Beast, Part Four

by Ella James

  I bite my cheek and look away, but it’s not enough to stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks.

  He scoots over to me and wraps me in his arms. He kisses my hair, my cheeks, and then my mouth. He kisses me with a strange kind of abandon borne of feeling so bad, I guess. His forehead brushes mine. His cheeks and nose stroke over mine, almost a caress. His lips are gentle and surprisingly sweet, conveying just the right amount of sadness and care.

  He pulls away and kisses my throat. “I’m sorry, Angel.”

  “Don’t apologize.” I sniff and wipe my eyes. “It’s not your fault. In fact, the money you gave me has kinda helped a little. Ad enjoyed the things I bought her.”

  I try to smile, because God knows, we don’t need another thing to worry about right now, but the harder I try to just chill out, the more hysterical I feel. If Mom dies and I’m not there for Ad…

  I inhale deeply.

  And, as these things seem to go, it’s that moment that we hear the helicopter.

  I freeze, literally petrified.

  Ricardo stands up quickly and tilts his head back, looking up at the trees’ big limbs and trembling leaves. After a long moment, during which the thumping of the chopper’s blades grows fainter, then louder, then more distant again, he mutters, “I think we’re okay here.”

  He pulls a gun out of his pants—the one I used to…—and starts pacing the dirt.

  Shirtless and blood-smeared, with his rock-hard ass and thighs evident through his wet pants, he looks like exactly what he is: a man with movie star-good looks—and an escaped convict.

  It’s funny that he has two such unusual distinctions, and neither one of them explains at all what he is to me.

  Our lives are linked in ways I don’t think I’ll ever understand.

  I need him in ways that don’t make sense. They never have.

  I listen to the helicopter rumble in the distance, and I watch him pace. I can’t help admire his broad, taut body. Can’t help care for him. Can’t help want him.

  My thoughts circle pretty quickly back around to Mom and Ad, but I try my best to focus on his body as he stands near the edge of the grove, looking out over the fields. I just can’t go there—to worrying about what’s going on at home. I think I’ll go insane if I do.

  The helicopter’s thumping, which had grown distant for a few moments, gets louder again, and for the first time, I see it in the distance. It’s small and green and prowling the area for us. Looking out at it makes me feel like I’m going to hurl.

  “Will you talk to me?” I whisper to Ricardo’s back.

  He turns around. “About what, Ang?”

  I smile a little at my new nickname. “It can be anything. I just need a distraction.”

  After one more glance in the direction in which the helicopter just disappeared, he steps over to me, lowers himself down to the dirt, and reaches out, so the fingers of his right hand are brushing my shin through my pants.

  “Are you scared?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head, and starts stroking me with gentle fingers as his eyes hold mine. “If something happens, we’ll both surrender, okay? I don’t have a problem surrendering, or explaining that what happened today was all on me. We ran because…” He presses his lips together and looks away from me. I watch his jaw clench before his eyes come back to mine. “It’s complicated, Angel, how justice in a prison works, but let’s just say if we get found before I put my phone call through, we’ll get a fairer shake out here. Especially you.”

  “And you, too, right? Everyone loves you, Cal.” I’m teasing, using his old movie star name, but he doesn’t smile. His lips twist down and his brows knit together. He looks down at his hand, playing on my leg. “I don’t think that’s true.”

  “Trust me, it is. People are waiting for you to get out of prison and be in more movies.”

  He looks out at the field as he pulls my foot into his lap and starts to stroke the arch of my foot. “Are they?” he says.

  “You’re a really good actor. Which seems stupid to tell you, because obviously you know. Do you think you’ll ever go back to that?” I blurt out, “Holt told me your sentence got lengthened.”

  He just keeps rubbing my foot, looking out at the field, and after a few more moments, his neutral silence becomes melancholy silence by virtue of its length.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

  He looks at me. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Angel. I made my own choices. Every choice that got me to this point was mine.”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t choose to have the wreck. You told me the cocaine was Uma’s and you were snorting it to help her.”

  His eyes narrow. “When did I say that?”

  “Back in your cell. It was when I first came down to see you in solitary, earlier today. You were kind of out of it.”

  “Yes,” he says. “I guess I was.”

  I look at his fingers, smoothing down my arch. I watch their repetitive motion while I listen for the helicopter. When I decide for sure I can’t hear it anymore, the anxiety of sitting here—just waiting to be caught—pushes more questions up out of me.

  “What was that in the syringe?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “Probably cocaine or something like it.”

  “Ryan was playing around with that because of the wreck, right?”

  He rubs his head. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore.” He lets go of my foot and stands up, wincing a little as he moves, then craning his neck to get a good look at his bandaged shoulder.

  “Do you think it’s bleeding less?” I ask.

  “Seems like it,” he says. His voice is gruff, and I can tell he wants some space, because he walks farther from me than he’s been since we got here, over to the tree that’s closest to the highway, and stands there for a few minutes, just breathing with his jaw flexed.

  He’s still standing there when I notice the three big dots in the sky out above the highway, getting bigger as they come our way.

  CHAPTER 6

  Annabelle

  Three green helicopters. That’s what they are. Three green helicopters flying low over the road. So low I can almost read the words painted on the side of each one. They’re flying in a row, but as I watch, they split, with one following the road, one going over the land on the opposite side of the road, and one coming our way.

  The one on our side of the road starts to comb the fields, moving perpendicular to the road, flying so low I bet someone could jump out of it and not be badly hurt.

  When I manage to comprehend just how fucked we are, I gasp. “Beast, what do we do?”

  He walks to me and takes my hands in his. “Calm down, Angel. I don’t think they can see us through these trees.”

  “What if they have infrared technology?” I wail.

  “They don’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The state’s not that wealthy. Also, the one that flew over earlier didn’t notice us.”

  “It wasn’t green. That one was black!”

  “Look into my eyes, Angel.”

  I do.

  “If we were to get caught—and I don’t think we are, I’m only supposing for your benefit—we would hold our hands up. Drama-free surrender. Tell whoever finds us that I shot Ryan.”

  I open my mouth to protest, and he presses a silencing finger against my lips. “Do you think I have a reason to shoot him? A justifiable reason?” I start to speak again, and he shakes his head. “No—scratch that. Do you think most people would feel that it was reasonable for me to shoot him, had I do so?”

  I nod. “Yeah…I guess I do.”

  “So this isn’t such a big deal, is it?”

  “Yes,” I cry, “it is! Because it wasn’t you who did it, it was me! And I did other bad things, too. Like sneaking into solitary. That’s got to be some kind of mega crime!”

  He cups my cheek. “One you committed because you were worried about me, right, Angel? You’d
heard I was being treated badly—hadn’t you?”

  I nod.

  “Why did we run?” he asks.

  I shake my head. I’ve never been very good at prompts.

  “Because we were worried I’d never get a fair shake at La Rosa again. I worked for the FBI, and they turned on me; you can say that, too. Say that I got sold out. Who would blame you for sneaking in to check on me?”

  “I can say that to whoever catches us? Even if it’s just a regular police officer?” I chew on my lower lip. “Wouldn’t that get you in trouble with the FBI?”

  “No.” His lips twist up in a cross between a smirk and a smile as the chopper behind him grows louder. “It wouldn’t get me in trouble—I don’t think—because I don’t think anyone would believe you. They would think I lied to you, most likely. But it would make your coming to see me a little more justifiable.”

  I agree with him well enough, so I jump subjects to another one that’s bothering me. “I don’t want to lie. I want to say I shot Ryan, because I did, and you shouldn’t have to take the fall for me. It isn’t fair.”

  “Please don’t, Angel. That would be a very bad idea for you.”

  Over Beast’s shoulders, the helicopter looms. Its big, long blades blow the grass flat; bend the smaller branches on the trees above us.

  How close is it now? Seventy yards? Fifty?

  I squeeze his fingers. “Can we talk about something else for a minute? Something more…distracting?”

  He sits down in between the tree roots, half pulling me with him. Propping my back against his chest and wrapping his arms around me. He leans his back against a tree truck, and we both watch the helicopter, hovering not even half a football field away.

  I can’t breathe. My pulse gallops, and my head feels light.

  I can feel every contour of Beast’s chest against my back. I can feel his warmth. I try to focus on that even as my eyes drip tears. “What do you want to talk about?” his low voice asks into my ear.

  “Movies,” I half-shout.

  He chuckles in my ear. “Not mine.”

  “No?” I lean back so I can see his face.

  He’s giving me a painful smirk. “No one likes to hear an actor talk about himself in movies.”

  “I do.” I’ve started to sweat, and I can barely speak I’m so afraid. The helicopter is right above us, just hovering. It takes every iota of willpower I can muster to turn around so that I’m facing him and look into his eyes and talk like normal—albeit a little louder. “I want to know what it was like. Every single detail. Cough it up.”

  “What part?” He gives me a small, sad-looking smile. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s scared as badly as I am or because talking about his lost career makes him unhappy.

  “I don’t want to make you talk about it if it makes you sad.”

  He leans a little closer to me, and surprises me by pressing his mouth against my cheek. “Talking to you could never make me sad.” He licks his lips, and I swear to God, I think the helicopter starts to scoot on by.

  “I liked ‘The Rise and Fall of Henry Dockett.’ It was shot on an island off Australia, and I liked where I stayed. It was beautiful. Lots of palm trees and crystalline, clear water.”

  His hand rearranges itself around mine. The motion is so gentle. Then his thumb begins to stroke the top of my knuckles. He leans more heavily against me and kisses my lips slowly as—yes!—the helicopter moves along.

  I notice one of us is shaking. Me, I think.

  His hands knead my shoulders. “Let’s keep talking,” he urges.

  I nod. “What’s your favorite movie?” I half-shout. “All movies, not just yours.”

  “I like ‘The Godfather,’” he says, “because the theme is beautiful, and Brando’s performance is elegant.” He kisses under my jaw. “Sparse,” he adds, his breath grazing my earlobe.

  “It’s leaving,” I squeak, looking out at the field, where the awful thing hovers, sweeping left and right, but moving on, back toward La Rosa.

  He doesn’t turn around to look, but instead kisses my lips, a feather-gentle sweep of his soft mouth over mine.

  “Forget about them,” he murmurs against my cheek.

  “What if they—”

  He strokes my hair out of my face. “We have a plan,” he says softly. “And they haven’t found us.” He looks into my eyes as if he’s waiting for me to agree, so I nod slowly.

  “Good girl.”

  His mouth finds my collar bone. He kisses me there, then looks into my eyes as his free hand lifts the bottom of my shirt.

  “It might…not work,” I whisper as he tugs it over my head. I think there’s a good chance I’m too scared to have an orgasm right now.

  “Let me worry about that.”

  My shirt is off, and now my pants are coming off. I tremble as he tugs them down my legs, spreads my shirt out on the ground, and sets me on it. Then he leans me back against a tree trunk.

  I’m naked, only a few hundred yards from the road where the police are gathering to look for us. Only a dozen or two yards from the green helicopter.

  I could be found in a few minutes. I could be shot here with him. Naked.

  His hands part my knees. His mouth touches down on my pussy, and it’s gentler than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. His tongue slips between my folds with delicate precision, finds my clit, and laps gingerly over it.

  I’m expecting to feel nothing, so I’m surprised when my ass lifts off the ground. I can feel wetness pooling in my center. I can feel the empty neediness, the raw desire for him to fill me with his cock.

  Instead, he slides two fingers in. When I moan and thrust against his face, he adds a third.

  “Oh God.”

  He’s stretching me. Stretching until I feel so full. His mouth is driving me into oblivion. Up and down my dripping slit, smearing my slickness over my clit. It’s throbbing now. Ignited by his skillful tongue, stroking all around it, trembling over it, baring down a little harder—as his fingers push up way inside me, and his thumb parts my swollen lips and drags moisture from my sopping cunt toward my clit.

  With his pinkie, he teases my asshole, dragging it over me as he sinks his fingers deep inside my cunt, and his mouth worships my pulsing clit.

  I cry, “more,” and he pulls his fingers out of me, rubs his damp knuckles over my ass, and licks my taint, then flicks his tongue over my asshole.

  “Push against me when I try to come inside.”

  He drags his tongue in circles around my clit, then in between my sensitive pussy lips. He laps his tongue around his fingers, shoved inside my cunt.

  “You taste so good, beautiful.”

  His three fingers inside me thrust in and out in a rhythm that makes my eyes roll back into my head. All I know is him. The velvet tongue alighting nerve endings as his fingers pump in and out, making me feel filled up. Making me feel fucked.

  Then, when I’m dripping and my legs tremble from wanting to rock against him— When my fingers are tugging his dark hair, gripping his neck and shoulders— When my juices are rolling down my ass, he pushes his pinkie into my ass, and I scream.

  My scream seems to energize Beast: his fingers stretching and pumping, reaching deeper into me, where my walls throb against them, pulsing and needing. His mouth on my cunt teases till I’m trembling, and the finger in my asshole makes me feel invaded from every entrance. I’m a mad woman, nothing but a pulsing pussy.

  He drags his tongue around my clit and laps at my finger-stuffed cunt, and straightens the pinkie in my ass so it’s pushed in deeper.

  “Come for me,” he orders as I shatter.

  When I’m finished, he’s leaning over me, stroking my hair and cupping my cheek. His face looks strained and tired, but it’s impossible to miss the stiff cock stretching against his pants.

  I sit up and kiss his lips. I look around. The road is empty. The noise of the helicopters is gone for now.

  I laugh a little. “Thank you! That was incredible,
a hell of a distraction.” I grin. “They didn’t get us.”

  “No.”

  I close my hand around his head and rub my palm down his huge, hard shaft. “Let me suck this for you. If we’re not leaving this spot until it gets dark anyway…let me make you forget for a few minutes.”

  He shakes his head and surprises me by getting up, walking to the edge of the grove. I follow him to where he stops, between two trees, and come around in front of him.

  “Why not let me make you feel good?”

  He lifts his gaze to mine. “I wanted to pleasure you, Angel. I don’t want pleasure myself.”

  Because he feels bad about what happened. That we’re here. I’m here.

  I sink down to my knees and wrap my arms around his legs, and his hands come down on my hair. I tug on the fingers of his unhurt arm, and he allows himself to be pulled down beside me.

  I stick my lower lip out.

  “It’s not a good idea,” he says. “I need to be alert.”

  I push on his chest and spread his legs, then lean down and nip at where his balls are behind the fabric of his pants. I try to suck his balls into my mouth, despite the fabric barrier in place. I mouth his dick and breathe hot breath around the head of him.

  My teasing ministrations have the desired effect. I’m able to pull his pants off a few minutes later. I do what he did, spreading his pants out under him. Then I shove him down onto his back and promise that I’ll look around.

  “You don’t have a choice,” I say. “You’re mine.”

  I pull his cock up off his belly, lick around the head and shaft.

  He starts panting. His hands lock onto my shoulders and he groans my name.

  I flick my tongue along the underside of his cock. I suck him into my mouth, taking him as deep as I can, and he starts to tremble.

  “Sit on my cock,” he moans. “Please—Angel. I want to be inside you.”

  I position his head between my folds, then slide it up and down through my moisture. His breathing grows ragged. I cup my palm around his balls.