Loving the Beast (Skye Warren) (A) (9 page)

A shot hit the chopper—impossible to know where. It rocked the whole machine, and Blake fell off balance. The doors were still open, but tilted up, and Blake was sliding back, falling. Every second took him farther from Ricardo, every second took him one more foot in the air.

“No¸” he roared, lunging for the doors. It would almost kill him to make the jump now, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t fucking be happening.

The guy caught him by the ankle just as he was almost out of the chopper.

He landed hard on the metal grate. The force of his fall swung the chopper far enough that he could see over the edge: the man sprawled on the ground, wounded. And he could see the other men, closing in now that the chopper was leaving range, surrounding him like a pack of wolves.

“No.” This time it was only a quiet sound, stricken. Too soft to hear over the roar of the bird.

Ricardo’s brother. Ricardo.

Something wasn’t right. The bullet must have struck something vital, because the engine was sputtering now. They were still in the air but shifting sideways. At this height they’d crash. They’d burn.

And then they didn’t have to wait that long. A flare of orange out of the corner of his eye was the only clue the chopper would explode in the split seconds before it did, before flames engulfed him, before the force of the blast threw him from the chopper, and then he was falling, falling out of the sky.

*     *     *

“
B
LAKE!”

Blake jerked awake, heart pumping, body primed to fight an enemy that no longer existed. It took him a second to orient himself, to remember that he was no longer in the jungle in full combat gear, that he wasn’t even in his house and his bed¸ but was instead in Erin’s childhood room.

He panted while Erin stroked his back.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

She hesitated. She knew he wanted the truth, not just some false assurance he would have to doubt every time. “You caught me on the arm while I was trying to wake you up. It doesn’t even hurt anymore, I’m just telling you so you won’t worry.”

He still worried, he couldn’t help but worry. He loved her. It had been a kind of death sentence, finishing off the man he’d been so he could rise from the ashes. And now he was this man, one who worried with every breath he took, one who spent every waking second wanting to give her what she needed.

Only in his dreams did he lose himself in his old life. In his dreams and in the moments after them, when his body still shook with the need to fight, to fuck, to claim her in a primitive way. He’d held himself back from her before. Made himself wait. He’d stood at the window to his room until he felt enough like his regular self to touch her.

There wasn’t a window to stand at here. There wasn’t anywhere to go in the cramped room and he had no intention of leaving it. And besides, he’d learned over the course of this trip that he didn’t need to hold back. He wasn’t a thoughtful, kind, gentle lover when he was like this, but she didn’t need him to be. Instead he was selfish and crude. He took what he needed from her body like a thirsty man would drink from a lake, with no thought to the lake’s comfort or whether the lake needed the water more.

When would the nightmares stop?

He knew the answer now. They wouldn’t stop, not ever, but somehow there was still hope. There was still this woman beside him, her body for solace, her heart to love.

Her eyes were wide—not with fear but acceptance. He pushed her back and shoved her nightgown up.

Bare.

She wasn’t wearing any panties. His brain seemed to short out, and any semblance of reasoning fled. He shoved his pajama bottoms down and pressed his body between her legs, forcing her legs wide.

He stroked his cock once, twice, while she lay spread for him, waiting. He didn’t say anything to her; he was beyond words. He dipped his fingers into her pussy and took the wetness there—not for her clit, but for his cock, fisting himself with her arousal.

Then he braced himself over her, fitted the head of his cock to her opening, and drove himself home.

She gasped and reached for him, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Any other time he loved for her to touch him, loved for her to be free. But this was about using her—her body, her heart. This was about taking what was his. And so he grabbed her wrists together and held them over her head. He used his other hand to hold her hips steady as he fucked her hard enough to shake the bed.

He fucked her until his body was covered in a sheen of sweat, until his muscles were wound tight—until her pussy spasmed around him three separate times. Her body was limp beneath him, wrung out, and still he kept fucking her. This was what he was: an animal, a machine. A soldier. Something that could thrust and invade and fight for hours, and that was what he did.

“Can’t,” she whispered.

But he felt her tightening around him already, felt the gush of liquid heat his cock. He had no mercy in this moment. It was why he’d never touched her like this before. She’d wanted him—the real him, even at this time. And he knew that she could take it. So he gave it to her, hips pistoning, hand on her wrists, holding her on his cock, forcing her to come again.

It brought her to life, the orgasms, making her limp body buck and rock against him, shaking her breasts loose from the lacy fabric of her nightgown. Her brown nipples were stark against her pale skin, and he reached down to lick them. Only then, only sucking her firm, pebbled skin did his balls clamp down, did his come shoot deep inside her, did a groan rip from him, helpless with relief.

Even after he had come, he remained in her, thrusting lazily, enjoying the wet slide of her around his softening cock, using her to wring the final pulses of pleasure from his body.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice like gravel.

“Yeah,” she answered, breathless and sleepy. “Don’t move, okay? Stay.”

He could do nothing but obey her—his woman, his salvation—and remain inside her as he drifted off to sleep, knowing he was too heavy but unable to stop the slide, shifting just enough that she’d be able to breathe.

“Forever,” he promised.

In seconds her breathing evened out, and he knew she was asleep. He followed her down, still joined, her legs cradling him, her pussy cradling him, her breasts cradling him. And he took without remorse all she had to offer, all her comfort and softness and beauty. He covered her in both possession and protection, knowing he would never let her go.

Chapter Ten

Six months later

B
LAKE EYED A
tree in the distance. It was really the perfect tree. He couldn’t imagine why he’d never realized it before. His vantage point was new. They’d set up the wedding arch in the very back of the property where a stream babbled in the distance. From here he could see the back of the house with the bright red hummingbird feeder and new gazebo. Erin had turned his house into a home, and he thought he might have always wanted that, longed for it, even when he could only pay her to dust the furniture.

He glanced at the woman beside him. His lover. And in a matter of minutes, his wife.

The pastor was taking his time.

Her eyes sparkled at him from underneath the veil as if she knew how impatient he was. He would have dragged her to the courthouse the day she said yes if he hadn’t known she wanted a ceremony. So he’d nodded and smiled through the fittings and the tastings and the meetings with the designer. The end result, he had to admit, was fit for a princess—and he knew that it had all been worth it.

Well, it would be worth it if it could end soon.

He had sat through a long sermon about loyalty and love. He had spoken vows he’d written himself and listened to Erin’s vows without choking up visibly in front of their small group of friends and family—an extreme achievement, he thought. He’d slipped a ring on her finger, a thin gold band to match the antique engagement ring she wore. And let her put a ring on his finger, pretending not to notice the way her hands shook.

And after that had begun the longest pronouncement of a union he’d ever heard. He forced himself to stay still. Forced himself not to send a silent message with his eyes to the pastor to finish already. With his scars and his dress uniform, it might come off more intimidating than he intended.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Thank fuck.

He lifted the thin veil and draped it behind her, pulling her in close. His lips were an inch from hers, and still he hadn’t kissed her. “How long until we kick everybody out?”

Her lips curved against his. “Hmm. Three hours?”

He groaned. “At least tell me you aren’t wearing anything under that grown.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. Because there’s a tree over there with our name on it. And the dress stays on.”

Then he kissed her, his lips firm on hers, his tongue claiming, every movement a promise of what he’d do to her three hours later, of what he’d do for the rest of his life. To cherish and obey, to honor and protect, forever.

The End

Thank You

Thank you for reading Loving the Beast, the final installment to Erin and Blake’s story!

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•    The Stripped series is dark, dangerous, sweet and hot. If you loved the Beauty series, you will probably also love
Tough Love
. which is available free from most retailers. Turn the page to read an excerpt…

Tough Love

A story about the sacrifices we make for love…

I sneak out of my room every night. My father’s guards don’t see me. My sister doesn’t see me. No one sees me, except him.

He’s the son of a mafia foot soldier. My father is the boss. I shouldn’t even know Giovanni. And I definitely shouldn’t kiss him. Our relationship is doomed to fail, but that won’t stop me from trying.

Not every girl wants to be a princess. I just want to be free.

Excerpt from Tough Love

T
HE MOON SITS
high above the tree line. Somewhere beyond those woods is an electric fence. And beyond that is an entire city of people living and working and
loving
each other. I may as well be on the moon for how close I am to them.

A guard walks by my window at 10:05 p.m. Right on time.

I wait a few minutes until he’s out of earshot; then I flip the latch. From there it’s quick work to push up the pane with its bulletproof glass. I broke the lock a year ago. And almost every night since then I’ve sneaked down the ornate metal trellis—like a thief, stealing a moment to myself.

The grass is still damp from the rain, the ground beneath like a sponge, sucking me in. I cross the lawn, heart beating against my chest. I know exactly where the guards are on their rounds. I know exactly where the trip wires are that will set off the alarms. My father is too busy in his office to even glance outside.

The office I broke into this morning.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the pool. I’m still out in the open, but the bright underwater lights make it hard to see anything on the patio. They make it hard to see me as I curve around the edge and reach the pool house.

The door opens before I touch the handle. “Clara,” comes the whisper.

I can’t help but smile as I slip into the dark. Giovanni always opens the door for me. It’s like some old-world chivalry thing, even though we’re just two kids sneaking around. At least, that’s how everyone treats me. Like a kid. But when I’m with him, I feel less like a girl, more like a woman.

He looks out the door for a beat before shutting and locking it. “Are you sure no one saw you?”

“You’re such a worrywart, Gio.” I let myself fall onto the couch, facing up.

“If your father ever found out…”

We’d be in so much trouble. My father is a member of the mob. Giovanni’s father is a foot soldier who works security on the grounds. Both our dads are seriously dangerous, not to mention a little unhinged. I can’t even think about how bad it would be if they caught us sneaking around after dark.

I push those thoughts away. “Did you bring it?”

Reluctantly, Giovanni nods. He gestures to the side table, where a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels gleams in the faint light. “Did you?”

I reach into the pockets of my jeans and pull out two cigars. I hold them up and grin. “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

He rolls his eyes, but I think he’s relieved. “This was a bad idea.”

“It was my idea,” I remind him, and his cheeks turn dark.

Of course the little homework assignment was my idea. I’m the one ridiculously sheltered up in my room with the tutors and the gilded locks. Fifteen years old and I’ve never even been out to the movies. Giovanni gets to go to regular school. He’s too young to get inducted, but I know he gets to be at some of the sit-ins.

“I just want to try them,” I say. “I’m not going to get addicted or anything.”

He snorts. “More likely you’ll get a hangover. How are you going to explain puking to your padre?”

“Honor will cover for me.” My sister always covers for me. She takes the brunt of my father’s anger. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love the way she protects me. But one percent of the time, it feels like a straitjacket. That’s why I started coming to the pool house. And I’m glad I did. This is where I met Giovanni.

He examines the cigar, eyes narrowed.

“How do you even light it?” I ask. I’ve seen my father do it a hundred times, but I’m still not clear on how the whole thing doesn’t just catch fire. Isn’t it made from dried plants?