who she could and couldn’t see? Where she could or couldn’t go?
Fuck that.
“Fuck you!” Tilly spat, bridging the distance between them, pushing him as hard as she could with her balled-up fists. Beast didn’t move, not even a little. “Fuck you, asshole! You left, remember? You fucking left! You don’t get—you don’t get to say! You don’t—”
Her voice failed her, tears choking her throat, but her fists didn’t. She pummeled him, hurting her hands against the sheet rock of his chest and not even caring. She went after him like an animal. When her fists didn’t do much of anything, she started with her nails, raking his flesh, wanting to hurt him, really hurt him.
That’s when he grabbed her wrists, jerking her forward toward him. He transferred both wrists to one hand, pulling her against him with the other.
“Stop,” he said, his voice low and soft against her ear. “Tilly, stop.”
But she couldn’t stop, now that it had started. It was like a dam had burst, something exploding out of her chest like that alien movie, something that was of her, but not her. She struggled in his hold, screaming, but not words. Just unintelligible sounds as she twisted, trying to get away. All eyes were on them now—she even glimpsed Frankie watching, frowning, from the table where she was sitting with Erich.
Everyone here knew who he was. Erich had said so. All of these strangers knew more about him than she did. Whatever he was doing here, he was keeping it a secret. The whole rest of the pervert world knew, but not her. She wasn’t entitled.
“Hey!” Mark protested when Beast hefted Tilly up, throwing her effortlessly over his shoulder. She squealed, feeling her leather skirt flip up, exposing her ass—her panties were soaked—and she flushed, humiliated.
“Let me go!” She found her voice, pummeling his back with her fists. “Goddamnit, Beast, let me the fuck go!”
He didn’t acknowledge her. And when she bit him—sinking her teeth into the soft flesh of his side—he only gave a little grunt.
“Hold up!” Mark said but Beast shook him away.
“Fuck off,” Beast snapped over his shoulder as he strode away.
“It’s okay!” Tilly called, turning her head in an attempt to see Mark, to no avail—she felt bad now, since he’d tried to defend her honor. “He’s an assclown, but he really is my brother!”
She heard Beast snort at that as he carried her out of the club, everyone staring after them like it was the strangest thing they’d ever seen. This struck Tilly as funny, but it didn’t stop her from struggling, pounding on him, kicking her heels, trying to get away. Beast ignored her, carrying her down a hall—not the one where the bouncer sat, she realized—up a flight of stairs.
He pulled a set of keys from his pocket, unlocking a door and pushing it open. Tilly was panting from her effort, trying her best to bruise his kidneys, but Beast wasn’t even breathing hard as he carried her into the room and tossed her down onto the couch.
It was the same office where she’d signed the waiver—where he’d locked her up the night before. Tilly crossed her arms and glowered at him as he turned on the pitiful lamp and went back to shut the door before turning to face her. Her gaze swept over his outfit—the black pants and boots—incredulous. She thought, if she saw him, he’d be dressed like one of the bouncers, maybe. What in the hell was he doing here? The question flickered through her mind, before Beast demanded the same thing of her.
“How the hell did you get in?” he demanded. “Did you charm your way past the bouncer? Did Frankie flash her tits? Or was it just her fucking big mouth? Goddamnit, I thought Ed was trustable—”
“Don’t blame the bouncer, bruh,” she corrected with a shake of her head. She realized, now that she was right-side up, that she was still dizzy. Probably all those shots. “Erich got us in. He owns the club, remember?”
“Erich?” That stopped him. His brows drew together and he fixed her with a gaze that was both dark and dangerous. “How the hell do you know Erich?”
“Frankie met him on the upper level. He bought her a drink,” Tilly explained. “He said—”
“That conniving bitch!” Beast snarled these words, his big hands clenching into fists, crushing an imaginary Frankie in them. Then he narrowed his eyes at Tilly. “So that was your plan to get to the Bottom Floor? Go straight to the top?”
“No!” Tilly rolled her eyes. Was he so full of secrets he thought everyone was as Machiavellian as he was? “When we got here, we didn’t even know about the Bottom Floor! I admit, I was curious—I wanted to find you—but had no fucking idea there was anything below the club. Then, as luck would have it—”
“Oh yeah.” Beast was still shaking, this big ham-fists trembling with rage at his sides. “As luck would have it.”
“I didn’t plan this!” Tilly protested, throwing up her hands in surrender. “My God! You act like I read your diary or something, you big pussy!”
Beast snorted when she said that, and she saw a glimmer of a smile twitch the corners of his mouth. But it didn’t quell her anger, not in the least.
“Frankie brought me here,” Tilly told him, leaving out the fact that she’d told Frankie about the club, as a sin of omission. “She insisted on it. We were out on the dance floor when Erich started, you know, looking at her. Next thing I knew, the bartender’s telling us Erich wants to buy her a drink. We didn’t know who he was, not then. Had no idea he owned the place.”
She spread her fingers to placate and show him, see, nothing up my sleeve?
Beast just shook his head. His anger cooled a little. At least, he wasn’t strangling invisible enemies with his fists at the moment. It was as if he was beginning to see himself fated to be undermined by a meddling kid sister and her busybody friend, both with an instinct for unlocking doors that were better left closed.
“Are you too drunk to drive home?” He eyed her suspiciously and then waved his own words away. “Never mind. I don’t trust you to go home anyway.”
“Wait!” She sat up straight on the couch, heart thudding in her chest. “Are you going to lock me up in here again?”
“What else?” He made his own helpless gesture, like Tilly had given him no choice. “I’ll come get you when I’m done.”
“Done doing what?” she demanded, her gaze sweeping over his pirate outfit—minus the flowing shirt, eyepatch and parrot. “Just what are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer, instead just turning to go.
“Wait! Please!” Tilly leaped up and grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face her.
“I don’t have time for this,” he said with a sigh.
“You haven’t had time since you got home.” She jutted her chin out, ignoring his second sigh. Granted, he hadn’t been home that long. But still…
“Come on.” He looked down at her hand on his arm. “I have work to do.”
Work. So it was work then?
“Are you…?” The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she knew he wouldn’t answer it, so what was the point? Instead, she asked something else entirely. “Are you going to spank me again?”
She hadn’t meant for that note of hope to come out in her voice, but it did, much to her shame. Beast took her hand and removed it slowly, carefully, from his arm.
“Tilly, I’m never going to touch you again,” he said coldly.
Her belly clenched at his ominous tone and she took a stumbling step back away from him, catching herself against the desk. Her hip hit the edge and she whimpered, knowing she was going to have a bruise there tomorrow.
“But if you ever try anything like this again, you’re going to get a hell of a lot worse than a little spanking.”
With that, he stormed out and slammed the door. Tilly heard the key turning in the lock.
What could be worse? She wondered. What would he do? She slumped down on the leather couch and began to check her cell phone. Frankie had been texting her like mad. Everyone had seen how Beast dragged Tilly out of the club.
