Falling for the Beast Read online

  He was on her a second later, firm hips pressing her thighs open, chest looming over her, expression hard. His hands were on either side of her shoulders. He didn’t touch himself, didn’t guide himself inside. There was no need for that, not when their bodies fit together like sea and sky, like light and dark. His cock nudged her entrance and slid inside, stretching her walls, filling her up and making her clench down around him.

  She gasped out a wordless thanks, gratitude and desire all tangled up in the physical sensation. Even with how long he had licked her, how swollen and ready she was for him, it still felt like a stretch for him to slide all the way inside. A memory made real.

  He bent his head. A whisper in her ear, hoarse and hungry, “Come for me. One more time, beautiful. I need to feel it around my cock. I need that hot liquid all around me and trickling down my balls. Can you do that for me?”

  But he didn’t need to ask the question; she was already coming, already squeezing him tight and bathing him in her wetness. And then he was coming too, pushing back against her with heavy pulses of his cock and thick spurts of come deep inside.

  Chapter Eleven

  Erin

  “Erin?”

  She blinked once, twice, and the book came into view. It was large, with that old library smell she loved to breathe in. Even though she liked the smell of the book, she couldn’t say the same for its contents. They hadn’t managed to keep her awake—and she’d been reading out loud.

  “Sorry,” she said, feeling sheepish. Bad enough that she would doze off while reading a book. Much worse to have been caught by Blake, who had read The Philosophy of History multiple times.

  “I’m the one who should feel bad for boring you. I picked the book.”

  “That’s only fair. I got to pick the last one.” Her choice had been the diary of novelist and eroticist Anais Nin. He’d read it to her while she’d attempted to bake homemade bread. It had turned them both on so much—explicit words in his deep voice, her hands plunging into soft dough—that they’d made love on the kitchen floor until the bread had burned.

  So when they’d loaded the car for their trip, she’d offered to read him his choice while he drove.

  He smiled faintly, his hands steady on the steering wheel. “Fair or not, I’m more than happy to have you pick our books from now on. I’ll save the Hegel and the Kant for my students.”

  “Kant? I’m thinking you’re a bit of a sadist.”

  “Only with books. And only in the classroom. When it’s just you and me, I only want to make you feel good.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and judging by the amused expression on his face, he knew it too. If only there was a kitchen floor nearby. Unfortunately they were far away from Blake’s ranch-style home, with its seclusion and comfort. With every mile they drove, her stomach had tightened another notch. She’d hoped reading would distract her, but it had only put her to sleep.

  Blake reached over and took the book from her lap. He put it in the back seat without taking his eyes off the road. Her gaze followed the lines of his muscular arms, his torso as it was exposed to her. How did he make even ordinary actions so sexy? She would catch him stroking the spine of a book or reaching for something on a high shelf, and her body would heat up.

  “You should sleep,” he said gently. “We have another hour to go.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to trade off?”

  “I’m sure. Go ahead and rest.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” she admitted.

  He glanced over, concern darkening his expression. She hadn’t said anything particularly revealing, but maybe he’d heard the tremor in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Erin. Baby.”

  That was all it took to twist her up. Him saying her name. Him calling her the sweet endearment, the one he used when they were tangled up in bed together, so tight and twisted she wasn’t sure they could ever break apart—and she wouldn’t want them to. But this trip, this felt like breaking apart. His home was their cocoon, where their relationship had begun, where they’d fallen in lust and in love.

  Of course they’d have to leave it sometime. They were engaged now. If anything, it was late in their relationship to be meeting his parents for the first time.

  “I’m a little nervous,” she said on a soft breath.

  “Ah, baby. I understand that. I do. But I’m going to be by your side the entire time.”

  “I know,” she said, although she didn’t really. His parents came from old money. Heck, Blake came from money. And that was a foreign world to her. A scary one.

  He cleared his throat. “Are you worried about it because of your mom?”

  She didn’t flinch. Didn’t do anything that would give away how even the thought of her mother made her feel. It would only make Blake feel guilty, and he didn’t deserve that. He hadn’t done anything wrong. But maybe his father had.

  Years ago her mother had worked as a maid at Blake’s parents’ house. Then one day, she hadn’t worked there anymore. Erin was young, but she remembered her mother crying. She remembered the anxiety, the tension. The fear. At the time she hadn’t understood it fully. She still didn’t understand it fully. All she knew was that something bad happened in that house when her mother had left.

  “I just wish she would talk to me about it,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She and her mother had always been close, but her mother had never opened up about that time, even when Erin was old enough to have understood anything. And when Erin had finally confessed who Blake’s parents were, her mother had seemed to shut down over the phone. At least after this visit they were going to visit her mother. Then she could see her in person and make sure everything was all right between them.

  Blake’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “My parents are cold and manipulative. I’m not close to them, never have been. But I don’t think they would have done…”

  His voice trailed off, and they drove in silence for at least half a mile, watching light poles whip by.

  Erin had never voiced her fear of what exactly might have driven her mother out of the house all those years ago. It could have been anything. There was no reason to assume it was something truly bad, like inappropriate behavior or even an assault. And yet she couldn’t shake the possibility from her mind.

  The fact that it would have been Blake’s father who had done it made her stomach turn over. Not because she would blame Blake—she wouldn’t. He hadn’t even lived in the house at the time, having left for college and never returning. But because some part of her wondered if he’d believe, even want to believe her, if she somehow found out it were true.

  The same thing had happened with her only other serious boyfriend. He’d said he didn’t have a problem with what her mother did for a living. But when the truth had come out, that his father had come on to her mother, Doug hadn’t believed her. Would the same thing happen again? She knew Blake was a better man than Doug, a stronger one, more honorable. But she couldn’t be certain he would back her up if the choice was between her and his family. She never wanted to find out.

  But she knew very well that history repeated herself. Blake himself had taught her that in his class.

  “Erin.” His voice had gone low. In warning? No, in worry.

  Could he sense the distance between them? They were leaving his home but on some level it felt like leaving them, the way they were together, returning to who they were apart. “I don’t want anything that happens to come between us,” she said.

  “God,” he said, his voice rough. “No, it won’t. Of course it won’t. I wouldn’t let anything come between us.”

  That made her feel better, that he said it. That he clearly believed it. But she came from a world of leaky ceilings and broken dreams. She knew that wanting something to last wasn’t enough. She knew that fighting for something didn’t mean she’d get it.

  She tried to smile. “I think I’m just overemotio
nal. I didn’t get enough sleep.”

  “That was my fault too.”

  “No,” she said, horrified she’d said it that way. He would take the blame himself. He’d take the blame for everything if she let him. “You can’t control the nightmares.”

  He shook his head, pushing aside what he’d see as excuses. “Rest, baby. Recline the seat and sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  She wanted to argue, to make him see she didn’t blame him. Not for last night, not for whatever his parents might have done. She wanted to tell him that nothing could break them apart. But with the seat lowered, sleep overcame her quickly.

  She closed her eyes and dreamed.

  Blake

  The ornate iron gate rolled open before the car had come to a complete stop.

  Blake nodded at the discreet security camera as he drove through. Whoever was manning the desk these days had obviously been informed of his impending arrival and recognized him. Mr. Henderson would have retired years ago, living off a stipend supplied by his parents. They took care of their servants. At least Blake had always thought so, despite whatever other flaws they had.

  He intended to find out what happened with his father and the intern. He didn’t want to believe his father was capable of that. He didn’t believe his father was capable of it, but he would make sure. For Erin’s sake.

  He stopped the car at the end of the drive. His parents would have been informed of his arrival by the staff, but they wouldn’t open the door until he knocked.

  Erin was asleep, her lashes long on her cheeks, her pink lips slightly parted. She looked soft in the waning afternoon light, her skin almost glowing white against the orange horizon. Beautiful and untouchable and somehow vulnerable.

  He suddenly didn’t want to wake her up.

  Didn’t want to take her inside the house where he’d grown up. Didn’t want her exposed to whatever ugliness might have happened here. His father would never dare do anything to a guest, and Blake would never leave her side, but having her here felt wrong.

  He hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched her, but she woke up anyway. Her eyes opened, deep brown and full of sleepy love for him. His heart thumped painfully against his chest.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She smiled, her expression still dreamy. “You’re thinking hard.”

  That made him smile too. “It’s a character flaw.”

  “It’s sweet.” Wakefulness entered her eyes, along with worry. “Are you afraid I’ll embarrass you in front of your parents?”

  “What? Jesus, Erin. No.”

  She sat up, using the lever to pull the chair upright. “I wouldn’t blame you. I understand I’m not what they would have wanted for you.”

  He shook his head. He still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t give a fuck what they want for me. You’re what I want. You’re what I need.” The knot in his stomach grew tighter, and he couldn’t ignore it. “We don’t have to do this.”

  Her eyebrows dipped. “Do what?”

  “Visit them. We can just leave. I’ll tell them I wasn’t feeling well.” It wouldn’t even be a lie at this point. He had a bad fucking feeling.

  “No way. We’re already here.” She glanced out the windshield, her pretty eyes widening as she looked up and up. Because yeah, there were fucking spires, like a goddamn fortress. And it had been as cold as one when he was a kid, too. She swallowed. “We have to go in.”

  He knew that was true. He’d put off his visit long enough, knowing it was required, knowing that Erin would feel like he was ashamed if he didn’t bring her. The best he could do was get it over with quickly. As far as he was concerned, after this, he was done. His parents could make a cameo at their wedding so the press wouldn’t make a fuss, and that would be it.

  He took her hand in his and kissed her palm. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Erin

  Erin’s first thought when a tall, grim woman opened the door: the Ice Queen. Her hair was a blonde so pale it was almost white, with no roots of course. She seemed naturally beautiful, effortlessly elegant, the kind of woman Erin had always envied. And her smile could put frost on the windows.

  “You must be Erin,” she said, taking her hand between long, cold fingers.

  Erin forced a smile. “So glad to meet you, Mrs. Morris.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Blake’s father wasn’t much better. His hair a light grey, his eyes almost silver. At least in his case she had seen pictures online. The lauded ex-senator. Board member for countless charities. Successful investor. He was rumored to be a personal friend of the president, back in their fraternity days, and still had his ear. Yes, this family was steeped in money, and as they sat for lemonade in the sunroom, she felt the privilege thick and sharp.

  “How was the drive?” his father inquired.

  Blake’s expression looked tense. Was he worried about what she would say? Or was he always this way around his parents? “Uneventful,” he said. “Though we got a later start than we’d originally planned.”

  His mother made a tsking sound. “You’ve been away too long, and I don’t just mean this morning. What can I tell people?”

  “You can tell them you saw me now, Mother. And that I’m getting married.” With that, he gifted Erin a brief smile.

  Unfortunately Mrs. Morris did not seem impressed with her. “I don’t ask for much from you, Blake. You know that.”

  Well, that explained the tension. This had gone from awkward pleasantries to major parental guilt in the first fifteen minutes. She sent up thanks that her mother had only ever given love and support. She hadn’t grown up with a father or a trust fund, but her childhood had been a hell of a lot warmer than this.

  Blake sighed. “Mother, not now.”

  “When then?” She glanced at Erin, with something almost like a sneer on her face. But that would be ugly, and this woman had never been ugly a day in her life. Erin imagined her waking up just as pretty, just as remote. “If she’s going to be in this family, she should know the truth.”

  Erin froze, discomfort a hard knot in her throat. She’d been trying to ignore the truth, trying to pretend there was nothing to be uncovered here. Trying to pretend her mother had never dusted that lamp or swept this floor.

  That way she could pretend she hadn’t seen her mother crying, that she didn’t wonder what had really happened in this house. Her gaze snapped to Mr. Morris, whose expression was unreadable. Was he angry? Bored? If nothing else, his poker face was to be admired.

  “Erin and I are going upstairs now,” Blake said, his voice and expression even. Had he learned that from his father? But it was clear he was upset. She could feel it in him as if they were connected. “We’ll rest for a few hours and see you at dinner.”

  His mother sighed. “I’ll have the maid show you to your rooms.”

  Erin was relieved at the prospect of leaving the house, even for a few minutes to get their bags from the car. But Blake followed a middle-aged woman in a simple black uniform up the stairs.

  She stood for a moment at the base of the wide, curving staircase. Somehow this felt like crossing a threshold when just coming inside hadn’t.

  Blake paused, looking back. “You okay?” he asked softly.

  “Coming,” she answered, because she didn’t feel okay. She didn’t feel not okay either. She couldn’t have described how she was feeling at all, so it was a relief when she took his hand and felt him squeeze.

  They didn’t need words to understand each other, to provide comfort. Didn’t need words to take in the fact that they had been placed into separate bedrooms.

  Apparently the word rooms had been plural on purpose.

  “It’s just how she is,” Blake said after the housekeeper had gone. “Trying to exert control on what she can. We’ll just move into one.”

  Erin surveyed the navy blue bedspread and classic baseball posters on the wall. It seemed impersonal and
yet…it wouldn’t be an ordinary guest bedroom. Not with that neat line of trophies on the bookshelf. “Was this your bedroom?”

  He coughed. “We can stay in the other one.”

  “Oh no,” she said, laughing. “We’re definitely staying in this one.”

  His cheeks looked definitely darker. “The other room probably has a queen mattress. Maybe king. We’ll have more room.”

  And his only had a double bed, it looked like, but she wouldn’t have left for anything. Instead she wandered in, running her fingers along the smooth walnut desk and line of books. “What were you like as a kid?”

  She was fascinated just thinking about it. He was so firmly adult in her mind, so experienced and even wise. This room did little to dispel that image. It was like something out of a catalog. Not lived in. Not his.

  He snorted. “Selfish. Stupid. Like most kids in this neighborhood. Wait here and I’ll get the bags from the other room.”

  The idea of a selfish Blake was as foreign to her as a young one. All kids were probably self-centered to some extent. Erin had been. That night her mother had come home crying had opened her eyes.

  What had opened Blake’s? His time overseas? Or something before that?

  Blake returned with half the bags and stacked them by the others near the closet. She briefly wondered if Mrs. Morris would get upset about them messing with her room assignments, but Blake seemed to handle her pretty well.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked, closing the door, shutting them in.

  She shrugged. “Are you tired? You drove all that way, and I got to nap.”

  “A little. I could sleep, but only if you’re with me.”

  The idea of sleeping in this bed together, in Blake’s bed where he had been a teenager, where he had turned into a man, gave her a sort of thrill. There was an emotional component for sure, being with him, knowing him this way. As if the fabric, the mattress, had his story printed on them—invisible but just as true.