Page 63 of Wicked Beasts
I turn sharply, my heart hammering in my chest, and glance over the edge. Below, standing in the dim light of the foyer, is Ikaika.
How long had he been standing there?
How long had he been watching?
The erotic a wave of my excitement is instantly battered by a surge of embarrassment that leaves me feeling exposed, vulnerable.
“Yourjobsuddenly makes sense,” Ikaika says, his voice laced with a strange mixture of disgust and judgment. His gaze flickers toward Dr. Shadow, then back to me, unspoken questions hanging in the air.
“Wait,” I murmur, taking a step toward the stairs, a desperate instinct to explain rushing through me. Before I can reach the door, Ikaika is already moving, his hand slamming it shut with a final, resounding thud that echoes through the manor.
“You don’t need to explain yourself to him,” Dr. Shadow says from above, resting his forearms on the railing as he watches me. He slowly brings his fingers to his lips.
I look up at him from the front door, and Tristan’s words haunt me.
‘You are my weakness, and in that weakness,hisgreatest strength.’
At first, his words sounded sweet, but now, I’m not so sure.
Fifty-Four
Just like that, the dinner I had been dreading slips away, dissolving into the thick, suffocating tension between us. I stare up at Dr. Shadow, and my mind drifts back to Tristan, standing there when I first arrived—the striking, muscular figure with tousled dark hair who seemed to steal the very air from my chest. His strong, clean-shaven jaw, his chiseled features, the glasses perched on his nose that framed eyes so deep, so expressive, they seemed to carry a lifetime of secrets.
But now, Dr. Shadow looms over me, a dark, menacing presence that sends a cold draft through the room. His shirt, half-unbuttoned at the collar, is tight with the fabric stretched taut across his broad shoulders and muscular frame. The scruff on his jaw only sharpens his intensity, his gaze a burning thing that pierces me, hollow and predatory. He is the same, yet completely different, and that difference feels like an omen.
Something changes in this moment, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something has shifted, the air around us thick with tension, but it feels just outside of my understanding. With an intentional, quick breath, I avert my gaze and retreat down the hallway, my shoes clicking sharply against the cold stone floor. The sound feels too loud in the silence, echoing off thewalls, but I don’t bother trying to quiet my steps. My mind is too far away.
I enter my bedroom, the familiar surroundings now foreign, as though I’m walking in someone else’s space. My hands move mechanically as I pull open the wardrobe, the wood creaking softly as if protesting my touch. I gather my pajamas, feeling their weight in my hands but unable to focus on their texture as my thoughts continue to scatter. I slip off my shoes and take off my socks before I head toward the bathroom, each step seeming heavier than the last as the cold floor bites at my heels. My mind is fractured, broken into pieces I can't fit back together. Today has been a blur, a series of moments too tangled and chaotic to decipher, like trying to assemble a puzzle without seeing the pieces.
I step into the bath, the cool porcelain pressing against my feet as I draw the curtain around me, enclosing myself in a small, intimate space. The sound of water filling the tub is soft at first, the trickle growing into a steady stream as the heat rises, steam beginning to curl around me, thick and heavy, filling the air. I sink into the water, feeling the warmth flood over my legs, my back, my chest like a slow, enveloping embrace that will steal away the tension.
The steam swirls in the dim light, filling the small bathroom with an almost ethereal glow. The sound of the water is consuming, muffling the world outside, and for a moment, it feels as if nothing exists beyond this. I close my eyes, letting the water pour over my shoulders, hoping it will carry away my thoughts, my worries, all the confusion that lingers in my mind. The steam rises, and I let myself sink deeper into the tub, wishing I could disappear into it.
The water surrounds me like a cocoon, but beneath it, the gnawing feeling of unease refuses to fade. My fingers trail overmy body with a delicate touch, nipples stiffening beneath a gentle caress as my other hand sinks between my thighs.
I think of Tristan’s lips pressed against mine, the way I climbed onto his lap as the kiss deepened, how I could feel his bulge growing, pressing up against me, wanting me, desiring me. My fingers glide through my slit as a moan escapes my lips. How I wish we could have stayed trapped in that moment. My breath sharpens as I slip my fingers inside me, imagining the way his cock would fill me as my body willingly accepts him. The slow pace of his thrusts. The way we would make love. The trail of kisses he would leave on my neck.
But it is not only Tristan I think of.
Dr. Shadow’s imposing presence is quick to make himself known. My thoughts drift down to the darkest depths of my mind as I picture myself trapped between them, Tristan’s muscular forearms hooked beneath my knees as Dr. Shadow’s cock presses up to my ass. He kisses my shoulder, his scruff scratching at my skin as he teases me from behind; his fingers find my nipples, twisting and pulling.
“Fuck…” I let out a jagged breath as I climax, my body trembling as I convulse around my own fingers, continuing to slowly plunge into me as I ride the waves of my pleasure.
I sink back into the water as I slip my fingers out, rinsing them in the water. My toes play with the drain as I release the cool and refill the depths of the tub with heat. For a moment, I stare blankly at the running faucet, the steam continuing to rise.
After a moment of collecting myself, I sit up to grab the hand towel and lather it with soap. I scrub at my skin, trying to rid myself of the lingering heaviness. The water swirls around me, the tiny ripples lapping at the sides of the tub, and for a moment, I imagine it taking everything with it—the confusion, the ache, the unsettling feeling of being out of place. But as the watercools, so does the illusion, and I’m left with only the quiet hum of electricity coming from the vanity lights.
I consider my position here. Tristan’s distance is confusing and concerning—yet I worry for him, and I can’t help but admire his genius, his dedication, his commitment to heal himself. Dr. Shadow’s sensual visits have awoken a carnal creature in me, and I fear the hunger is insatiable save for through his touch.
For a moment, I consider running away from it all.
But that won’t solve the mystery of this place. To return to my father’s house would be to admit defeat—and the loss of another job. Staying means freedom, income, and, yes, sometimespleasure. Despite the sense of danger, I am not willing to give those up. Not yet.
When I finally pull myself from the tub, the chill of the air greets my damp skin, sharp against the lingering warmth of the water. I reach for a towel, the fabric soft and comforting as I draw the curtain back. The mirror is clouded with steam, turning my reflection into a hazy blur as I work to dry myself off, each motion slow and deliberate, trying to shake off the weight of the last few hours.
I hang the towel on the hook behind the door and my gaze drifts to the counter, where my pajamas lie waiting. But then, something stops me—a small box sitting innocently atop the clothes.
I freeze.
