Beneath Your Beautiful, page 16
Wait. Am I going to justify my actions with the pretense of psychological help? Get it together, Fox.
On the surface, Cleo isn’t my usual type. I prefer superficial encounters, ones where both parties understand it’s nothing more than a fling. Those women don’t present a danger to me, because they don’t hold my attention. I don’t spend hours wondering if they’ve taken care of the ache between their legs or if they’ve had enough to eat.
If I’m brutally honest with myself, my focus on Cleo is as much about me as it is her. I don’t do well with being idle and can’t remember the last time I took a vacation. Sitting back while others handle the mess I call my life doesn’t sit well with me—my mind needs constant stimulation, and Cleo presents a puzzle too intriguing to not solve. And therein lies my dilemma. Do I allow my inner demon to rise to the surface in the hopes of drawing Cleo out of her shell? Or respect the wall she’s erected around herself?
Deep down, I know I should leave her alone. There’s always the danger that if I allow myself to explore her deeply enough, I’ll become too entangled with her. On the other hand, she’s leaving in a month, and I’ll likely never see her again, which makes her safe. She can be someone to play with to pass the time, something to focus my enquiring mind on. And when she leaves, she’ll have a clearer understanding of her needs, making it a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Decision made, I clear the dishes, then settle down to watch a recently released movie. It’s cheesy as shit, but definitely addictive. I take Duke out for a walk around the grounds, usher Samuel and his team out of the main house, then return to the pool house to find Cleo sneaking back to her room with a can of soda.
“Did you have a good nap?” I ask. Duke prevents her from returning to the bedroom by nudging her hand in hopes of some attention. She mindlessly scratches between his ears as she looks everywhere but at me.
“Sure, nap. Awesome.”
My lips twitch. “I’m about to order a pizza for dinner.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
I stride to the bedroom door and lean against the frame, ensuring she can’t escape to the confines of her room. “I insist.”
“I was thinking,” she starts.
“Dangerous.”
Her eyes lift to mine in defiance. There she is. “Perhaps it would be better for us to have as little interaction as possible. I can sleep on the sofa in the main house until the guest room is ready.”
“My grandmother wouldn’t allow it.”
Her face falls. She knows I’m speaking the truth. “Also,” I add, “you would be sleeping in a wide open space. Would you be comfortable with that?”
“No, I guess not,” she whispers.
“What type?”
She blinks. “Sorry, what?”
“Of pizza. What toppings do you like?”
She licks her lips. “I haven’t had pizza in forever,” she mutters.
“All the more reason to get one you enjoy.”
“Spicy.”
It’s my turn to blink. “Like pepperoni?”
“No, spicy. Like an explosion of heat in your body, something that makes you sweat.”
I screw my face up. “Okay…we’ll get half and half.”
“Not a spicy fan?”
I snort as I move to the coffee table and pick up my phone to put in the order. “I’m one hundred percent a spicy fan—just not on my food.” She eyeballs the bedroom, then the sofa. Come on, Cleo, find that fire in your soul and come sit with me. Stop retreating to the dull boring life you covet. It might be safe, but it’s slowly killing you.
She drags her bottom lip between her teeth. She needs to stop doing that if I’m going to behave. My heart sinks as she disappears into the bedroom. I can’t enjoy her if she’s hiding. She reappears with a book in her hand and plonks her ass down on the sofa. She’s still wearing those tiny fucking shorts that I have spent the better part of the afternoon wishing she’d continue to lie to me so I could peel them off her body.
“What’s your book about?” I ask.
Her eyes flick over the top of the book at me. “Tragedy, love, desire.”
“Sounds good. Perhaps I should read it after you.”
I’ll give her credit for the fact that she keeps her heart rate in check and the blush from creeping across her cheeks. That control comes from a time when she had to conceal her true reactions. That’s the control I want to unravel.
“Perhaps you should. You might learn a thing or two,” she mutters.
My lips twitch. Sure, the scenes in that book test the edges of what people might consider normal when it comes to sex. But to me, someone whose tastes run a little darker, it barely scratches the surface. Good to know she considers those things to be situations she would enjoy though.
“You should highlight the scenes you think I should pay attention to.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
I shrug. “I enjoy learning.” About what you find interesting.
She drops the book to her lap. “You’ve read it,” she accuses.
“Have I?” I tilt my head like I’m trying to see the cover, and she snaps the book closed.
“Why don’t you tell me your favorite scene?”
“Now you are playing with fire, Cleo. Are you sure you want me to answer that question?”
Her mouth pops open and she quirks a brow. Stubborn—and I’m here for it.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”
“There’s a scene where he hunts her.”
“It’s called primal play.”
My lips twitch. Oh, I’m well aware of what it’s called, Cleo. “Yes, that’s the one. She gives her consent for him to do what he wants. On the surface, it might seem like he has all the power.”
Her head tilts. “Doesn’t he?”
I shake my head. “No, she does. He might be acting out a desire to hunt, but she’s the one who consents. She’s the one with the power to make it stop, while he is at her mercy. He explores her need to be chased, to be caught, to be so desired he will take her where he finds her—whether that is in the middle of a forest or on a bed.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that,” she mutters as her chest rises and falls more rapidly. “Perhaps you need to join the book club on a Tuesday evening.”
“And discuss this with my grandmother? I’ll pass.”
She chuckles. “Probably for the best. Those women are feral for this darker smutty stuff.”
“There’s also a difference in reading it, imagining it, and desiring it in reality.”
“True.”
Time for a little push. “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Want it to be a reality?”
She blinks. “Some of it.”
Good girl. No more lies. She knows that doesn’t work with me. “Then perhaps you should use a different color to define the parts you enjoy in fantasy versus the parts you might want to explore.”
She pulls the book up to hide her face. “What would the point be? I am never going to act on them,” she whispers as she loses herself inside the pages of the story once more. Wrong, Cleo, I’m going to ensure you have every opportunity to explore every wicked thing that makes your thighs clench and breasts ache.
I leave her to escape into her mind and retreat to the main house to claim the pizza delivery. I, too, haven’t eaten junk food in a very long time. I pay the delivery girl and then take it to the pool house. Still no sign of my grandmother. It’s not like I keep tabs on the woman, but I do like to know where the people I love are.
I grab two plates and slide the box onto the coffee table between us. Cleo abandons her book in favor of a classic horror movie. She chuckles as I take a piece of the pizza from my half.
“Cheese?” she mutters. “Of all the toppings in the world on offer you choose cheese?”
“What’s wrong with cheese? It’s a classic.”
“It’s a wasted opportunity.” She takes a bite of her slice and emits a low groan that I feel down my spine and into my groin.
“I’m missing out on having my mouth on fire? I think I’ll survive.”
“It’s not that hot,” she mutters as her tongue swipes at a piece of stringy cheese. Now my mind is right there imagining her tongue doing that to my cock. Dear God. “Try it—if you are man enough.”
I roll my eyes. I’m not stupid enough to fall for a little goading, but it can’t be that hot with the way she moans around every bite. I lean over and chomp down on the piece in her hand, meeting her gaze with my own kind of heat. You’ve woken the beast in me, Cleo, now you have to feed him.
My mouth explodes. “Holy fuck,” I sputter as I force myself to swallow something the devil would struggle with.
She presses her lips together, her shoulders shaking as she tries to contain her laugh. “Why in the everloving fuck would you enjoy something that spicy?”
She winks. “Cheese pizza is like vanilla ice cream–boring, predictable, nice. But it doesn’t emit fire in your veins or make you feel alive. It’s comfort food, but hardly satisfying.”
Then she settles back to watch Sigourney Weaver battle aliens. I stare at Cleo with newfound respect as I realize my biggest threat is right here inside this house. Game on. You want spice? You got it. Hold tight, Cleo.
CHAPTER 24
HONOR
Someone special needs to hold your desire in the palm of their hands, because you are never more vulnerable than when you are on the cusp of release.
The dreams are the most unexpected part of my journey. Nightmares are expected and aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Most occur in the house I once believed my castle, my sanctuary, with a man I considered my home. But these desires playing out in my subconscious are a testament to my fucked-up soul.
If I was to ever entertain a romantic relationship again, it should be with a guy physically weaker than myself. Someone soft and sweet and who considers anything outside of missionary adventurous. That’s society’s expectation of a survivor of sexual and domestic abuse, but that’s not what I dream about. Many would struggle to differentiate between the nightmares and dreams I experience.
Turning over in bed, I grasp the journal hidden at the bottom of my rucksack and pry it open. When the dreams come, I write them down. It’s a poor imitation of therapy, but in the absence of someone qualified, I decided I should at least document my thoughts—no matter how dark they are. Occasionally, I’ll wake up on the cusp of an orgasm, like tonight. But I never tip over the edge, and if I try to finish myself, it never works.
My pen moves swiftly, detailing this latest dream.
He flips me onto my stomach and presses my hands into the pillow above my head. “Keep them there,” he commands. His voice is a dark caress that sends a shiver down my spine as he straddles my thighs, keeping me pinned to the bed. My hands fist the soft pillow as his hands travel over my back, trailing down to the edge of my silk nightgown. He lifts it, revealing me to his gaze. He groans. “No underwear? Were you waiting for me, Honor?”
“Yes,” I hiss as his fingers massage my butt. He shoves his left leg between mine, forcing them open. He cups me, and the heat of his palm makes me moan as I push back into his hand. I twist my head to look at him, but his features aren’t discernable in the shadows. He spits, and it lands between my butt cheeks. He moves his hand and swirls his finger around my ass. I arch my back and the tip of his finger breaches my tight hole.
He chuckles. “You want to be taken here?”
“Yes.”
“You aren’t ready.”
I shove back, taking more of him. “Do it.”
There’s trepidation, but I want him inside of me. He unzips his pants and fists his cock. “It’s going to hurt,” he warns.
“I want it to.” A truth, because I need it to hurt, to make me feel, to reassure me I am still breathing.
I try to rise up to give him better access. “Don’t move,” he snaps as he places his knee on my thigh and presses down, keeping me pinned to the bed. His hand leaves his cock and smacks me between my legs, making me hiss at the sharp pain. He rubs the sting away with slow strokes around my clit, then slaps me again, and again, stopping every so often to bring back the pleasure until I’m sobbing into the pillow with the need to come.
“Please,” I beg. He growls low, then hot liquid splashes over my ass. He swipes his fingers through it and fists his other hand in my hair, before snapping my head up and running his wet fingers along my lips. “Open,” he snaps. “Taste what you do to me.”
My tongue darts out and licks the evidence of his desire for me. I suck them into my mouth, his heady flavor exploding onto my tongue. “Good girl,” he utters against my ear before nipping at the sensitive lobe. My body jerks under his.
I cry out as he disappears from my body, leaving me on the edge—again. He’s the world’s biggest tease, and I fucking hate him for it.
I snap the journal shut and drop it onto the pillow beside my head. Just recounting the dream has a throb echoing between my legs. My thighs fall open, my eyes close, and my hand slides beneath my panties. I’m right there. My finger rubs a slow circle around my clit. I’m wet, like I always am after one of these dreams. But my shadowy guy never takes it further than this, no matter how much I beg. There’s a psychological block, and I don’t need a therapist to tell me I fear penetration after what has been done to me. I have no idea how tight I am or how painful it’ll be.
I imagine the wetness is from his release, and the bands inside my core snap tighter.
“Yes,” I murmur into the darkness. “Just there.” My other hand squeezes my silk-covered breast and pinches my nipple through the soft material. My head falls back, and I arch my spine as I move my finger faster over that bundle of nerves. My legs tremble. Come on, just a little more. The precipice taunts me. I feel empty as I clench around nothing. My finger slips lower and I circle my entrance before chickening out and returning to my clit. My mind flicks to being strapped in that chair while the doctor remakes me for the pleasure of my husband and the pleasure slips from my grasp.
“No,” I cry out and grab the pillow pulling it over my face. My hands fist, my nails digging into my palms, and I scream. I’m so fucking broken, I can’t even get myself off. Every time I try, it chips away at my soul a little more—bolstering the belief that I will never again experience pleasure.
“Do you need a little help?” a male voice asks.
I bolt upright and find Fox sitting in the chair by the window. “What the fuck are you doing?” I snap.
“You were crying out, so I came to investigate like a good housemate should.”
“Get out.”
He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and rests his chin in his hands. “You know this activity is better between two people.”
My cheeks burn, and I’m grateful for the cover of darkness. “This isn’t a freaking scene from Twilight. Your name is not Edward, and it is not smart—or romantic—to lurk in the shadows of my bedroom and watch me sleep.”
“I wasn’t lurking. I came to see if you were okay. You were moaning my name, after all.”
My heart flip-flops. Was I? “No fucking way. We discussed personal boundaries, Fox, and you aren’t respecting them.”
“I told you I’d protect you.”
“From what? My dreams?”
“From whatever is stalking you, Cleo, whether that’s in the cold light of day, or in the dead of night. I take my job very seriously.”
I drop back on the bed and run my hands over my face. “Your job is not to watch me at all times.”
“That’s exactly what a bodyguard does.”
“Then consider yourself relieved of your job.”
“Doesn’t work like that. Why did you stop?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why did you stop yourself from coming?”
This conversation can’t be happening. I snort into the darkness at his idea that I stopped myself. Why would I even do that? “I didn’t. Just leave it be, Fox.”
“How long has it been?”
“Since what? Sex? Six months.”
“Since you came.” His voice is closer. I drop my hands to find him hovering over me.
“Longer.”
He drags in a breath. “You need to get out of your own head.”
“No, I need you to get out of my bedroom.”
My hand snaps out, ready to smack him, but he catches my wrist and then gathers my other one before pinning them over my head. My heart trips over itself, and my breathing becomes erratic as he looms over me. His grip on my hand is firm but not painful. The panic I expect to feel at being pinned down isn’t rising, but something else is.
“Talk to me,” he demands.
“No.”
“What were you dreaming about?”
“Bunny rabbits.”
He grins. “Interesting lie. Tell me the truth. Was it about me? I’m good at analyzing dreams.”
“No, not about you.” Although it could be. Oh wow, now that’s in my head.
His gaze narrows. “Who, then?”
I jerk my arms, trying to pull free, but it’s useless. “Fucking hell, get out. You aren’t my therapist.”
“No, but you clearly need one.”
I inch the blanket down, using my legs. “Great deduction. I’ll just pop my real name into the system and hope shit doesn’t catch up to me.” My leg swings up, aiming for a knee to his head. Might knock some sense into him. He dodges the blow with a chuckle before hooking his leg over my thighs. This is so close to my dream, and the throb comes back with reinforcements. Fuck.
“I am trained.”
My jaw drops. “In what?”
“Specifically? PTSD.”
I snort. “And sitting in the corner of the room in the middle of the night is, what? Exposure therapy?”
