The Beast (Wicked Villains 4)

Easier to focus on that purpose than the conflicted feelings inside me. If the last two days have taught me anything, it’s that I never stopped loving Gaeton and Beast. Worse in some ways, now that we’ve forcibly torn down the film of niceness that coated our past relationships, I love them more. Something I didn’t think was possible. Suffice to say it’s an inconvenient truth. There is no walking away from this unbloodied. I check my phone before I can procrastinate further.

Sienna: Check your email and get the answers back to me ASAP.

Me: You know, algorithms aren’t the answer to everything.

Sienna: Do you have a better option?

Me: …

Sienna: I didn’t think so. Answer the questions and I’ll get the program put together.

I don’t exactly have a high horse to stand on for this situation. Her algorithm sounds like a terrible idea, but so does a two-week sex pact. I open my email and find the shared document she wants me to fill out. I hold my breath and click through. The questions are both what I expect, and not what I expect. Everything from the ability to give a dual orgasm to cuddling to whether or not they leave their laundry in a pile on the floor or put it away immediately. I’m a little impressed at her thoroughness despite myself.

I glance at the time and perch on the edge of the tub to fill out the answers. It’s weirdly nostalgic to type them out, a reminder of a time when things weren’t exactly simpler, but there wasn’t a deadline hanging over my head. Answering these questions brings up memories I haven’t allowed myself to think of since my respective relationships ended.

Like how Beast had a knack for showing up when I least expected it with a sweet treat or a cup of coffee. Or the one time I came back to my room after a long day dealing with my sisters and found that he’d cleaned it so every surface practically shone. He didn’t always use words to tell me how he felt about me, but he spoke through his actions time and time again.

And Gaeton? He was always, always willing to try anything I was into, whether it was to listen to a book I was reading on audio or to marathon a show I wanted to try out. We could laugh and giggle and sing in the car like goofs and I never felt like I had to be cool and collected in order for him to want me.

Even when we weren’t communicating our deeper needs, it was so good being with them in other ways. I swallow hard. Just answer the questions and move on. I finish quickly enough and send a text letting her know. I still don’t think an algorithm will help me decide things, but Sienna won’t leave it alone and, honestly, it can’t hurt.

Then there’s nothing to do but get dressed. Tink left me three dresses to choose from and I run my hands over one after the other. Black and a deep purple and a cheery yellow. I touch the yellow. Another time. The black is a better option, though it’s something more in-your-face sexy than I’ve ever worn in public.

I carefully pull it on. The fabric fits like a second skin, making it impossible to wear anything under it, an asymmetrical cut that is long sleeved on one side and sleeveless on the other. It featured two cut-outs, one a deep diamond between my breasts, the other a circle right at the curve of my waist that leaves half my hip exposed. It’s not exactly indecent, but it’s the kind of dress that makes one think of easy access and fucking. The fact that it hits the top of my knees does nothing to combat how naked I feel; more naked than when I actually was naked.

I take another deep breath and shake out my hair, giving it a little extra toss for volume. I look like a sex kitten, like the dirty little slut I play for these men.

I … like it.

Beast is waiting for me in the bedroom, dangling a pair of strappy black heels from his finger. He drinks me in, his gaze going hot and intense. “You look good, princess.”

“Thank you.” I clear my suddenly dry throat. Strange to feel so affected when I’ve literally been naked with him for two days, but nothing makes sense when it comes to this situation any more. I reach for the shoes, but he shakes his head. “Sit.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I know. But I want to.”

Impossible to argue with that. I sit on the edge of the bed. My heart leaps into my throat as he goes down to one knee before me. “Beast—”

“I have a question, and I want you to answer it honestly.” He lifts my foot and slips it into the first heel. His hands have committed more acts of violence than I can begin to guess, but he touches me like I’m something priceless, due the utmost care. It should irritate me, should be a reminder to how he never let me see the truth of him before. It’s different this time. I don’t know why.