Page 39 of Beautiful Beasts

“I have read Fatal Vows,” I confess.

I took his copy after he told me it was one of his favorites. I was trying to understand him better and wanted to feel closer to him, so I took the book and read it in just a few hours. It was good, heartbreaking, but good. I swear if someone were leaving me cum covered roses, I would fucking vomit. What that girl went through in that book was insane, but the love she found with Toby and Adam was breathtakingly beautiful.

“What did you think?” He asks calmly.

“I can relate to how the main female character was feeling. I know what it feels like just to want to be loved. It is a beautiful story, and I am glad it was a why choose. She deserved both men just as much as they deserved her,” I explain as I watch his face.

I can tell he is thinking long and hard about my answer. I have never had anyone pay attention to me like he and Dante do. They are just as obsessed with me as I am with them.

The funny thing is that our love is taboo, just like it is in these books that Harley and I get lost in. I feel connected to the characters and have experienced some of the things they have been through, too. Reading about their trauma makes me feel as if I am not alone, and weirdly, I feel like I am regaining my power even though it is not my story that I am reading.

“Where did you go?” He asks softly, pulling me out of my head once again.

I shake my head. “Nowhere, I am right here,” I say, trying to convince the both of us.

“I don’t believe you,” he says in a low voice.

“Dark thoughts,” I whisper so softly I can barely hear myself. He nods, but I can’t tell if it is for me or him. I guess it doesn’t matter.

“Adam didn’t believe he could control himself with her alone, so he had his best friend be the bridge. It was a beautiful story,” he says softly.

His eyes are burning into mine, and I can feel the heat from his body against my skin. Harley starts to lean towards me, and the desire and need to taste him has become overwhelming. Our lips are almost touching when like a fucking idiot, I feel the wine glass slip through my fingers, and before I can do anything, I spill my wine down the front of his shirt.

He stills, his eyes never leaving mine, and a slight chuckle leaves me. I can feel my face getting red as I finally break the connection and look down at his shirt, but the wine has already done its damage.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologize shakily. Even though there is no reason for the fear, I feel it coursing through me. I can’t control my response, and Harley doesn’t deserve to think he is the cause of my anxiety.

“It is just a shirt, Bella,” he reassures me.

I slowly bring my eyes back to his. His words are so simple, but they pack a big punch—just a shirt. I wish I could see it that way.

I lean forward and set my empty glass on the coffee table. Harley watches me as I stand from the couch and reach out my hand to him. He looks deeply into my eyes, slides his hand into mine without question, and slowly moves to his feet.

I slowly unbutton his shirt with shaky hands. I am usually more confident with men, but Harley is a different breed. When he looks at me like he is now, he is not just looking at me; he is looking into my soul, and I am terrified of what he might find inside my darkness.

We all have a past and have darkness inside us. I believe some are born with it, while others it is created because of the environment they have been in, things that have been seen, or things that have been done to them. I can tell Harley wasn’t born with his darkness. His was created, just like mine was.

“I need to take this off of you so it can be cleaned,” I say with a shaky voice, feeling the anger inside me starting to rise. I fucking hate that I react like this sometimes. I really fucking hate hearing my voice crack and seeing my hands shake because my past still controls me no matter how hard I try to leave it behind me.

His eyes search mine for the moment. “If you wanted me naked, Bella, all you had to do was ask,” he says, smirking at me.

I know what he is doing. He is trying to get me to react to help me not get lost in the darkness inside my mind. He will never understand how grateful I am for him.

“Shut up, and take off your shirt,” I laugh as I shake my head.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a smile

I shake my head and roll my eyes, and he calls me the brat.

My mouth goes dry as I watch him remove his shirt. I can feel wetness pool between my thighs while I stare at Harley’s exposed muscular chest. His muscles ripple with his movements, and my brain commits each panty-melting movement to memory. Underneath the beautiful ink, his body is riddled with scars that have helped mold the man in front of me. The thought of who or what created those scars makes my blood run cold.

I step into Harley as he throws his shirt to the side. I place one hand on his chest over his racing heart, and I gently trace his scars with the fingertips of my other hand. His muscles twitch under my touch, and he sucks in a deep breath as I continue to explore his chest.

“What happened to you?” I ask in a low, shaky voice. I look from the scars to his eyes.

He lifts his hand and gently places it on top of mine. “Sinners get punished,” he says in a pained voice.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask a little too harshly.

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