Page 177 of Her Beast

“Mmm-hmm.” He kissed her thoroughly and when he pulled away, she’d forgotten all about the monkey comment.

Malcolm sighed in pure bliss and rolled onto his back, wincing slightly at the pull of skin on his side.

“What is it?”

He looked up and saw that she was pushed up on her elbow, looking at him.

“Nothing.”

“No. It was something. You grimaced.”

“Julia—”

“I will pester you until you tell me. That’s something you might not have realized about me—my ability to single mindedly pester.”

He sighed. “The skin on my side is a bit dried out. I’ll have Norris take care of it later.”

They’d moved from Malcolm’s sitting room to his bedchamber after he’d fucked her with all the finesse of a seventeen-year-old and then fallen asleep and crushed her beneath him.

As a debut performance it had been lacking on his part.

“What does Norris do to help you?” Julia asked.

“There is a salve he applies.”

“Let me put some on now.”

“Julia—”

“Where is it?” She rolled away from him and pushed off the bed, looking around his bedchamber, as if the tin of salve might be on the mantelpiece right below his favorite Shunga print, which was—roughly translated—Client Lubricating a Prostitute.

It seemed to snag Julia’s attention, momentarily diverting her from the fact that she was naked.

Malcolm smirked and pushed himself up so he could watch her. He had an impressive collection of erotica, although nothing like Smith’s—he’d been the one to lure Malcolm into the expensive hobby—and he kept some of the best in his chambers.

Julia moved on to a smaller Shunga print, this one depicting a whore about to suck a man’s improbably huge cock.

“Do you like them?” he asked, stroking his own cock, which was rousing as he watched her peruse his erotica.

“Yes,” she said, her voice scratchy, her back muscles tensing when she stopped in front of a slightly larger canvas.

“That is by a man named Tassaert,” Malcolm said.

It hadn’t been expensive when compared to most of the items in his collection, but it was among his favorites. Although Tassaert was still alive, he had stopped painting years ago and his work was quite rare.

This particular painting was one he’d done several versions of. It depicted a woman being ravished by three androgynous lovers, one of whom was actively engaged in cunnilingus.

Julia stepped closer to the painting. “Are these three men or women, I cannot tell?”

“Does it matter?”

She turned at that, her expression startled but thoughtful. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Her gaze dropped to his slowly stroking fist. “Hmm. What do you have there?”

“Come here and see.”

“Not until I put some of the salve you mentioned on whatever is sore.”

Malcolm growled. “Later.”

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