Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set

by Black, Stasia

  I haven’t slept this well since…since the last time Logan held me until I fell asleep. The bed is warm but he’s not beside me.

  The lights are on. Huh. I squint and look around. My bedroom’s wallpaper is still faded, but the floor is swept clean...and everything smells like lemon cleanser. I sit up and that’s when I notice that I’m not lying on a pile of curtains anymore, but a legit mattress hovering off the ground on some sort of frame. And I’m super warm because I’m wrapped in a brand new looking sleeping bag.

  “I thought you’d wake when I moved you to the camp bed, but you must have been tired,” Logan says from the door. I grin at the deep sound of his voice and look his way.

  And damn, he’s fine. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt instead of the suit from last night. He’s holding a bunch of roses. And when I catch his gaze, well, let me tell you, I feel it all the way down to my lady bits.

  “Are those for me?” I ask, pulling the sleeping bag up to my chin, feeling ridiculously shy and terribly happy all at the same time.

  “Always.” He sits carefully on the edge of the bed and hands them to me. I immediately bury my face in the flowers.

  “A bit early for these to bloom.”

  “I had them delivered from my greenhouse. Along with…” he leans down and reaches into a giant hamper of food beside the bed. I gape at the full picnic spread laid out on a big plaid blanket. There’s even a mini propane stove with a shiny stovetop espresso maker.

  “Oh my gods, Logan. Are we glamping?” I look up at him, excited.

  Everything has just been so damn heavy lately. But after last night’s reconciliation…I have to say, I adore the playful spark in Logan’s eyes. I can’t remember the last time I saw it. He seems totally open, finally nothing held back. The boy I once knew in the body of the man I love.

  He shrugs and uncaps a bottle of sparkling water. “Just until this place gets cleaned up. I turned the electricity back on. The water, too.” He takes the roses back and trades me the water bottle.

  “I wanted you to wake up surrounded by roses. The garden’s overgrown, but I’ve made arrangements for gardeners and contractors to come. They’ll fix this place. I’ll fix everything.”

  I lay my hand on his stubble roughed jaw. He turns his face and kisses my palm.

  “You want to live here?” My laugh bounces between the bare walls. Only they’re not so bare, because he’s found the old frame for my diploma and awards, and rehung them.

  “If you want. Daphne, I’ll give you everything. Just...come back to me.”

  * * *

  Logan

  She’s looking at me with the whole world in her eyes. “Daphne?” I can’t bring myself to repeat my plea. I can only hope she’ll say yes.

  “Silly man,” she says, “I never left.”

  My exhale is half groan. I don’t move, afraid to break this moment. Afraid it will shatter. I’ll wake up from this dream.

  “Daphne.” Her name is a light and I’m a lost man, staggering towards salvation.

  “Logan. I choose you. I love you.”

  Her words send electricity shooting through my body. I’ll never get tired of her saying that. In fact I think I’ll make her say it about a thousand times every day, and maybe two thousand times a day on the weekends. This sleeping bag is brand new, but it’s in the way. I rip it open to free her. I need to be inside her...now.

  Daphne lets off peals of laughter, like little bells. Gods, she’s adorable. “What’s the rush? We have time.”

  “Need you,” I grunt, dragging off my jeans. She has no idea. The fact that I managed to leave her alone last night was a miracle.

  Daphne stretches out on the mattress. I ease her panties off and lean in to kiss her flat stomach. My dick is so hard it might split, but I catch a whiff of her perfume, and I can’t resist climbing down her body and burying my face in her muff.

  “Logan, ah, Logan,” she chants. Her hands bat at my shoulders and I capture them, pinning them down. One more taste. Just one more. And another. I swipe my tongue over her fragrant pussy, long, lingering drags to savor all her sweetness. Doesn’t she understand? I need to devour her. I need to convince myself she’s real. She’s mine and she’s real and she’s here and this is actually happening and this can be forever—

  Her body bows off the bed as far as I’ll let it. Her cries of pleasure crash around me and still I delve my tongue into her folds, chasing her essence. Fuck, I love her taste and watching her absolutely lose it.

  “Give it to me,” I order when she protests it’s too much. “Now, Daphne. I want it all.”

  Her slender legs shake and drum on my back as my tongue sends her body higher and higher. When she finally lies limp, I rise up and climb gingerly onto the camp bed. I rush ordered the frame and mattress so Daphne wouldn’t spend another night on the floor, but it’s way too spindly for my weight.

  I’m shaking as I guide myself in between her legs. No bells or whistles this time. I just need my body connected to hers. I need the intimacy and to just bury myself in her. So deep, I want to disappear inside her. And Daphne is just as eager, urging me on with breathy pleas and little kisses that make me grit my teeth so I don’t blow too soon.

  As I rock into position, the camp bed crashes to the floor. Shit!

  “Logan!” Daphne is laughing so hard, tears stream from her eyes.

  “Fucking piece of crap,” I mutter, arms around her body to protect her from the wreckage.

  “We killed it,” Daphne cackles, curling into my arms and lifting her hands to clutch around my neck.

  “I was trying to be gentle.” I lift her off the ruined bed and kick the mattress away from the frame so I can lay her back down.

  Her laughter subsides, leaving a soft expression that makes me ache. “I don’t want gentle.” Her fingers trace my stubbled jaw, feeling for the scars underneath. She smiles when she finds them, as if they’re a secret we share between us. “I want you. I’m strong, Logan.”

  “I know you are.” I sip at her perfect lips. Gods, this woman is so perfect. So beautiful. So fuckin’ smart.

  I cup her smooth buttocks and draw her close. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you’re mine.”

  “Always,” she begs. “Always.”

  I ease into her. She’s so small and tight, and I’m too big. Moans hum in her chest, but her lithe calf twined around my back tugs me closer. I cup her face and nibble on her lips, rewarding her as she stretches around me slowly. Finally, finally I’m seated inside her.

  “Give it to me, Logan,” she whispers. “I want it all.”

  Oh, I’ll give it to her. But on my timeline, my way. The woman’s already made me lose my head. Besides, this coming back together means something to me and I want her to know that.

  So I pin her in place with my cock, exactly where I like her, and I give her my truth. “I love you. I’ve loved you since you were eighteen and we spent all those summer days at the beach talking—”

  She squeezes around me. “You mean you spent all those hours ogling me in my red bikini.”

  “Vixen.”

  I grin and grab her wrists, pinning them over her head. I notch my thigh between her legs, bearing down against her sensitive spot until she groans my name.

  “That damn red bikini.” I shake my head. “I still haven’t punished you for teasing me like that all that summer, have I?”

  She stretches up and nips me on the jaw with her teeth. Somebody’s feeling playful.

  But then she pulls back and goes serious again. “I can’t believe my dream finally came true,” she whispers. “I can’t believe Logan Wulfe actually loves me back.”

  How am I supposed to have any control after she says something like that? I don’t bother even trying. I thrust inside her, giving us what we are both craving, and we moan in tandem.

  Pleasure flashes up my sides, unknots my spine, nearly blinds me. There’s no holding back after that. I saw in and out of her perfect, tight entrance, mak
ing sure to grind against her clit with each pass.

  “Harder.” Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Harder!”

  She’s the perfect woman made flesh. I ram her so hard the mattress hits the wall. The frames above us shudder, but the screws I used hold.

  She starts to shatter around me.

  “I’m gonna give you everything, Daphne. Every hope. Every dream.” I roll my hips, prolonging each thrust, and tears stream from her eyes. Tears of joy.

  Her body stiffens, her pussy massaging my cock as she cums over and over. And as I cum, I make a vow.

  To be hers. To be Daphne’s. She knows all my evil desires, how I lust to hurt the ones I love. My past, my present, my wickedness. She’s walked every twisting turn of the labyrinth and come out the other side.

  And still she loves me. She chose me.

  My vision blurs and I blink my eyes to clear them. The view isn’t great—four dirty walls of this dilapidated room but I’m seeing them fresh.

  With Daphne, I can have it all. A life. A full heart. A family.

  For the second time in my life, I’ve come home.

  Thirty-Eight

  Present Day

  Daphne

  “So what about Adam?” I ask. I hate to break the mood, but I can’t take any more sex. Not after Mr. Insatiable ate me a second time, and flipped me over to pound me from behind. This poor mattress is done for.

  “What about him?” Logan’s voice is level, but his body hardens to a block of stone. I massage his neck, but it’s like trying to get granite to relax.

  I rise up and lean into his back, blowing into his ear. His shoulders ease a fraction.

  “I think he should pay for what he’s done,” I murmur into one ear, and switch to the other. Just like being with Logan has taught me not to deny any of who I am, I don’t want to deny any of who Logan is. At the same time… “But I don’t want you to end up in jail for homicide.”

  “It won’t be homicide. I want him to suffer.”

  “I thought I was the only one you tortured.” I pretend to pout. Let’s keep this light. “Are you telling me this isn’t exclusive?”

  “What I do to you isn’t torture,” he says as I nibble on his ear. “You like it too much.”

  “Maybe I should torture you…”

  With a sudden move, he twists and pulls me onto his lap. “Little seductress. Trying to change my mind with your wiles?”

  “It it working?” I wriggle in his lap. “Feels like it.” His boner is the size of a tree. There’s so much good here. I don’t want to let Adam or anyone else to ruin it.

  He lets me grind on his lap for about a second longer, then maneuvers me until I’m flat on my back with his big body caging me. My pussy is sopping, my breath coming in pants, ready for his claiming, but he stills.

  “Daphne, I can’t change who I am.” He says, echoing my thoughts. His eyes search mine, pleading.

  I know what he’s saying. He can’t give up his revenge. He won’t. Not even for me? asks little voice in my head. But that’s not fair. I’m not in his shoes and I can’t fathom going through what he went through at Adam’s hands.

  So I give a tiny nod. As long as we’re together and none of his actions involve him being taken from me? I’m on his side, always. He sighs and hugs me, holding his body off me so I’m not crushed. I kiss his neck. Maybe he’s not ready to forgive and forget, like I am, but baby steps.

  Holding each other like this inevitably leads us back to the—now broken, but when has that ever stopped anyone—bed. His touch drives me insane. I can’t get enough.

  When we’re done making love for the third time, he tests the faucet for hot water. With a steaming face cloth he wipes down my body carefully. He pays special attention to my breasts.

  “You took the piercings out.” He sounds sad.

  “I didn’t think I could prevent infection in my homeless state. You can re-pierce them.”

  “No.” He drops the washcloth. “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  “You won’t. I’ll take the thorns with the roses, remember?”

  He leans in to kiss me. When our lips part, he presents me with a perfect red rose. “Your rose with thorns.”

  I grasp the stem. My cheeks are sore from smiling so hard. This love story isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. And that sorta makes it perfect.

  I bring the bloom to my face and inhale. “There. That scent. My mother’s perfume, my past and future all rolled into one. It’s beautiful.”

  “It is,” Logan says, but he’s looking at me. My heart swells.

  “I love you, Logan Wulfe.”

  He smiles, that rakish carefree grin that I love so much. “I love you, t—” he starts to say but then his expression suddenly changes. “Daphne,” he rasps, fear etched into the lines on his brow, around his eyes. He reaches out to touch my face, but I beat him to it.

  Something wet is trickling from my nose.

  I frown. What on ear— My fingers are red when they come away. Blood drips on my palm. Oh shit. The bottom drops out and suddenly I’m sinking, sinking—

  Logan rips his white dress shirt and hands me a makeshift handkerchief to press to my nose. His big hand covers my forehead.

  “No fever. Just a nosebleed?” His eyebrows pinch together but he doesn’t look too concerned.

  “It’s not just a nosebleed,” I close my eyes, wishing I could stop time. No, no no no.

  It’s not fair. Not when I just found him. Not when we just found this, here together.

  “Then what? Daphne, what’s happening? My gods, I need to call an ambulance.” He starts to rise and I catch his arm. I’m weak, so much weaker than him, but he stills at my butterfly light touch.

  “No, Logan. No ambulance. Just...stay with me. One minute longer.” I throw my arms around him, wishing I could go back to that perfect moment, that single second when I had it all before the gods stripped it all away.

  “Daphne, please,” Logan eases me back. “Talk to me. What’s going on? Are you sick?”

  “I’m sick, Logan. I’ve always been sick. The disease is in my blood.”

  Horrified awareness dawns on his face as I swallow and pronounce my death sentence.

  “I have Battleman’s. And it’s back.”

  Beauty and the Rose

  One

  Daphne

  I can’t believe we’ve come this far.

  Logan clasps my hand as we walk through his flourishing rose-filled labyrinth to a fountain at the center I’ve never seen before.

  It’s springtime and I swear I’ve never appreciated the world sprouting new life with such fresh eyes before. Logan’s hand isn’t enough contact for me, though. I grasp his arm and giggle as we head toward the stone benches beside the sun-dappled fountain.

  “I’ve never been so happy in my whole life,” I sigh and lean my head against Logan’s shoulder. His heat seeps into me and prickles rise on my skin. I’m so attuned to him. I never knew two people could be so in sync.

  He bows towards me, his large hand finding my cheek and easing my face towards his. Our lips meet, gently at first, then with greater intensity. My nipples rise and arousal trickles through me.

  I sigh into his mouth, “Logan.” A prayer. A plea.

  He wraps his arm around me and squeezes me tight—but not too tight. “I was so terrified I’d lose you.” His voice is thick.

  I press close, my chest grazing his as I lift my hands to his face. “You’ll never lose me, Logan Wulfe. Nothing on this earth can part us.”

  I go up on my tiptoes to kiss him again, but right before our lips can make contact, out of nowhere—

  “Wha—?” I cry out as the rosebush to my left suddenly shoots out a viney thorn branch that wraps around my neck.

  Another shoots out and wraps around my torso, pinning my arms to my chest.

  Before I know what’s happening, I’m being yanked violently backwards away from Logan.

  The thorns pierce my flesh and I scream in
pain as I fly through the air.

  Logan’s mouth drops open and he lunges, reaching for me. I can see him fighting to get to me, but it’s like there’s an invisible barrier between us. And I know deep in my bones this is one battle he can’t fight for me in spite of his incredible strength.

  I reach for him, but more thorny branches pierce my skin.

  “Please,” I scream. “Not again!”

  But I’m smothered as I’m yanked into the labyrinthine bushes and then swallowed up by the ground.

  Buried alive.

  * * *

  I wake with a jolt, wanting to scream. There’s pain, everywhere in my body.

  But around me, all I hear is the mundane hum of machines. The murmur of quiet voices in the distance. Before I open my eyes, I know where I am.

  My lashes flutter. Each eyelid weighs a thousand pounds. My mouth is full of sand. When I lick my lips to wet them, the skin cracks. I hiss in pain.

  There’s an IV needle in my arms. White sheets tuck me into a medical bed. I’m surrounded by gray-blue walls with generic art hung here and there. Even the sunlight is dim and subdued, filtered through the thick glass.

  The hospital. I’ve been here before. Too many times.

  A chair creaks. Logan’s sitting beside me, his huge body straining the limits of the poor hospital chair. He hasn’t noticed I’m awake yet. His dark head is in his hands, his face bared. He’s not hiding behind masks anymore.

  I watch him for a moment, drinking in the sight of his large form in the Thinker’s pose. He’s a sculptor’s wet dream. The muscles of his shoulders, the veins on his forearms—he’s rolled up his shirt sleeves, the white fabric straining with the bulge of his biceps. The handsome slope of his jaw.

  I must’ve made some sound, because he raises his head.

  “Daphne,” he murmurs.

  I blink up at him. It’s like whiplash, going from the dream that felt so real to this. We were just so happy, walking under the sunshine, it was only a moment ago…