Page 148 of Her Beast

Her eyes, which had been huge and startled when he’d stormed into the room, now sparkled with anticipation.

She was like a kitten—playful, trusting, and without guile, showing every emotion on her expressive, surpassingly lovely face.

And Malcolm was a pig who wanted to put his big club of a prick between those plush lips and fuck her face as roughly as he would a back-alley whore.

Her pale, delicate hands landed on his leather-clad fist, bringing to mind dainty, wholesome butterflies alighting on something blackened and stunted. Her eyes met his as her lips tightened around his thumb. Even through the barrier of the leather he felt her tongue cradle his finger and blood surged to his cock.

“You drive me mad; do you know that?” He snorted. “Of course, you do,” he said before she could answer. “I think of you day and night. What little sleep Idoget, you have ruined for me, because all I see when I close my eyes isyou.”

Her magnificent eyes glittered with feminine satisfaction at his accusation.

Malcolm laughed harshly. “My own personal siren luring me to the rocks.”

When she would have pulled away to speak, he shook his head. “No talking—keep sucking until I tell you otherwise.”

Her eyes hazed with lust at his vulgar command and her instant submission made his balls so bloody hard they felt like stone.

Decades of iron will and self-control reasserted themselves. He was accustomed to deferring his pleasure with whores, now he could exercise that restraint with the real thing—a woman he wanted, and one who was rapidly taking him apart, piece by piece, without even trying.

“Good,” he praised in a voice roughened by unholy lust. “But that’s just a thumb.” Her eyes scrunched up and a notch imposed itself between her elegant brows, her full lips going slack around his digit.

Malcolm took advantage of her momentary inattention to reach around her and grab the cushion from a chair. He tossed that down to the floor. “Kneel.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and more color stained her already pinkened cheeks.

Malcolm waited patiently.If you know what’s good for you, sweetheart, you’ll send me packing.

Instead, she shakily lowered herself to her knees and swallowed noisily when she stared at his grotesquely tented trousers.

Malcolm spread his feet enough to lower his prick to the level of her mouth. “Open my trousers and take me out.”

She looked like she might faint—which would be the best thing for her—but, again, she surprised him, her elegant fingers fumbling with the buttons.

“I shouldn’t take you in this room like this,” he muttered, dropping a hand to her hair and carding his fingers into the thick locks, wrenching her head back.

She stared up at him with startled, wide eyes, her lips parting. “Why not?”

“Hush,” he ordered, tightening his grip until she winced. Rather than knock any sense into her, Malcolm watched as the pain sent a fresh wave of lust rolling through her body.

“I should put you under my desk—use you like a whore for my pleasure.”

She groaned, the sound so low and needy he almost came. Yes, his little Julia didn’t just like pain, she craved humiliation. In that moment, she reminded him so much of Brian Harlow that his vision briefly hazed.

He was a sick, perverted bastard to find the comparison arousing.

But then he already knew that.

“That’s enough,” he ordered gruffly when she’d undone all but two of the buttons. “Reach in and take me out.”

“But… may I not take them off?”

“No,” he barked.

She cut him a mulish, rebellious look that drove him wild: his Julia might be submissive with a taste for pain, but she was no doormat.

Malcolm caught her wrist, surprising a gasp from her, squeezing the fragile bones hard enough to hurt her and get her attention. “Tell me to leave.”

Her lips parted and hurt flooded her eyes.

---