Page 31 of Her Beast

That whore’s disgust had proved to Malcolm that not even his piles of money could buy the desire and admiration he’d seen in Minette’s eyes when she’d dropped to her knees and taken Smith’s cock in her mouth.

And so he kept on all his clothing, like some punter rutting in an alleyway rather than his own home.

But Smith had been right; just that little bit of human contact—his cock inside a warm body—was enough to keep him sane.

And of course there was always this: watching.

While voyeurism meant that Malcolm missed out on the taste and feel of a woman under his hands or mouth, it was also far less stressful because he didn’t have to endure horror in a woman’s eyes, something that was always present in his interaction with whores, even when he was masked, gloved, and clothed.

Was his fear of exposure pitiful?

Undoubtedly.

Did he care?

Not in the slightest.

The pained grunts from beyond the window drew his attention away from darker thoughts.

Tears rolled down Smith’s blade-sharp cheekbones and his eyes had a blank look that said he’d left his body—carried away by the exquisite pain of a proper whipping.

Malcolm knew the feeling well.

Or at least he used to. With half his body covered in delicate scar-tissue his days under the lash were behind him.

But it still made him hard to watch or wield a whip himself on occasion.

Samuel’s massive torso was gleaming with sweat, his muscles bulging from the sheer physicality of beating the other man. Malcolm’s cock was so primed he could have come ages ago, but he liked to wait until the whipping was over, when he could imagine that he was the man who would bury his hard shaft in Smith’s powerful body and then ride him for Sukey’s viewing pleasure. There was something unspeakably primal about mounting another man in front of one’s woman. Especially a fine male animal like Smith.

Beyond the glass Smith shuddered. “Now,” he shouted hoarsely, every sinew, vein, and muscle in his body taut beneath his olive skin.

Samuel flung aside the whip and poured oil over his slab of a prick, slicking his shaft while his thick, glistening fingers probed Smith’s hole. He opened him carefully, finger-fucking him with gradually increasing force, until his enormous biceps flexed with the power of his pumping.

Smith squeezed his eyes shut, his tightly bound body straining to buck and thrust and fuck. “Now,goddammit!”

Samuel positioned his cock at Smith’s pucker and slammed into him, not stopping until his pelvis was flush against Smith’s arse.

Smith groaned, his face a mask of pained bliss.

Minette removed the thong from around his cock and balls and swallowed him while Samuel fucked him.

It was beautiful.

Malcolm closed his eyes and imagined he was in the other room, but with Sukey and Smith.

In his mind’s eye he saw them as they’d been all those years ago: Sukey vibrant and alive and laughing with pure sensual joy, Smith younger, but just as mysterious and fierce, and Malcolm—unscarred and unscathed, ignorant of the pain that awaited him just around the corner.

Happy birthday, Sukey. I love you, darling. I’ll miss you until the day I die.

Malcolm’s silent declaration echoed unanswered. A tear slipped from beneath the lid of his remaining eye before he could squeeze it shut. He pumped himself savagely enough to hurt, brutally driving himself toward a pleasure that he shouldn’t be alive to enjoy. Not when he’d failed to save the only woman he’d ever loved.

Regardless of his shame, hot seed spilled over his fist and he came with the sound of sucking, moaning, and slapping flesh in the room beyond, tugging at himself until his body was sated.

But his heart was dry and barren and his mind was filled with Sukey.

Always Sukey.

∞∞∞

---