Page 92 of Beautiful Beast

I hang up, tossing the headset on my desk and focusing on the beautiful woman on my lap. “Now, you were saying?”

“Tell me about the roses,” she says, and my entire body tenses. “Please.”

She’s testing me. Belle isn’t manipulative, and she won’t withhold sex. She just wants to know if I’ll be intimate in other ways.

Much deeper ways.

I’ve already shared so much – more than I ever would with any other woman – but she still wants more.

And dammit, even though I shouldn’t, I want to let her in.

“Growing up, my mom always had roses in the house,” I explain. “When my father had his rages, he would often throw or destroy them because he knew they mattered to her. But it didn’t stop her from getting more. They were the beauty in the chaos. I only have one picture left of her and the roses are in it. They make me think of her, feel close to her. It’s like her presence is still in the house, and I’m not ready to let go of that feeling.”

“Oh, Adam.” Her eyes are full of tears and I can taste the salt when she kisses me.

“I only wish I had been older while she was still alive. Not only would I have gotten more time with her, but I would have been strong enough to protect her.”

“I wish that I was religious so I could say with conviction that she knows your heart because she can see the man you are now. But all I can say is that life is so goddamn unfair sometimes, and I hate that you lost two of the most important people in the world to you. And also, that I’m proud of you and so glad we met.”

“Princess…” I start, my stomach dropping somewhere by my feet. “I’m no good for you.”

“I get to decide that.”

“Belle–”

The protest dies on my lips when she drops to her knees and looks up at me through thick, dark lashes. The expression on her face is unmistakable.

She wants me – right now.

“I thought of a really good stress-relieving activity,” Belle teases.

It’s not a good idea to keep getting closer to her, but there’s also no way I’m going to stop. A better man would make the sacrifice and give her up for her own good.

But that’s not me.

It’s too easy to cooperate with her while she works my jeans and boxer briefs down my legs, her fist wrapping around the base of my already hard cock.

She keeps her gaze on me to be sure there’s no doubt that she’s exactly where she wants to be, and I’m so fucking lucky.

It doesn’t escape my notice that it no longer bothers me that she unabashedly looks at every part of me, including my scarred face. What used to fill me with panic and dread just feels – normal.

Belle might be the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen, but she’s also the least judgmental and superficial person.

“You’re thinking about it,” she says before she licks around the tip of my cock like it’s an ice cream cone. “The scar.”

Mother… fucker

So good.

“Was not,” I lie.

She gently nibbles my sensitive glans, and I growl. “You were.”

“Okay, fine, yeah, maybe,” I relent. “But I was thinking about how you don’t think about it. And that it’s… it just lets me feel like me. It’s like you’re bringing me back from the dead and making me believe in love again. You’re making me believe inmeagain.”

Her eyes soften. “You were hit,” she says, “and it was a really hard blow. But you can come back from it, I know it. And you don’t need to wait for surgery to make it happen.”

She doesn’t wait either.

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