by Skye Warren
Beauty Touched the Beast
Skye Warren
Copyright 2011 by Skye Warren
Smashwords Edition
Beauty Touched the Beast is an erotic story featuring explicit sex and graphic language. Not for anyone under the age of 18 or who is uncomfortable with the subject matter.
Chapter 1
Erin bounced up the steps of the farm-style house, a smile playing at her lips. She let herself in and strolled through the downstairs. Light filled the rooms from the airy floor-to-ceiling windows, but she didn’t find him.
“Mr. Morris! It’s Erin.”
Call me Blake, he always said, but she resisted. She wasn’t usually a stickler for propriety, but with him it seemed like a good idea. Maybe his military roots made the formality seem more appropriate. More likely it was the domesticity of cleaning his home while he loitered near her, as if she were his partner, living there, helping him, instead of his paid housekeeper. It would be so easy to slip, to let him see how she felt about him. Then she’d feel like an idiot – a dumb little girl panting after a man old enough to be her father.
She pulled a book from her bag and went upstairs to return it personally. She could probably put it in his bookcase, which was always neat and organized so she’d know right where it went. His obsession with book organization was one of the odd habits that made her reclusive employer so strange, and also endearing. In fact, his whole house sparkled from the knotted floorboards to the arched ceilings, partly because he was fastidious, but also because she did a full deep clean twice a week.
She could replace the book, but she wanted an excuse to talk to him. Her political science class had debated the merits of the U.N. recent actions yesterday, and she knew he’d appreciate it.
She poked her head in his bedroom. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight. He lay on the bed, his skin damp from a bath, a towel in disarray around his waist. Only his hand covered him at all from her view – his fist on his cock. And as she watched, it pulled down, baring a glistening head, and back up.
He was masturbating. Shit!
She ought to leave. She really should turn around, walk away and absolutely not watch. Instead she stood, her eyes riveted to his exposed cock standing up thick from his taut grip.
“God, baby,” he moaned, his eyes closed, “suck it, please.”
Every bit of her, from her tingling skin to her thudding heart jolted in response. Her lips parted, as if she could obey him from across the room. Her clit throbbed at the sound of his rasping voice, saying such dirty words. At the sight of his muscled body and thick, standing cock.
“Yes. Yesss. So beautiful. God.” His other hand cupped his balls. “That’s right, baby. Lick them. Suck them.”
Her mesmerized gaze spanned to his face, snared on the interplay of shiny scar tissue and ruddy, healthy skin twisted in a grimace of pleasure. His burns and coarse features might make him repulsive to some, but when she saw only Blake, with his brilliant ideas and gruff kindness.
“Touch yourself. Yeah, yeah. Take me deep in your mouth and stick your fingers in your cunt.”
Her thighs squeezed together where she stood, giving herself relief from the ache at her core. She wanted more – more pressure, a stronger touch, but if she moved her legs or her hands, she’d have to acknowledge that what she was doing, being a voyeur was wrong.
He moaned her name. “Erin…”
Then he came, spurting into his cupped hand.
From shock, from arousal, she let out a sound – a whimper. Heavy lids slid open as he turned to look at her. His eyes, the green-brown eyes that were usually filled with good humor or earnestness, now stared at her in horror. Mortified, she turned and ran down the stairs. The hoarse sound of him calling of her name hurdled down the steps after her, not in passion this time, but she couldn’t go back.
Pacing in the kitchen, she battled her embarrassment. She’d have to face him and apologize, but she couldn’t look for him in his bedroom. Not right then and maybe not ever.
Her hands caught on the stone edge of the countertops, then flitted across the surface. Already clean, as usual. She’d never done anything quite this embarrassing. Watching the man’s private moment? That was low. She respected him, so much. She liked him, and she might have ruined everything.
She pulled out the cleaning supplies, hoping at least she could subvert her nervous energy into something useful. She’d come here to clean, not to moon after Blake and certainly not be a peeping Tom.
Blake stumbled down the stairs soon after, wearing his customary sweats. She’d admired him before, the way the loose, comfortable clothing hung on his well-built shoulders and abs, but now all she could see was his naked body. Damp. Taut. Climaxing. As if she hadn’t already proved herself enough of a coward, she turned away to flee.
“Erin,” he said in those low tones that always made her clench. “Wait, please.”
She paused and turned halfway back to him, willing the inappropriate, private, sexy images to subside. A reddened cock. Thick ropes of cum. Dammit.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “Don’t … quit. It won’t happen again. Please.”
She’d never expected to see him like this – practically begging – not for anything, and certainly not for his maid to continue cleaning for him. Did she really vacuum so well?
No, if nothing else, today had shown that he at least thought about her in another way. Is that why he kept her around, why he increased her cleaning schedule and chatted with her about his work? Should she be offended? She wasn’t. She was flattered. And turned on as hell.
She stammered, “I don’t understand. Were you…was I…?”
He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “There’s no excuse,” he said, swallowing. “But I will not –” He looked away. The part of his face turned to her was the more scarred half. This gesture more than anything showed his distress since he usually took pains to hide it.
“What can I do so that you will not leave?” he asked.
“I – honestly, I hadn’t even thought of that. Actually, I wanted to apologize. For intruding on your privacy. I’m not going to quit.”
“Thank you.” he said stiffly, whether in acknowledgement of her apology or her agreement she didn’t know. He paused, then repeated, “I’m sorry.”
After a curt nod, he disappeared into his study.
Maybe she should have told him he didn’t have anything to be sorry for, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, after all. But it would be too strange to correct him in his assumption now. What could she say? Please, go ahead and use me in your fantasies. I don’t mind. That would hardly make this less awkward.
Besides, she needed time to think, to process what she had seen him do and her feelings. But she’d just committed not to quit, whatever came of her thoughts.
She cleaned his house as usual. He made himself scarce the rest of the time. His bedroom came last, and she worked quickly, resolutely ignoring the way her panties grew damp as she made his bed.
* * *
Thank God she hadn’t quit, he thought, as he hid in the study.
He’d known she would arrive any minute, and he hadn’t been unable to deflate his erection with a cold shower. He’d had to care of it before she arrived. She couldn’t see his inappropriate desire for her. It would ruin everything. But he’d miscalculated, and badly.
Of all the ways to lose her, that would’ve been the most stupid. Not that he had her, exactly, but seeing her twice a week and getting to talk with her was more than he deserved, and he was damned grateful for it. He chose not to analyze the pathetic factor of that.
It was sleazy of him to use her work to bring him to his house – he’d never
had such a clean house in his life – but he could think of no other way to keep her around him. Someone so beautiful and good had no business being around a pissy coward like himself, but damned if he wasn’t selfish enough to force her anyway. Lord knew he had no good looks, no charm, and, as evidenced earlier, no intelligence with which to lure her instead.
The great intellectual, he thought in disgust, thinking with his dick. Not that he didn’t excuse himself to a certain extent – Lord, she was beautiful. Seeing her watching his dick while he came had only inflamed his lust for her, but best not to think on that lest he require a repeat performance. It was bad enough to be scarred and ugly, broken in body and spirit, wasn’t it? Surely he didn’t need to add creepy old exhibitionist to his faults.
Chapter 2
One hour into her next cleaning visit, Erin was getting worried. She’d hoped everything could go back to normal, but Blake still seemed to be avoiding her. He’d made a brief appearance to say hello and that was it. He didn’t sit on the couch as she folded the clothes or lean against the bookshelves while she dusted. He didn’t tell her about what book he was writing, what article he was researching. He didn’t ask about her classes. Nothing like usual.
Today he wore jeans and a button-up shirt. He always went around his house in sweats, the super comfy kind, thin from frequent wearing and washing. He worked from home and almost never ventured outside. Plus, he eschewed such society-imposed discomforts as regular clothes.
She could only assume this new formality was in reaction to the incident from last week. Perhaps he felt violated or unsafe with her, and although she didn’t blame him, she felt horribly guilty.
It didn’t help that she’d had explicit dreams about him and his cock two nights in a row. Dreams where he said those same words, but she was there, naked beside him, doing what he asked. Masturbating to thoughts of each other was a contagious condition, one she’d now caught, she thought dryly.
He ducked out of the kitchen with a glass of water as she entered it. Concerned and exasperated, she decided to confront him.
“Mr. Morris,” she called. When he froze, she softened her voice. “Blake.”
His name hung in the air between them, taunting her with its intimacy.
“I wanted to apologize again for what happened last time,” she explained. “I should have left right away when I saw what you were doing…I was just surprised.”
He looked surprised now, too. He cleared his throat. “Apology accepted.”
He flashed her what was she supposed was a conciliatory smile but looked more like a grimace. And that made her think of what he looked like when he climaxed. Dammit.
She really should shut up now, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I was wondering if you, that is, if you were thinking of me…weren’t you?”
His eyes widened even as his lips tightened.
“Well, it’s only that, I wondered if… if it was just a passing thought or if it was more...”
He looked alarmed now and she cursed herself silently. “Erin,” he said, his voice strangled. “You don’t feel that I was asking you to do anything…inappropriate, do you? That I would try to make you do something you don’t want?”
“No!” she exclaimed in dismay. “Of course not. I just meant that, well, if you were interested in me that way, well, I...”
She took a deep breath and rushed out, “I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”
“You –” He broke off. She noticed detachedly that his hand was gripping the counter so tight his knuckles were white. He swayed forward as if to approach her but then leaned back. “Are you sure? Are you sure you don’t feel pressured? I would never ever want you to feel that you had to –”
“No, no. It’s not that, I swear. And the same goes for you, too. If you don’t want to, please don’t feel that you should –”
“If I don’t want to,” he repeated, sounding dazed. His eyes unfocused for a minute, and then pinned her. He stepped forward and then circled around her, standing behind her. Her hair rustled and scalp tingled where his face leaned into her hair, as if he were scenting her.
He trailed a finger lightly from the crown of her head, down her hair, along her shoulder, and down her arm. It wasn’t an overtly sexual touch, but she found it highly erotic. The past two days of heightened arousal boiled over in her until she felt strung out with need.
“Please,” she whimpered, shocked even as she said it. She considered herself a proud woman, probably to her detriment. Her circumstances, cleaning houses while her classmates drove their Mercedes to class, ought to bring her down, but she would not be cowed. She was like him. She never begged, not for money, favor and certainly not sex. Yet here she was wanting, no needing him, a feeling foreign but very real.
Thankfully, he acquiesced.
“God, yes,” he breathed. “Come. Come upstairs where you can be more comfortable.” He led her upstairs. She noticed dust gathered in a corner on the way, and reality intruded briefly. That’s what I’m here to do, to clean his house, not have sex. She forced it away. It had been a long time for her, and she needed this badly. She would take this moment without apology to herself or anyone else.
In the bedroom he shut the door. No one else was in the house but the two of them, but it added to the intimacy of the moment. This wasn’t a chance encounter, but an illicit meeting. She stood eyeing the bed and swallowed hard. He came up behind her and again buried his face in her hair. Amused, she made a mental note to stock up on this shampoo. But then the heat of his body and his own woodsy scent enveloped her, and she forgot everything else.
His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, then slid down to her breasts. He cupped them through her clothing, and her breath caught. His hands dipped down to her waist, and then up under her shirt and bra to touch bare skin. She wore yoga clothes when cleaning, comfortable to maneuver in but stretchy enough to allow him access.
He cupped her breasts, stroking and pinching her nipples until they ached. Pausing to draw her shirt and bra up over her head, he returned his hands to her breasts. thank God. His breath, hot and increasingly labored, blew against her shoulder. What a sight she must make for him, her breasts bared and flushed.
“So lovely,” he whispered.
When he pinched harder, she moaned. Her hips canted forward in search of friction, rubbing against nothing. In answer to her involuntary plea, he slipped his hand into the waistband of her pants and roamed down her mound until he found her wet folds.
As his hands touched her intimately, his mouth found the skin of her neck in light kisses and licks. He dipped down to her opening to draw the moisture up to her clit, circling and flicking with his thumb. Her head fell back to his chest, and her eyes closed as she abandoned herself to the pleasure. His fingers slid down into her folds and slipped inside, thrusting in as the heel of his hand pushed into her clit. Her hips bucked as she mindlessly sought climax.
She came in a whirl of pleasure and a sigh of relief. Her body fell back against him, sated. The tension of these past few days, of these past few months, if she were honest, finally released.
He undressed her completely and placed her on the bed. She had no strength to stop him. No desire to. By the time she floated back down to earth she lay spread eagle on the bed, completely naked, with him kneeling between her legs. She only had a glimpse of his scarred face, taut and carnal with arousal, before he lowered his head and brought her to ecstasy again.
He was a generous lover, bringing her to climax four, five times. She lost count. He made her come again and again with his mouth on her clit and his fingers thrusting inside her.
“Yes, yes, that’s it,” he moaned when she came.
She was reminded of how they would discuss topics related to his work or her college classes. He always argued fiercely and often won their debates, but when she won, he wouldn’t look disappointed or angry. He looked almost proud. Triumphant, even. Like her victory was his, and now her ecstasy was his, too. He was
relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure, taking unmistakable pleasure in her sounds and responsiveness.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured to her throughout. “So damn beautiful. You look like a goddess. Like a warrior. Like you could slay me and you do. Just looking at you ruins me. I love to look at you. I could look at you like this forever. Open to me, wet and flushed, forever and never grow tired.”
She had read his articles and treatises and interviews. He had plain-spoken words and clinical words and words of dry humor, but she had never heard these words before. These almost-poetry sex/love words melted her everywhere.
Her body throbbed, exhausted from her climaxes, but her heart burst from his generosity. She wanted to do something for him. She wanted to do everything for him.
Erin reached down and grasped his cock, drawing a gasp from him. His shaft jerked in her hand, but he pulled away. From her position she couldn’t reach him in his retreat. He touched her again and she jumped, oversensitive.
“Just let me please you,” he said. “Let me give you pleasure.” His caress lightened. She moaned and her legs relaxed open again.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, that’s right. Good girl.”
His fingers spread apart her slick folds.
“I’ll make you feel so much pleasure,” he said. “So much you won’t care that it’s me.”
Wait, what? She tried to push through the haze of her arousal.
“So good you’ll forget it’s me,” he whispered, staring down at her spread legs, entranced. “You won’t regret this. I won’t let you regret this,” he promised.
“Stop,” she gasped out, and he snatched his hand back. “What...what did you say?”
He shook his head and some of the sensual haze cleared from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you…did you want to stop? Are you finished?”
“No, I don’t want to stop,” she said. “I want to keep doing this with you. With you!” She sighed in exasperation.
“Lie down,” she commanded.
