Beauty’s Beast

by Black, Stasia

  I’ve never in my whole life let go like this. Taken a time out from the world and…and…done, well, anything like this. I mean, I never even took vacation days! And now to hide up here like at a spa—the Beast certainly likes giving me hot baths often enough—and to experience so much pleasure…

  My cheeks spike with heat just thinking about all the things we’ve done together. Which reminds me of the one big thing we haven’t done.

  I’m still a virgin.

  He holds back. For some reason I can’t understand and he won’t explain. Then again, he’s not big on explanations, is he?

  Whenever I do stop and think about it, I start freaking out a little—he seems to know everything about me, but what do I know about him? I want to know everything. I want to understand. I want to feel like he’s in this as deep as I am.

  But how long can I continue investing myself…investing my heart, without answers? We’re becoming so close. Surely it’s time. I just want to understand.

  And he’s in a good mood. He’s cum. I’ve cum.

  It’s now or never.

  “We’ve never talked about what I found in the basement that day.”

  He jerks back, his eyes flashing a warning, but I forge on. “What are you doing down there? Why are you working on Battleman’s? Why did you really buy the patents from my father?”

  His nostrils flare. He pushes me off his lap. “On your knees.”

  He’s so frustrating! “Why can’t you just be honest with me? Haven’t I earned that? I’ve given you everything. Trusted you with everything. My body. My spirit.” I pound my chest with my fist. “With my soul.”

  “On. Your. Knees.” He points a meaty finger towards the floor.

  I drop to my knees in front of him, but I don’t bow my head. I stare up at him defiantly.

  “What will it take?” I shake my head, beseeching as a terrible thought strikes me. “Or was it never about that? It doesn’t matter how much I change or open up? You never meant to do the same. To bend for me or meet me in the middle.”

  I choke out the next words. “You only ever meant to break me and then leave me that way.”

  He lets out a roar that echoes off the stone walls. “No! Never!”

  And then, to my shock, he pushes the chair back and drops down to his knees, right in front of me and his hands are on my face and his lips are on my lips. They aren’t gentle. They aren’t kind.

  His lips crush mine. Begging. Punishing.

  For once, for once, my hands aren’t tied down. And I want to tear off that fucking mask he uses to keep as the last barrier between us. I want to, so badly.

  But I’ve just been telling him he can trust me. So I won’t prove otherwise the first chance I get. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck, so close to the elastic tie of his mask but not touching it. His breath catches. Does he realize? Does he finally realize all I have given and would give for him?

  His hands are on my wrists the next second like always, though, clasping them both in his huge grip. In one swift motion, he flips us so that I’m on my back on the sumptuous rug, the fire burning bright and warm beside us.

  My naked nipples pebble in the chill air even as the warmth from the flames dances over my skin. My back arches into his touch as he runs a hand down between the valley of my breasts and my sex clenches in anticipation.

  “Let me see you,” I gasp, wriggling to get free of his grasp. Because while he let me feel him yesterday, he was zipped up before I could even look over my shoulder at him. He never lets me see anything, know anything about him. And I can’t stand it anymore. I need something from him. I need him to give an inch even if I really want a mile.

  A rumbling growl of dissent starts in his throat but I shake my head. “Just your clothes, I mean. I want to see you.” What he’ll let me see, anyway. But I’m starting to hope this is a process, in spite of what I said a few minutes ago. Maybe because I’m just fooling myself?

  Or maybe because I hope, in spite of himself, he has bent for me. I’m not sure what he intended when he first brought me here, but from the vulnerability I now glimpse in his eyes, I suspect this isn’t it.

  He’s been so tender and caring. And commanding and dominant. Obviously, there’s been plenty of that, too.

  But even now as he hovers over me, my hands held solidly in place, his strong thigh between mine in a way that drives me crazy, I’ve never felt more free. He’s introduced me to myself these past days. I was only living half a life and I couldn’t even see it. It was a rude awakening, that was for damn sure, but would I go back to being asleep?

  Especially when being awake means I get to be with him?

  No. Not for anything in the world.

  “I want to see you,” I say more quietly, even as I wriggle against his thigh.

  He cracks a small smile. “You want to see my body?”

  “Gods, yes.” It’s all but a groan as he tweaks my raw right nipple, and then the left. They’re still so tender but the memory of earlier and the brief twinge of pain has my sex lighting right back up again.

  He arches an eyebrow. “Only good girls get treats. Can you leave your hands where they are? One twitch and this little experiment ends.”

  I nod fervently. “I promise. I won’t move an inch.”

  He caresses a hand down and teases between the lips of my sex, and then he circles my clit with his glistening fingertip. I arch so violently at the first spike of pleasure. He immediately pulls his hand away and waves his finger in my face. “Ah ah ah, don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  I can smell my own scent on his hand, and even after all we’ve done together, I still feel my cheeks burn hot. But I immediately drop back down to the rug and lift my hands back over my head. I look him in the eye. “I won’t touch you. I give you my word.”

  A small furrow appears between his eyebrows and he hesitates another second, but then he pulls off his suit jacket and his hands move back to his collar. He begins to deftly undo the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

  I can’t help licking my lips. Finally, after all this time I’ll get to see what’s beneath the hyper-polished facade. Surely his muscles won’t actually be as big as I’ve imagined them, not in real life. Back in the beginning I hoped he was wearing some sort of padding underneath the suit so he’d appear larger than he actually was.

  But as he slowly peels off his shirt, and then grabs the back of his undershirt and yanks it off over his head—holy shit.

  The man is a Greek god.

  He’s a statue made flesh.

  How— Just how? How is this god-man a recluse who lives out in the middle of nowhere? Where are all the sycophants who belong on their knees at his feet? Yes, I suspect his face is injured somehow, he’s obviously endured some sort of terrible tragedy, but still—

  “You’re gorgeous,” I whisper. And I want to break my promise so badly. I want to reach out and touch his huge, muscled chest. I want to press my hand over his heart. I want to kiss down his torso and— My eyes travel the line of hair from his belly button into his pants.

  He’s watching my every reaction and his six-pack flexes in response to my shameless gaze. My calves flex and my toes point in anticipated pleasure.

  “More,” I whisper, then swallow. When did my throat suddenly get so dry? “Please, I want to finally see what a man looks like. What you look like.”

  Is it just my imagination or are his hands shaking the smallest bit as he drops them to the button of his bulging pants?

  I bite down on my bottom lip as he unzips. I swear a zipper has never moved so slowly before in the history of all zippers. I gasp as he finally reveals himself.

  He’s gigantic down there just like he is everywhere else. I swallow and look away before almost immediately glancing back.

  “Look your fill,” he says in a low, masculine rumble. “Look, but remember, don’t touch.”

  I nod rapidly and blink. The more I look, the more it seems to grow, even though I wouldn’t h
ave thought that was possible. I’m rapt as he leans up and tugs his pants down the rest of the way and then kicks them off, along with his socks.

  Okay, now the whole god look is complete. He looks as amazing and perfectly muscled as any statuary in the most world-class museums.

  “You’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I only notice his scowl when he snaps, “No more talking.”

  I look back up at his face. There are a hundred questions on the tip of my tongue. Why is he like this? Why does he hide his face behind a mask? Doesn’t he understand that there’s more to life than looks? Yes, I certainly appreciate his beautiful body, but I’ve become fascinated by him in spite of his scary hulking size and the mask he hides himself behind. We’ve connected in ways I never knew were possible and I’ve never even seen his face. Doesn’t that tell him everything he needs to know?

  “One last question?” I chance.

  He glowers at me but I risk it. “Will you show me how you touch it?”

  This question at least doesn’t seem to anger him, though. And I can’t help licking my lips again as his huge, powerful hand grasps the base of the large, veined shaft and strokes it roughly up and down.

  “Doesn’t that hurt it?” I gasp.

  He shakes his head. “So innocent. Didn’t you ever watch videos? Online? Or look at pictures at least?”

  I suck in a quick breath as I continue to watch him stroking himself. His eyes are locked on me. His inspiration seems to come from watching my reaction to him.

  “I always kept SafeSearch on,” I whisper breathlessly.

  “Of course you did,” he murmurs. “My little virgin. But you like looking at my cock, don’t you. You can barely take your eyes off it.”

  I look up from his pulsing member to meet his eyes. “I think I was waiting for you even though I didn’t know it.”

  He groans and lets go of himself, reaching for me in the same moment and crushing his lips to mine. “Good answer,” he growls between punishing, demanding kisses. If I’m not careful, he’ll swallow me whole.

  And I just might let him.

  He’s back over top of me, but finally it’s not the rasp of smooth, Italian fabric against my skin. It’s him. Hot skin against skin.

  He might not let me touch him with my hands, but so much of the rest of us is touching. And I can feel him there against my thigh, hot, hard, and pulsing. His cock. A pulse of heat clenches in my stomach and then shoots down between my legs. I bite down on his tongue in my mouth, I can’t help it.

  But that seems to drive him even crazier. One of his hands tangles in my hair and the other slides down my waist and then around to my ass, first cupping, then squeezing, then slapping my ass. My hands are still above my head and I writhe in his arms.

  “Harder,” I gasp out my dirtiest desires because he is my safe place. Nothing is off limit, nothing is wrong here. While I can’t use my hands, at the same time, I’m unleashed.

  And he obliges. Oh hell, but he obliges. He slaps my ass and the sharp sting of pain while he continues to devour my mouth makes all my pleasure centers light up. I focus on the sting, the way it ripples outwards like a pebble in a pond to the rest of my body and then lingers as heat on my skin.

  And then, because he always knows what I need before I can even think to ask, he spanks me again, even more sharply. I cry out and bury my head in the crook of his neck, my hands fisting above my head and my hips thrusting blindly towards his.

  It’s so thrilling to have this much contact with his body, so much more than he’s ever allowed before. If all I have to do is keep my arms above my head, I’ll show him I can obey the rules. This is heaven. Better than heaven. Where will he take us next? Will we finally— Will he explore me with more than his fingers?

  Gods, I want it with every fiber of my being. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. But only if I’m with him. I want him to make me a woman. His woman.

  I want us bound together in every way. I want to feel him inside me. I want to surround him with my womanly softness and let him bury himself deep. He’s been my safe place and I’ll show him I can be his. And eventually he’ll learn he doesn’t have to hide any single part of himself, not anything—

  I open my eyes and breathe in the manly scent of him, my cheek pressed against his firm chest. I’m so close that for once, my near-sightedness isn’t a hindrance and I admire the expanse of his skin, the hair that dusts his pecs, the constellation of freckles on his shoulder…

  Wait.

  WHAT?

  I jerk away from him and scramble so I can sit up. Then my hands shoot out and I grab his arm and pull him closer—well, I move myself closer to him—I probably couldn’t move him if there were three of me.

  Closer examination proves what can’t possibly be true. But it is.

  I know this constellation of freckles. I know it well. One summer, me and this shoulder and the man attached to it became very, very familiar.

  “What the fuck?” I ask just as he yanks his arm out of my grasp, eyes flashing angrily. “You promised not to touch me.”

  He’s already pulling his shirt back on but I know what I’ve seen. And there’s no going back.

  “Logan?” I ask, my voice breaking on the two syllables. “Logan, where have you been all these years?”

  Twenty-One

  Logan

  “Logan,” she cries the name I haven’t heard spoken aloud in so long, and certainly not from her lips. It’s been years.

  And then, before I can seize control of the situation again, she reaches forward and yanks the mask off my face. Her touch sears me as the mask falls away. Not because it hurts. I lost feeling in most of that side of my face a long time ago. But it still stings when she gasps and her hand goes up to her mouth in shock.

  “Logan, what happened?” Her eyes fill with tears.

  This is the part where most people run. I know just how hideous my face looks. The skin from my forehead to my chin on the left side is a mottled spiderweb of angry, red, vein-like scars. My left eye barely survived. My ear didn’t.

  Flesh-eating bacteria will do that to a man.

  I broke all the mirrors in my apartment when the ‘accident’ first happened. Ha. Accident.

  The flood of memories brings all the barely-buried rage back to the surface and I snatch Daphne’s wrist out of the air when she reaches forward like she wants to touch my face, to touch the freakshow science experiment I’ve become.

  “Don’t,” I snap, not letting go of her wrist. Her tears spill down her cheeks.

  “What happened? You just disappeared. I looked for you but you weren’t online. Your emails bounced back undelivered. I went to your apartment but you were gone. I couldn't find you anywhere. I thought— Dad said you—”

  “Tell me,” I sneer. “Where did the great Dr. Laurel say I’d gone? What lie did he tell you?”

  Confusion colors her face. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

  “He did this to me!” I roar.

  She immediately starts shaking her head, looking horrified again for the second time in as many minutes. “No, Logan, you can’t believe that! Dad would never— What even happened? Is it a burn of some kind? Or—”

  “Bacterial infection. The rare flesh-eating kind.”

  Her mouth drops open.

  “A strain so rare the doctors said they had no earthly idea how I could have contracted it. Except that Belladonna labs had a research sample in-house at the time.”

  “Well then it must have been an accidental cross-contamination. One of the lab techs didn’t follow proper safety procedures or—”

  “Stop being willingly obtuse,” I shout, letting go of her and spinning away, giving her my back. “Your father and Adam wanted me out of the company. They’d stolen my research and had already colluded to profit off of it. They just needed me out of the way.”

  Is she still going to keep defending them even with the evidence right in front of her? Of course she
will. I’m a fool if I think the past few days have made any difference at all.

  “Logan. Nothing you’re saying makes any sense to me. What are you even talking about? What research?”

  “I was the one who discovered the anti-aging capabilities of the molecule we were developing. Adam said we should explore the commercial possibilities in cosmetics as a money-making opportunity. All he saw was dollar signs. I said no, that we couldn’t get distracted from our core mission of focusing on curing Battleman’s and other rare diseases.”

  I stare at the wall, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice as I continue. “I thought your father agreed with me. He did, to my face.”

  I turn and look at Daphne. She’s so perfect, her naked body shaped with the same care the gods must have taken when they shaped the first woman. It hurts to look at her and remember what her own father did to me. “But behind my back...” I shake my head as my teeth clench.

  “How do you know any of what you suspect is true? Can’t it just be a horrible coincidence that the company was transitioning at the same time a terrible accident happened to you and—”

  “Don’t be so naive.” I slam my palm against the wall and she flinches. I’m scaring her. How quickly I become the Beast again to her. But there was no hope of me being anything else now that she’s seen my face, was there? I was a fool to entertain any other idea, even for a moment. Especially considering I’m dealing with his daughter.

  “He and Adam were in on it together. Adam made sure I had an open wound for the virus to enter through. On my face no less. He’s one grisly fuck. To want to infect someone’s face with a flesh-eating bacteria,” I laugh darkly, “that takes a truly twisted mind. Though to this day I don’t know if it was the brainchild of Adam or your dad.”

  “Stop it,” Daphne cries. “My dad would never do that!”

  “Then how do you explain the fact that when the city’s Disease Control investigators looked into it, they discovered the source of infection was my lab goggles? Your father and Adam spread the bacteria on the exact spot where Adam had split my cheek open in a fight the night before. Are you going to call that coincidence? Please continue to astound me with your naiveté.”