Page 133 of Her Beast

“She—she—” Julia chewed her lip. “I saw her that night—the night she was beneath your desk. Why was she under there?”

He looked perplexed by her question. “She was pleasuring me with her mouth.”

Frustration and raw lust collided inside her at his matter-of-fact words. “Iknowwhat she was doing! I meant why under your desk, of all places?”

“Because I like to have my cock sucked while I work.”

Julia clutched the back of the settee for support. “How can you justsaysuch a thing?”

“Because it is the truth. Or would you rather I lie?” His gaze was both intent and detached. As if he were interested in her reaction but had no personal stake in it.

Julia couldn’t get the memory of what she had seen that night out of her head, and God knew she hadtried.“And that’s why you k-keep her there? Just to—just to—”

“Just to suck my cock. Yes.”

How utterly …degrading.Julia’s sex clenched so hard at the thought it almost doubled her over. She was twice as swollen and wet as she’d been when she’d been sitting on his lap. She reallywasa whore.

“Often?” she asked, her voice high and breathy.

His lips twitched slightly. “Define often?”

Julia’s head spun. What sort of deviant kept a prostitute kneeling under his desk,servicinghim like some despot of old?

What sort of woman was not only aroused by such a barbaric, sexual, crude beast of a man, but envious of the prostitute he used and treated like a mindless vessel?

Because that is exactly what she craved: tobethat woman.

Oh God. How could she want that so badly?

Judging by the way he was smiling, he knew it; he could read her face as easily as he read one of his business reports.

He held out a hand. “I don’t want to waste our time together talking about a whore. Come,” he said, the gleam in his single eye knowing and indulgent. “Let’s go somewhere we can be more comfortable.”

As Julia stared at his outstretched hand she wanted, in the worst of ways, to tell him she was leaving—that she never wanted to see him again. That he was a vile swine and could go back to his prostitute and be welcome to her.

Instead, she put her hand in his.

Chapter 28

The room Malcolm led Julia to was his favorite in any of his houses—and it was unique. Not because of the furniture or the shape of the room. No, the layout in all his apartments was the same. And they all contained valuable—some would say priceless—works of art.

But the art in this room was some of his most precious, and Malcolm didn’t want to miss even an instant of watching Julia as she took in the various paintings andobjets d’art.

She was so utterly spontaneous, as if she’d never been taught to hide her feelings—although life would teach her that soon enough, he feared—and every emotion she felt: surprise, curiosity, and—yes—arousal flickered over her beautiful features.

“William Blake is the artist,” he said when she stopped and stared at the two paintings, which were side-by-side. “The Great Red Dragon and the Beast from the Sea, andThe Great Red Dragon.”

Her lips parted in awe. “They are grotesque, and yet it is difficult to look away from them.”

Malcolm suspected she might describe him the same way.

He watched her investigate the other art, amused when she froze in front of the series of Shunga woodblock prints, one hand lifting to her mouth as she stared at the octopus fucking the woman.

“Japanese,” he said, biting back a smile when she hastily moved past the woodcuts toward a single sheet of parchment protected by thick glass.

“An engraving from theI Modi.” It wasn’t an original—those had all, tragically, been destroyed—but it was still very old.

Her steps faltered as she approached the massive four-poster bed—a work of art in its own right. It had been carved by the English industrialist, Edward Fanshaw, who’d once been a woodworker and now made furniture as a hobby.

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