The Virgin and the Beast (Stud Ranch 1)

I reach down and grab the most delectable looking piece on my plate. But before I can lift it to my mouth, Xavier’s hand clamps down around my wrist like a shackle.

“No food goes in that mouth except what I place there. And no pleasure is allowed except what I give you. You will learn to submit to me in all things. Including trusting me for every bite of nourishment.”

I glare down at him, sitting so casually in his carved wooden chair with an inlaid leather cushion. I don’t know if it’s having been so intimate with him yesterday or even just seeing him today as more of a man and not a monster, but I don’t feel afraid of him so much anymore. At least, not afraid that he’ll hurt me.

Through my teeth, I manage to grit out, “Let go of me.”

With his other hand, he plucks the bacon out of my fingers, and then he lets my hand go. My mouth drops open in outrage and I try to reach for another piece. His large arm blocks me from the plate.

“Stop being ridiculous,” I say, and try for another grab. Again I’m blocked and absurdly, I feel like I’m back in kindergarten fighting over who gets the last piece of birthday cake. I refuse to be humiliated like this and I fold my arms over my chest, infuriated.

Xavier, on the other hand, picks up the morning paper beside him on the table and starts reading as though nothing’s wrong, completely unruffled.

“You can have everything on this plate,” he says calmly and conversationally, eyes still on the paper. “As long as you take it from my hands.”

“With you feeding me like I’m a dog?” I bite back.

His cool eyes lift to mine and for just a second, they flare when our gazes connect. “Exactly like that, Pet.”

I let out an infuriated huff and turn my back on him. I start to stalk out of the room, but not before I hear his warning. “You’ll go hungry until you accept food from me. I’ll have you licking my fingers, you’ll want it so bad.”

I ignore the fact that his words send an absurd flare of lust through my lady bits and stomp back up the stairs to my room.

Later when the house is silent and I see out my window that he’s walking out toward… wherever the hell it is he goes to spend so much of his day, I hurry down stairs and make a beeline for the kitchen.

Only to find it locked. Solid oak pocket doors I hadn’t even realized were there have been pulled out and locked securely on both entrances to the kitchen.

“Son of a bitch!” I mutter, rattling at the doors uselessly, knowing they won’t budge.

I’m hungry all day, wandering the house and fuming. Xavier stays out until dark. The only interesting room on the third floor is locked, so there’s no exploring up there. And no matter how long I fidget at the kitchen door locks with my bobby pins, none of them magically unlock like they do in the movies. If I just had access to my iPhone so I could google how you break into locked doors. There’s obviously some trick I’m missing.

It’s a little before sundown when I hear the front door jangling and know he’s coming back in. I hide behind the library door, peeking through the crack to watch him go by. He’s drenched in sweat and as he passes by, he pulls his white t-shirt off over his head.

And holy muscles.

Everywhere—huge

, glistening, bulging muscles. I don’t know, I thought maybe I’d been overexaggerating how big they were in my imagination.

Nope. They’re just as inhumanely large as I remember.

Suddenly the door I’m hiding behind is swung open and I’m exposed. Then that huge chest is right in front of me, wide as an ox and probably just as strong.

The scent I was so eager to wash off me assaults me all over again—body wash and animal and sweat and hay and man and sun. That’s not the reason I’m holding my breath when he backs me into the wall I was just hiding against, though.

“Watching out for the Big Bad Wolf, little pet?” He presses his sweaty, glistening chest against my breasts and almost immediately I can feel his thickening erection through his work pants.

I close my eyes against the hundred sensations his touch immediately evokes. The mint of his breath that’s combining with his scent and the pressure of his body—all of it drives my senses wild for some stupid reason.

And he can tell. Goddamn him, he knows.

“If I reach between those pretty little thighs, I’d find you drenched for me, wouldn’t I?” he rasps, rubbing his stubbled chin over my trembling lips.

And then, him being him, he drops his hand beneath the skirt of my peach, floral print dress. He easily pushes past my tiny excuse for panties and plunges his thick finger inside me.

He hisses low when he feels exactly how wet for him I am, and I drop my head back to the wall in shame.

“Come join me in the shower,” he demands, pulling his finger out and withdrawing from me. I blink my eyes open at him and set my jaw.