Baby for the Beast Page 4

  Drunk on arousal, I free my cock and press it up and between her legs from behind, letting my entire length rest in the valley of her pussy. The feeling is ecstasy, even motionless, I can feel her slick folds and the radiating heat from her core that is drenched for me. Even better, I have a perfect view to watch the goosebumps form on the back of her neck and run down her spine.

  I yank my underwear and pants down just enough to feel the soft skin of her ass against me and the warmth of her back against my stomach. She’s so smooth. So pure.

  She deserves better than me. Someone kinder and someone soft, but my lips curl up into something like a snarl, anger rising when I think of another man ever touching her. After what I’m going to do, can I really expect to keep her as my own?

  In frustration, I grip the base of my cock and dip my hips so that I can slide into her. I do it in anger, letting the frustration flow through me until the mercy is driven down deep. I don’t let her adjust to my size, even when she sucks in a sharp breath and tightens her hands into fists over her head, wrists still bound by my belt.

  “Oh God,” she gasps.

  She handles it well, even though she surely can’t be used to a cock like mine, she bites down her protests, making sure I have no doubt that her submission is mine.

  I look up at the belt fastening her wrists together and down at my cock, already wet with her cream, and buried nearly to the root inside her. The idea of having her immobilized and at my complete mercy makes me clench my teeth together, barely able to suppress my animalistic hunger for her. Every inch of her.

  I swallow up most of her narrow waist with one hand, forcing her to arch her back so my cock can find the final few inches of her pussy. I groan with satisfaction, absolutely in bliss at the way her walls are so unbelievably warm and tight around me. “Tell me what you want,” I whisper.

  “What?” she asks, turning so I can see just a hint of her profile.

  “Why,” I say, interrupting myself as I stop to appreciate the perfection of her pussy straining to fit my cock, simultaneously in a rush to feed my lust but knowing every second I delay will only make the reward that much sweeter. “Why did you come in this room? What did you want?”

  I wait, knowing that the loss of friction and movement is torture of its own for her. Torture does not often come without reward. Maybe I’ll teach her that, before long...

  “I don’t know what I wanted,” she says, almost pleading.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Another long pause. The faint anxious clenching of her walls around me, dare me to put her out of her misery and give her the orgasm she’s so hungry for.

  "To be someone else," she says finally, speaking slowly as if she's piecing her thoughts together out loud. "Just for a little while. Someone who doesn't always have to do the smart thing."

  I smirk from behind her. I run my fingers down her smooth spine, gripping a handful of her ass. “You’re right,” I say. “Coming in here wasn’t the smart thing.”

  I take her by the hips and fuck her. I don’t go slowly. I don’t try to turn the experience into lovemaking, or anything remotely sweet. It’s raw. It’s hungry. It’s fast. It’s two bodies coming together for the most basic and instinctual need, to feel. In the blur of ecstasy, we can both be someone else. She can be the woman without boundaries she seeks, and I can forget all the pain I’ve caused so long as her sweet moans ring in my ears. For at least a little while, I can forget.

  My hips slap against her ass and her bound hands clench and unclench above her head. Her moans come freely now, louder. They’re pure as music to me, driving me deeper into the trance of my lust. Anger and desire blur together inside me with every thrust. Anger that I have to destroy something so pure and perfect, and the desire to snatch at this one fleeting moment. My past is a riot of violence, hardness, and duty. For this one moment, I feel connected to something real. Something good.

  I feel my orgasm building, growing until holding it back takes all my strength. I don’t slow or relax in the slightest until her whole body tenses and then spasms. Her moans break off with a sudden intake of breath. Her hands ball into fists, and she pushes her tight little ass into me, taking in every bit of my cock she can while her walls clench and unclench around me, begging me for my cum, desperate to milk me dry.

  My own climax comes with so much ferocity that it nearly buckles my knees. I slam my palm into the wall beside the door, roaring as my cock jerks inside her, filling her with the warmth of my cum. Fuck. It’s only moments later that I realize my mistake.

  I was so caught up in her perfection that I didn’t even think to pull out. Some distant part of me realized she must’ve noticed, too, and she didn’t try to stop me. Maybe she’s on the pill? It should matter more to me, and maybe later it will, but with the dull thud of my heartbeat in my ears and my cock still wet with her cream, I can’t make myself care.

  I let my cock slide free from her and then turn her to face me. In the past, cumming has always given me a strange but instant desire to distance myself from my partner. Now though? I’m overcome by a need to stay close to her. She said she came into this room to feel like someone else, even for a moment. I realize that she’s giving me the same chance, and not just while I’m buried deep inside her. She’s soft in all the right ways, like a warm, comforting fire I could sit in front of and let the ice that has accumulated over my life thaw and melt away.

  Except I’m past sitting. I’m past waiting and relaxing. I’ve forged my life out of pain, out of doing whatever it took to protect my family. That same violence will always follow me like a shadow.

  I take the back of her head in my hand, threading my fingers through her thick hair and stare into her eyes. I kiss her then, tasting the sweetness of her lips and the heat of her tongue as it shyly flicks against mine.

  “I would’ve kept things like this,” I say. “I would’ve. If I had a choice.”

  She gives me a strange look, but doesn’t understand. All the better that she doesn’t. I take her into my arms and hold her, hating myself more than I ever have, because my choice has already been made, because I took her in the most intimate way and I knew all along that I could never keep her, not in the way I long to.

  6

  Neela

  We slip out of the manager’s office fully dressed, but probably looking like we just went through a hurricane. I clear my throat, trying to smooth my hair a little. Just like when the two people made a scene over losing their table to us, everybody is trying very hard not to look in our direction. I’m fairly sure I was moaning loud enough against the door that half the restaurant was probably aware of what was happening, but that feels like a distant worry, like something the normal me would think about.

  I’ve stepped into another role tonight. It’s another version of myself that doesn’t have to run every decision through a magnifying glass. So far, I like this side of me, and I like Enzo even more for freeing it.

  “Come this way,” he says, leading me back through the kitchens.

  I follow him, clasping onto his hand as we walk into the back of the restaurant. I let him carry me deeper into what feels like a dream, both temporary and unreal, as if focusing in on any one detail would shatter the illusion and send me back to my normal life.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  My stomach feels painfully empty, now that he mentions it. “Starving.” I barely touched my food at the coffee shop earlier. Wow. The coffee shop. It already feels like that was days ago, but it was only this afternoon. I was trying to resist going on this date because… why? Because I was so sure I didn’t need a man to make myself happy? That may be true, but it doesn’t mean I have to push away a man who might add to my happiness.

  Besides, my life before was a comfortable, easy sort of happy. I went to work, did my job, followed my routine, and knew there were no surprises. With Enzo’s hand swallowing mine up, I can feel the rush of not knowing what’s behind the next corner. It’s a new kind of future, and
I’m feeling more willing to step into it by the minute, so long as he’ll let me.

  The cooks in the kitchens show the same wariness the man who seated us showed. All around us, cooks duck their heads and try to look so absorbed in their work that they don’t notice us.

  Enzo slams a palm down on the table beside a cook who can't be past his mid-twenties. The sudden harsh sound makes me straighten and look at Enzo, who wears an expression I haven't seen on him yet. He doesn't seem to be one for easy smiles by any means, but the stern look on his face isn't the same one he studied me with. It's not the look that hides a promise of so many dirty, dark things I could tell he wanted to do to me. It's just… Cruel? Frustrated? I can’t put my finger on it, but now that I think about it, he has seemed tense and almost rigid since we left the small office.

  Whatever emotion I see in his eyes, it doesn't feel right. I may hardly know him, but Enzo didn't strike me as a cruel man. Crude, yes. Blunt, definitely. But he seems kind and caring in his own, deliberate sort of way. Not now though.

  “Food. Quickly.”

  The man snags a plate of fettuccine noodles in a cream sauce from the expo line and sets it down on the prep table in front of us, pulling his hand away and squeezing his fingers. The plate must’ve been hot, but he didn’t even take the time to grab a towel to protect himself. Enzo gives the man a long, hard look before motioning for me to eat.

  “Right here?” I ask.

  Enzo looks back at me, and for a moment, I want to shrink away from the anger and promise of violence I can see in his features. He softens his expression for me almost immediately. “We have somewhere to be. I’m sorry. Just eat enough so you won’t be hungry and I’ll get you something else in half an hour when we’re at my place.”

  “Oh,” I say quickly. “I have work in the morning. I wasn’t—”

  He silences me with a look, then touches my cheek and gives me a sad sort of half-smile. “Go on, eat something. I don’t want you to be hungry.”

  I smile back uncertainly, feeling self-conscious to eat while he just waits beside me and the cooks work around us like we’re not in the middle of their fancy kitchen. My aching stomach forces me over my shyness, and I dig in. Enzo can be gorgeous all he wants, but at the end of the day, there’s not much that’s going to come between me and good food—and there's no mistake about it, this food is good. I started off telling myself I'd exercise some self-control and only eat a couple bites. I could let Enzo think I was some dainty girly girl who ate like a bird, at least for a few dates. Unfortunately, my bottomless pit of a stomach has other plans.

  It’s only five minutes later when I realize I’m scraping up some of the sauce with the side of my fork and licking it clean, not a single noodle left on the plate. I look up to Enzo with flushed cheeks.

  He only smirks and uses a napkin from a pile of rolled silverware to wipe something off my chin. “It’s refreshing to see a woman who isn’t afraid to eat.”

  I study my feet. Is that supposed to be a compliment?

  “It’s a compliment,” he says easily, as if reading my mind. “You’d be amazed how many women I’ve met that’ll just take a bite of lettuce and pretend they’re full.” He runs a hand down my side and takes a squeeze of my ass, uncaring of how many people are around us. “A bite of lettuce here and there can’t make a body like this.”

  I chew the corner of my lip, feeling the most wonderful thrill spread through me. I’ve never been the kind of woman to draw compliments from men. Maybe the guys I work with are too intimidated by my position as the veterinarian to feel comfortable hitting on me, or maybe it’s just that I make almost no effort to get myself out there on the dating scene. “You must eat well, too,” I say. The words come out of me so rushed and awkward that I actually cringe. “I swear, I am not this bad at talking normally. It’s your fault.” I look at him meaningfully, wondering if he understands the full implication of my words.

  He barks a laugh, but the humor in his face quickly fades, as if a thought occurs to him that sours his mood. “We should go,” he says suddenly.

  I’m reminded that he still thinks I’m coming home with him. I don’t think I can bring myself to do it. Being with him tonight was like riding a rollercoaster for the first time. It was the most exciting and amazing thing I’ve ever done, but to get back in line and do it again right away? No… I think I need a night by myself to let everything that just happened sink in and make sense.

  “I appreciate everything,” I say. “But really, I shouldn’t. I have work and I can’t stay out late.”

  Something passes over his face as he watches me, like storm clouds suddenly casting shadows. “I insist,” he says tightly.

  I laugh nervously. “Really, I can’t…”

  He flexes his jaw and takes me by the arm. “Come on. Let me just show you something, then.”

  My heart starts to beat faster, breaths coming quick and ragged as I’m half-dragged through the kitchens toward the back door, which leads outside to a parking lot where the dumpsters sit.

  A thousand things nearly come from my mouth, but they all tangle together into a thick knot in my throat that seems to paralyze my tongue, making me mute. I don’t want to make a fool of myself and beg him to let me go like he’s about to murder me, but what if he really is planning something horrible? Then it’s not going to matter how much you beg him to let you go.

  It feels like I have mental whiplash. One minute, I'm going on a blind date. The next, I'm actually enjoying myself. And now I'm in a hopeless tailspin, trying in vain to get my bearings as he drags me farther and farther from the restaurant. I try to control my breathing and get my mind working correctly while he continues leading me to the back of the building. There's an SUV idling in a parking spot with the lights on ahead of us. I see two dark shadows in the front and possibly one in the middle. My survival instinct finally kicks in, sending me into a kind of mental overdrive that slows down time.

  Something is seriously wrong. All the subtle clues I saw throughout the night now come together in a single picture. He’s been planning something all night, something he wasn’t looking forward to, maybe.

  I force myself to stop worrying about his side of things and focus instead on what I can do to help myself. He’s twice my size, impossibly strong, and he’s almost definitely planning on taking me into that car and not letting me go. I’m a freaking doctor, though. I can think of something, even if he is stronger than me. Right?

  A sloppy idea forms, but I don’t have time to run through the possible pitfalls, or even much beyond the first few steps, because we’re so close to the SUV now that I can see our reflection in the glossy chrome grill.

  As carefully as I can, I sling my purse away from me and into the bushes a few feet to my right. I try to time its landing, counting to two in my head before I let my ankle buckle and let out a loud “Ow!” I still hear the distant crinkle of bushes giving way as my purse lands on them, but my distraction seems to work on Enzo, who stops to look down my ankle. Even with whatever he’s planning, he still looks concerned. He kneels, hand still gripping my wrist and feels at my ankle with his free hand. “Looks alright,” he grumbles, but still takes one more glance at it. “You okay?”

  “Wait,” I say. “My purse. Shit.”

  He frowns. “What?”

  “I think I left it back in there. In the manager’s office where we…”

  He takes a look back toward the restaurant, considering for a moment. Come on. Just assume I haven’t started to suspect anything weird. Walk me back in there to get the purse. Let me have a chance to yell for help. Or maybe just stand here long enough so that somebody comes out to the parking lot.

  He looks between me and the car doubtfully, still trying to decide for a few moments before he finally starts dragging me toward the car again. “My purse,” I say quickly. “It has my inhaler.” I realize with a twist of fear that my little plan may backfire in the worst way. I really do have asthma, even if it’s too mild to
ever be life-threatening, but my phone really was in my purse, too. If I don’t get it back, I may have just thrown away my only real lifeline. Maybe I would’ve had a chance to sneak off a text, even just a single letter to make someone start wondering what was going on. Then again, I doubt he’d have let me keep my purse if he really wanted to… what? What do I even think he’s going to do? What if he really does just want to take me to his place?

  No. Trying to deny the truth isn’t going to help me. I can see the silhouettes in the car. He wouldn’t have people waiting for us in the car if this was innocent. He wouldn’t have flipped some sort of personality switch, turned into an asshole, and dragged me out here, either.

  He pulls me again toward the idling car where the shadows of men wait, his mouth tight in an angry line. He yanks the door open and ushers me into the back. The men look at him with exasperated expressions, as if he owes them some kind of explanation, but he only jabs a finger at them. “No one lays a single hand on her. Not a finger. Got it?” His voice cuts through the small space like a knife, and the effect it has on the other men is visible. They shrink back, averting their eyes until he slams the door and walks quickly back toward the restaurant.

  Once Enzo is out of sight, the driver turns around to look at me. He’s handsome—they all are, in their own ways. The driver’s face is clean-shaven and he has a youthful, strong intensity to his features. I’d put him at twenty-five, maybe a little older, and he has dirty blond hair that is messy and unkempt with soft brown eyes. “Just stay calm,” he says. Even his voice is soft and soothing.

  Calm…

  The idea of calm feels distant, like my situation is too sudden and unexpected to latch on to yet, as if I’m just an observer watching my body descend deeper and deeper into this waking nightmare. I’m vaguely aware of the fact that I’m breathing faster now, too fast. My throat is tight and my chest feels tingly, like I’m on the verge of an asthma attack.