Falling for the Beast (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 2)

“I can’t let you clean for me,” he said, his voice thick with regret.

Her brown eyes turn glossy with unshed tears. “Is it just that you don’t want me anymore? I wish you’d just say so. It would hurt, but at least then I’d know—”

“God, Erin, no. I never should have let you pick up a broom around here. Even then, before I had ever touched you, when I believed I never would, I knew it was wrong. I want to serve you. It should never be the other way around.”

She slipped off the stool and circled him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her legs. Her slender legs cupped by the soft fabric of her leggings. Her fingertips brushed over his shoulders. “I want to see you, Blake. That’s all. If I have to clean your house that’s a small price to pay.”

Her lush breasts pressed against his back. He shut his eyes, holding back his groan. His thickening erection tented his sweatpants. “You wouldn’t clean my house.”

Her breath coasted over the back of his neck. “I would.”

Tugging her wrist, he pulled her around to stand between his knees. “I wouldn’t let you, not when I could touch you. Not when I could taste you.”

Her lashes dropped low. “Don’t make me leave. Not yet.”

No. Now that he had seen her he would have to have her. Which was proof that she could never come back here. His willpower wasn’t strong enough. A brick wall fortified with steel and carbonite wouldn’t be strong enough. Nothing could combat the sweet sensuality she exuded.

She knelt in front of him and every thought, every teasing quip flew out of his brain. He could see the shadow between her breasts through the low V of the tank top she wore. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with arousal. She tugged the band of his sweatpants down, releasing his heavy, full cock into her palm. She held him up, as if testing his weight. Her palm looked small and pale beneath the ruddy girth of him.

Delicate fingers wrapping around pulsing, hungry flesh.

“Erin.”

“I know,” she whispered. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jesus. Every time they were together she grew surer in her feminine power, and every time he fell further in love with her. The bonds gripped him tightly, but he never fought them. Here, with Erin, was exactly where he wanted to be.

He sucked in a breath. “Oh, baby, yes, like that. Harder.”

“Don’t make me leave,” she whispered again, brushing her lips to the crown of his cock.

He pushed the hair

back from her face, enjoying the silvery play of sunlight on the crown of her head. Her position was sensual, but when he looked down at her, the emotions he felt far surpassed the physical. Her position was submissive, but he was the one at her mercy.

With a wicked tilt of her lips, she fisted his cock and brought him to the brink, pump after groan-inducing pump. Just when he was sure he’d blow, she stopped, leaving him on the knife-thin edge of pleasure and aching need. Her hand remained still, holding him up as she leaned forward.

Her lips pressed the slippery head in a chaste kiss. The velvety caress made his hips cant forward. He sighed in helpless denial. She was killing him, slaying him, and he wouldn’t have stopped her for anything. Her tongue darted out, sending molten pleasure to his balls. She sucked him in shallowly, holding the head in her mouth and sucking hard. He swore every crude, vulgar word he’d ever heard in the military, his fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the stool.

She glanced up at him. The sultry knowledge in her eyes mesmerized him. His veined shaft disappeared between her stretched, pink lips. He wanted so many things. To make her take him deeper. To hold her head. To own her. But his love for her wrapped around him like butter-soft chains, holding him back and keeping her safe.

A new, subtle pressure had him clenching and rising up to meet her mouth. She’d worked a finger down below where he couldn’t see—but Jesus, he could feel. Sparks down the seam of his balls and up underneath. How could she bear to touch him there? He wanted to make her stop, to force her to rub him there faster and harder. The barstool may as well have been glued to his palms. He couldn’t move them. Couldn’t stop her, couldn’t make her do a damn thing. This was all her: wicked intent and lavish attention.

Slowly, her finger slid back farther, to the waiting pucker of his ass. His whole body strung up tight. He clenched his jaw to keep from crying out no and stop and God fuck yes. Flames licked his balls, and he rocked in a rhythmic motion, desperate for relief.

As her finger explored forbidden territory, her eyes held a question. Do you like this? And they held something else, her answer. She liked this, and he was filled with gratitude. Flushed with pleasure. He would probably go up in smoke any second now, but God, the burn felt so sweet.

Circles.

The thought pierced his lustful haze. She was making circles right there with the tip of her finger. He followed the sensation of tiny spirals at his most vulnerable point. She sucked him in deep, making his eyes roll back. Her grip at the base of his cock tightened and then slid along the shaft. Her finger at his back entrance pressed inside. The smallest degree of entry, and he was lost. Climax swept over and consumed him. He shouted something broken and base while he poured his orgasm on her tongue. Shudders wracked his body as he stared down at her. His entire body clenched tight with pleasure before relaxing in sweet contentment. She lovingly licked the last traces of seed from his cock.

Finally releasing himself, he unclenched his fingers from the stool. One hand shoved into her hair and gently pulled her to him. He kissed her with an open mouth and greedy tongue, tasting himself inside her. His body was sated, but not his desires. He had wanted to taste her, and judging from the way she shivered in his grip, she wanted that too.

Feeling wild and desperate, he glanced around the kitchen. Through the open-air entranceway, he saw the armchair in the living room. Not a very comfortable piece, but the padding would protect her. He wanted to make her come so hard her liquid spilled onto the cushion. He felt feral, wanting to mark the furniture with her scent, her sex.

“Follow me.” Feeling grim and unkind, he pulled her over and set her down. A little more roughly than he needed to, but it set the tone. She needed to understand. This was how it would be, him leading and her placid. It was the only way he could worship her properly, because if she spoke a single word, he’d obey.

He spread her legs, placing them over each padded arm of the chair. It was bondage without a foot of rope. The more he pleasured her, the tighter her legs would bind her here. Of course, she could always relax and stand up herself, but she wouldn’t. The dark amusement in her eyes said she understood the game, she accepted it. Her parted lips and quickened breath said she didn’t give a damn, as long as he gave her what she needed.