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Sweet mother of God.
My balls seize up, and I still my hips to keep from coming instantly.
I jerk my hand away and tunnel it into her hair, tugging her head back and angling it so I can take her mouth again in another soul-searing, mind-bending kiss that makes me forget everything but the feel of her pussy wrapped around my cock, her naked flesh pressed to mine, and the sound she makes as I plow into her.
It’s impossible to get close enough.
To have enough of my Beauty.
I want it all the more.
Jerking my mouth away, I twist her hair around my wrist and tug her neck back so I can suck at that spot just behind her ear. She moans and arches, grinding against me, ensuring she’s getting friction exactly where she needs it.
Her body starts to tremble so hard that the bookcase rattles and four more books tumble from the side. I snap my hips harder and push faster, quickly reaching a pace I didn’t know possible. Her mouth falls open as she comes and her pussy clamps down on my cock, rippling and drawing out my own release as I thrust into her as hard and deep as I can, slamming her back against the shelf and cementing myself deep inside her.
My roar as I come matches the name everyone gave me because I truly do feel like a beast in this moment.
A beast who’s just done the unthinkable.
Chapter Ten
WESTON
Regret rests heavily on my shoulders as I push open the door and step into the house. It’s a feeling I recognize and know well as a part of the curse I’ve carried for over half a lifetime, only this version of it is tied to someone living and breathing.
Silence greets me in the back hallway, but I know she’s awake, sitting down at the table, enjoying the meal I laid out for her, like she does every morning.
I can sense her just down the hall, feel her bright, vibrant energy radiating through the place that always felt so cold, dark, and lifeless before she arrived.
The rapid nature of the change has left me spinning, unable to find the right direction, especially in a house that suddenly feels like a home for the first time since Mom died giving birth to Wendy when I was merely a child.
So many years of cold.
Decades of gray, colorless survival under the iron fist of a man who controlled everything with violence and intimidation—even with his children.
It formed me into the man I am today and created The Beast.
But Callista has swept in, and within only a matter of weeks, managed to change this place—and me—without even trying. She infects everything she touches with a vibrancy and pureness she shouldn’t exude in a place like this, under the threat of aggression toward her father.
It isn’t right.
None of this is.
I nudge the door closed behind me and lean against it for a moment, letting my eyes drift closed as I inhale the air scented with the breakfast I recently cooked for her and her honey scent wafting down the hallway.
No amount of work this morning has been able to shake the sense of dread sitting squarely on my chest, threatening to steal my ability to breathe. My body isn’t on board with what I’m going to do, but I have to face her. I have to talk to her and ensure that what happened last night never happens again.
Ever.
We were lucky it occurred in the library, where the cameras can’t reach, where my lapse in judgment can remain a secret. It keeps her insulated. The façade still in place where it must remain.
Sucking in a resolved breath that burns my lungs, I push off the door and make my way down the hall toward what will undoubtedly be an unpleasant conversation.
I pass through the living room and the low flames still burning in the fireplace after I started it this morning when I got up to cook for her, but that calming scent of charred wood can’t drown out that of the woman just on the other side of the stone monstrosity.
Not when I can still taste her on my tongue and in my throat each time I swallow.
Not when her moans and gasps still echo in my head.
