Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Yet, when I think about Belle and how she looked tied to the bed, a new wave of heat rushes through me like wildfire.
It’s been a long time since I’ve touched a woman in the way I want to touch Belle. God, I ache to climb over her and blanket her with my size, then watch her beautiful face when I push deep and slow into her sweet pussy.
Darkness sweeps through me, and I move away from Mya to pour a glass of cognac.
She won’t take it personally. She knows the drill. All the girls do.
But it doesn’t stop her from trying one last time.
Her smile is nurturing and I appreciate it. Even if I can’t show it. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some relief tonight?”
“Not tonight.”
“Okay, well, you know where I am if you need anything.” She walks over to me, stands on her tiptoes and presses a sweet kiss to my cheek. “Goodnight, Beast. Sweet dreams.”
When she leaves, I drain the glass of cognac and force myself to go to bed alone. In the darkness, I let my hand curl around my aching cock and start to pump. I want the distraction. Because the last thing I need is be tempted by the woman lying inside the locked room down the hall.
CHAPTER 11
BELLE
I wake up the next day to find my bedroom door still locked.
I don't know why I thought it wouldn’t be. Beast knows I don't want to marry him, and he thinks I’ll run away or at least try to escape.
Which in this case, he’d be right. Because the moment the opportunity presents itself, I’m out of here. I’m going to find my uncle and get us the hell away from this town and this motorcycle club.
My heart aches at the thought of my uncle. What did Beast do with him? Did he help him, or did he leave him tied to the chair, beaten and dying?
No, Beast wouldn’t do that.
Surely.
I fight the onset of tears. My uncle is all I’ve got in this world.
I draw my knees to my chest and watch the sunrise from my bedroom window and try to find the silver lining in my situation.
Across the lawn is an old stone chapel.
Beyond that, below the hill, St. Boniface comes alive in the golden pink rays of dawn. Streetlights turn off and cobblestone streets gleam in the early morning light. People go about their lives driving into the city to their jobs. Children go to school. Husbands and wives go about their day. Life goes on. But for me, I'm stuck here in an impossible situation. I didn't sleep well last night. My dreams were fractured. I was haunted by images of Gaston’s ugly hollow face. I could smell him. Hear him. Feel the cold hard sting of his palm against my skin. Felt him rip open my underwear. Felt his rough hands violating me. But when I sat up with a rush, the first thing I felt wasn’t fear. It was relief.
I am safe here.
Which is a ridiculous thing to think.
Because my instincts are good, and I have a feeling I’m not safe anywhere.
Hearing voices outside, I climb off the bed and cross the room to the window. On the lawn below, three bikers are standing around a woodchopping stump, while another brings the axe down on a log. Except he misses and the three bikers watching him start to laugh. He’s young. Maybe college age. Not as confident as the older ones but trying to be.
He misses again, and his cheeks redden when the other bikers laugh at him.
But the bikers stop laughing when Beast appears. I watch as he saunters toward them. The younger biker attempts to break the log but his cheeks flame with embarrassment when he strikes at the log and misses again.
One of the older bikers says something, and his two friends burst into laughter.
I open the window so I can hear what they are saying.
“I remember a time when you couldn’t even lift this axe,” Beast says to him, which shuts him up.
Unable to look away, I watch as Beast takes the axe from the younger biker and begins to show him how to do it. With barely any effort he brings the axe down on the log and it explodes into pieces.
He loads up another log and slams the axe into it and it too explodes. He does it again and again, and again until the morning sun is too warm, and he pauses. He leans the axe against the stump and reaches for the hem of his T-shirt and lifts it over his head, and holy mother of God, what am I looking at?
I’ve seen men’s bodies before but nothing like what I am looking at now.
Beast is huge, and damn, is that an eight-pack?