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

If only she didn’t know the senator’s secret history.

Blake reclined beside her in bed. His arm was stretched out, long and muscled even in sleep. His eyes were closed, lashes thick and blunt, and almost touching the pale scar tissue on his cheek.

The fire had come too close to his eye. She shivered to think how much worse it could have been. He could have lost his sight. He could have died.

Her heart felt too full, too vulnerable after sleeping beside him all night.

And she couldn’t stand to not touch him. Couldn’t stand not to feel the warmth of him and the steady rise and fall of his breaths. His chest had a sprinkling of coarse hair, and she ran her hand over it, tickling her palm.

He didn’t stir, his lips slightly parted in deep sleep.

So she kept going, over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the muscles tighten under her touch. She glanced at him, feeling shy, almost caught, but he slept on.

There was no way she could stop, not when she could see him hard beneath the sheet. He probably woke up hard every morning, but usually he was up before her. Sometimes she’d open her eyes to find his fingers in her pussy and his mouth at her breast. Other times he’d already be inside her, thrusting away, by the time she became aware.

Still, other times he would take a shower and jerk himself off, fast and efficient. I wanted to let you rest, he would say. And she understood it was a kindness, even if it didn’t feel that way. Especially after days without him. Weeks. More than a month.

This was hers. His cock. His arousal. This entire beautiful man was hers.

That was how it felt to take his cock into her mouth—like ownership. She claimed him with her lips, her tongue, with the gentle strokes of her fist around his cock.

His gasp was like coming up for air, sharp and sudden. His whole body jerked too, hard enough that her mouth left him. Then his hand was on the back of her head, caressing her, thanking her. She licked him at the tip, in that place that always drove him crazy, until he shoved his fingers into her hair, tugging and wordlessly begging.

He couldn’t keep quiet, though. Not when she licked at the soft skin on his balls, her fist tightening on his cock to make sure he didn’t come yet. She’d gotten good at this with him. She loved to practice, loved to make him crazy with it, and he responded with a symphony of arousal—his grunts, his groans, his gasped words of encouragement and pain.

“God, baby. Suck me. I need you so fucking bad.”

Her pussy clenched at his words, and she obeyed him, taking him into her mouth again. She fisted him in time with her sucks, and he tossed his head back, eyes closed, expression tight.

“Baby,” he muttered. “Need this. Need you.”

He was holding back. She could tell he wanted to say more, to ask for something she might not want to give. What he didn’t know was that she wanted to give him everything. Her only fear was that he’d realize he no longer wanted her.

“Tell me,” she whispered, her lips brushing the spongy head of his cock.

“Nothing,” he gasped, bucking up. “This is perfect. Love you. Love you.”

But it wasn’t perfect. Not if he was still holding back. She blew a breath over the tip of his cock, and he shuddered. “What do you want to do to me?”

“Want to fuck your mouth.” Then he seemed to realize what he said, and added, “Don’t want to scare you though.”

He wanted to fuck her mouth? The idea made her hot. He usually let her control the pace, the depth. She’d never really questioned why.

Apparently because he didn’t want to scare her.

“You won’t scare me,” she promised.

He stared at her, his eyes dark and wondering. She could see his hesitation in those eyes, but she could also see how much he wanted this.

“Not like this,” he finally said. “Lie down.”

She lay down, uncertain what he meant until he knelt over her, her arms trapped at her sides, her mouth inches from his cock. It was a startling perspective, being towered over by him, by the closeness of his cock and his shoulders blocking the light from the window, his face cast in shadows.

And it made her a liar, because it scared her—just a little.

But she knew that however dominating he might seem, however vulnerable this made her, he would never hurt her. Maybe that was what love was really about. Feeling fear but knowing it would be all right. Maybe that was trust. She’d always longed for safety, the certainty that she would never be alone, never crying, never somehow hurt by her employer but without the power to defend herself the way her mother had been.

There was no such thing as certainty. That was what she’d learned by growing up, by reading about the world, by studying history. There was only pain and hope, only fear and trust, only the hard cock in her mouth and the tender look from a man who loved her.