Page 16 of Beast

“The closet is behind that door on the left and the bathroom is behind the door on the right. Get freshened up and dressed into something more suitable.” I let my eyes drop down her stunning figure. “And once you’re ready, come and meet me in the kitchen. Understood?”

She nods.

I click my tongue. “Use your words for me, beautiful.”

“Yes, sir,” she replies, averting her gaze.

It takes all my strength to walk away from her. All I want is to bend her over that bed and feast on her for the rest of the night. Turning away, I walk back to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of whiskey. Grinding my teeth, I don’t understand why I hate being away from when she’s only down the corridor. Maybe it’s because my cock is so fucking hard.

It’s been hard ever since I set eyes on her. The need to fuck her is so damn excruciating, but she’s not ready yet. When I finally fuck my girl, she’ll be begging for my cock like a dirty little slut. My dirty little slut. And she will beg, that’s something I guarantee.

6

BLAKE

The mirror in the opulent adjoining bathroom reflects my vacant stare.

How the hell did I get here?

Gaston is a misogynistic pig who believes women are supposed to submit to men. He’s the kind of man that makes my blood boil, and now he owns me.

Sighing heavily, I turn to the shower and turn on the faucet. Despite the situation I find myself in, there’s no denying that this place is a million times better than the filth I’ve been kept in by the Navarro cartel.

The question is, is this hell disguised as heaven?

Dropping the horrible, trashy dress to the floor I step out of it and then remove my torn panties. I still can’t believe Gaston played with me while I was sleeping. Stretching my arms above my head, I step under the spray of hot warm and sigh. It’s heaven. While I may have had a quick shower in luke warm water earlier, it wasn’t like this.

The water cascades over me, washing away the grime and the horrors of the past couple of weeks. It’s cathartic, almost—a rare moment of solitude and sanctuary in a world that has become unrecognizable. I close my eyes and allow the steam to envelop me, trying to cleanse not just my body, but my soul from the taint of the past God knows how long. Since being kidnapped, I’ve lost track of time.

The warmth that soothes my skin, but it does little to calm the storm raging inside me. I’m torn between the relief of immediate safety and the gnawing fear of what comes next. How do I retain my sense of self when every decision is made for me? The thought of facing Gaston again sends a shiver down my spine that not even the hot water can chase away.

And then there’s that traitorous ache that pulses deep whenever I think about him. The way he made me sit on his lap with his cock between my thighs was weird and yet oddly arousing. He’s so powerful, so handsome, so manly...

“No, Blake. He bought you, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter to myself.

The stark contrast between my hatred for the situation and the peculiar allure I feel toward him baffles me. And I felt it, although not so intensely when I was with Matias too. It feels akin to Stockholm Syndrome, developing an empathy or connection with one’s captor. Even though I know it’s not possible. I’ve only just met him and the syndrome takes some time to manifest.

Gaston is my captor. My owner. My master. That thought alone should be enough to extinguish any misguided affection or attraction I might harbor. Yet, as I stand under the soothing water, trying to rinse away the complexities of my emotions, I find myself grappling with an unsettling truth.

Despite the circumstances, despite the logic screaming at me, there’s an undeniable spark—a dangerous desire for the man who now claims ownership over me.

After a long time in the shower, I hear a banging on the door. “Blake! You’ve been in there an hour. I expected you out by now.”

Shit.

“Sorry,” I call back. “I”ll get out and be dressed in ten minutes!”

“You better be and not a minute longer.”

I swallow hard and shut off the water, wrapping myself in the softest and thickest towel I’ve ever felt in my life. Quickly, I towel dry my hair and then walk out with it wrapped around myself. There’s no sign of Gaston, but on the bed he’s put a stunning red Valentino dress, a garter belt and matching black lace underwear.

Taking the hint that he wants me to wear that, I quickly dress and then glance in the mirror. I’ve got no makeup on, but then he’s never seen me with it on anyway. Swallowing hard, I open the door and walk swiftly toward the kitchen to find Gaston sitting at the kitchen island on his cell phone.

For a moment, I have a chance to really study him before he notices me. He’s gorgeous. With sharp, angular features that are softened slightly by the warm glow of the kitchen lights. His jawline is chiseled, framing a pair of thin lips often set in a firm line, giving him a look of perpetual determination.

His hair, a rich shade of midnight black styled meticulously. What truly captivates, however, are his eyes. They’re a striking shade of gray, reminiscent of the sky on a stormy day, holding depths that seem to hint at both torment and passion.

Suddenly, he notices me and looks up from his phone. Those gray eyes flash with fire as he drags them slowly down the length of my body. “Perfect,” he mutters, but then shakes his head. “If only you’d be on time.”

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