Wicked Beast (Wicked Ever After Book 2) Read online

  Something very dark and hot as hell flashes in her eyes before she turns neatly on her heel and marches down the Hall, toward the private dungeons. I follow.

  When she stops in front of mine, I feel a flash of fear. How does she know where my personal room is? I give her a concerned look and she huffs, waiting impatiently while I fumble with the keys.

  “I hacked the security of the Kingdom, Beast. I think finding the location of one room would be very small compared to knocking the small army of cameras your Mal has offline.”

  Ok, that’s a good point.

  I push the door open and she takes about half a second to look at the room before she slams me into the wall and hits her knees.

  The thing is, the blow job is slow. I expected something quick and hot and demanding, with her nails pressing into my skin and her fingers tight around my balls.

  I’ve done that, I’ve ridden that ride, and that’s how things always go the first time around, when someone knows I’m a sub and they still go to their knees.

  She’s not like that. She presses gentle closed mouthed kisses to my thighs, up the insides of them, nosing along my cock, hidden away behind these damn leather pants. She drifts, a barely there touch that is fucking maddening because there’s nothing—no pressure, nothing to writhe against or rub into.

  There’s just a hint of a tease, a promise of pleasure, and the quick press of teeth when I buck too hard into her face.

  She never does take me into her mouth.

  Her voice is very curious when she takes me in her hand, jacking me quick and efficient. “You are very responsive, Beast.”

  “Glad you…fuck, yes, that….like it.”

  “Would you like to come?” she asks then, and I make a noise, a low whine, not quite begging but not far from it. It earns me a low laugh, lovely and dark, and her pace increases. She murmurs, “Come for me, Beast.”

  I gasp as the nail of her thumb presses sharp and ruthless into the underside of my cock and her breath washes over me with her words, and then I give a choked scream and come, hard and wet across her fucking ruffled shirt, sticky white in that midnight blue.

  She watches, big brown eyes turned up to me, assessing and hungry, and I know that whatever fucking test she was putting us through, we passed.

  “Does that satisfy your curiosity, miss?”

  She drags two fingers through the mess of come on her shirt and sucks them into her mouth lightly, her gaze never leaving mine.

  “It will do for now,” she answers, her voice husky and lower than ever, and God, it’s like a kick to the gut because that’s all want and hunger, and she’s licking her lips like she wants another taste and is denying herself that small pleasure.

  She straightens and turns away from me.

  If the wall of bookshelves are odd in a dungeon, she doesn’t bother to comment on it. She just digs into my small dresser and emerges with a t-shirt that’s seen far better days. She strips with the quiet efficiency she displays in everything, and then tugs the t-shirt—my t-shirt—over her head and fluffs her hair. Adjusts her mask just a little.

  When she turns back to me, she looks like an impervious Domme.

  And a bit like a little girl playing a game she’s not quite ready for.

  I know which of those two she actually is and I’ve got no inclination to push her right now.

  “I will see you at my apartment on Tuesday morning,” Beauty says.

  I nod once, helpless to argue, and her eyes warm for a heartbeat before she turns and leaves.

  Wolf, I realize, is going to fucking kill me.

  Chapter 4.

  I call home every Sunday. It’s a ritual for me, something that settles my nerves. I make a cup of coffee and a bowl of the cereal that my niece likes, and I call home on Facetime. For thirty minutes or so, she gets all my attention as she tells me about her world and watches a cartoon while eating her breakfast, never letting up in her incessant babble.

  Eventually my sister takes the phone. She teases me about finding a good woman, and I remind her that I've got her and Lainey, so who else could I need? When the teasing wears out, we talk about the real issues—Dad and his meds, and if he's seeing things again, if his doctor wants to have him tested or readmitted.

  Grace quit hiding how bad Dad can be after I came home one day without warning to find him naked in the front yard, trying to build a shed he was convinced would let him travel back to twenty years ago, when Mama died.

  After that, we promised we'd always be honest. Me about what shit I was getting into and Grace about what Dad was doing that could get him committed each week.

  "You're distracted," she says, when she's walked me through his latest episodes—seriously, building a starship in the Kroger wasn't that bad. I mean, it was bad, but I can pay to clean that mess up. I can't do a lot against public indecency charges.

  I did try, though. That's something.

  "I'm fine," I say, waving her off, and she gives me that furious look of reproach that used to haunt me as a kid.

  "I have a new job opportunity. I think I need to take it, but it's...complicated."

  "Complicated as in illegal, or complicated like that club you run?"

  "Um, maybe both," I say, laughing a little nervously.

  Ok, hacking my own damn security system couldn't possibly be illegal. If nothing else, I could always tell Mal that I hired Beauty as a risk assessment consultant—that sounded legit. Add a blow job, and he'd be eating out of my hand, maybe literally.

  That’s probably a bad idea.

  "James!" Grace snaps, and I jerk back to the conversation at hand.

  "Do you want to take the job?" she asks, and I think about it.

  I want Charm to be happy. I want the club to be secure, with us in it. I want to be able to pay Dad's legal bills when they inevitably came up.

  I want to feel Beauty coming against my lips.

  Oh.

  That's new. I didn't think I wanted that. Perhaps it's an aftereffect from the whole blow job thing?

  In either case—

  "Yeah, Grace. I do."

  A smile is in her voice when she says, "Good. Then go fucking do it."

  “Thanks, sis,” I murmur, and she hums a quiet response.

  “I gotta go take care of the old man. Be good, ok?”

  I nod and she disconnects.

  Packing is the hardest. How do you pack your life up in two suitcases? And she was very precise—I would be allowed two suitcases, and one bag for my work.

  Please bring no more than two suitcases of what you would like for the next three months. Anything needed will be provided by the Domme.

  That tells me exactly nothing. I’ve only ever done a power dynamic like this with Mal, years ago, and it was more because he was a mess than because it was something either of us wanted.

  My best friends were all dominant bastards, but they didn’t actually want to control someone the way Beauty was demanding. It was a little disconcerting that Beauty did.

  At this point, it’s not like I can do anything about her control issues.

  I let out the breath I’m holding, and zip up the bag.

  My phone is ringing. I’m not terribly surprised—more surprised that it took them almost twenty-four freaking hours to figure out what the hell I did.

  “What?” I ask, finally answering it. My voice is flat and empty, and it makes Mal pause, for just a moment.

  We’ve known each other long enough that he’s reading into my tone.

  “I need you back at the Kingdom.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, and then, “Yeah. Ok.”

  I hang up and grab my keys. I’m not looking forward to this. Charming is—well. He’s used to getting his way, and I’m going out of my way to keep a girl he wants out of his reach and wrapped in shadows. There’s literally no way that’s gonna play out as anything other than infuriating to my friend.

  But then, I knew that before I agreed to help her, before I signed on to be B
eauty’s kept sub for three months.

  He doesn’t have to understand it right now, and he doesn’t have to like what I’m doing. I know this guy. I know Celeste. They belong together, and it could work—if Charming got out of his own damn way.

  “You probably shouldn’t have gotten caught on camera,” Wolf says, slapping an ice pack into my hand. I make a face but obediently put it to my jaw and shrug.

  “I wanted to be on that camera, Wolf.”

  He goes still and studies me, his eyes narrow and considering. “Why?”

  “Because eventually he’s going to wake up and realize what he wants. And when that happens, I want him to know where he needs to go for answers.”

  There’s another long, considering silence. “You aren’t usually so devious, Beastie.”

  I shrug. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  He stares at me, a little bemused, for a long moment and then shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. He’s never gonna forgive this.”

  I feel my stomach sink and there’s a part of me—a pretty big fucking part, to be honest—that wants to crawl to him and Charming and explain it all.

  To beg them to understand.

  To scream that I did this for Charm—that I do everything for them.

  Instead I smile, a small, wounded thing, and nod. “Maybe not.”

  If he doesn’t, that’s just something I’ll have to deal with.

  Beauty sends a car for me on Tuesday morning. I don't know what I was expecting but the black Lincoln town car with a small, smirking driver wasn't it. He doesn't talk as I slide in and I stop trying to get his attention as we drive through the suburbs. We get stuck in traffic, because Atlanta doesn't care about an impatient Domme waiting at the end of this drive, or my nerves.

  Yeah, that’s a thing—nerves.

  I shouldn't be nervous. Being a submissive is what I do. I've built my life and my reputation on it, built my career around it. I am good at it. I'm good at bending and trusting.

  Grace tells me I trust too quick, too much. Maybe that's true. Maybe one day that habit will get me in trouble, but so far, it hasn't led me wrong.

  So I relax into the seat and let out a few breaths, and wait out the rest of the ride.

  Chapter 5.

  The high rise is impressive.

  Even by my standards, which are actually Charming and Mal’s standards, it’s impressive.

  It's all sleek and gleaming, all shiny-pretty until the driver guides us into a dark underground parking garage. After the brightness of the high rise apartment, the garage feels vaguely like a dungeon, and not the fun kind of dungeon that I like.

  The driver walks me to the elevator and when I’m on, he keys in a code before stepping back and giving me the first indication of expression. Something like amused pity flashes in his eyes and he tips his head at me, just a little. “Sir.”

  Wondering what the hell that means, I ride the elevator up, a slow glide into the upper reaches of the high rise. It stops two floors from the penthouse and dings softly as it opens.

  The apartment is dark, done in shades of gray and black with bright silver accents. It’s elegant and coldly remote, and I hesitate just inside as the elevator swooshes closed behind me, leaving me in eerie darkness.

  “Please come into the dining room,” that low familiar monotone calls, “You can leave your bags at the door. Jesse will see that they’re taken to your room.”

  I set them down and follow the sound of her voice to a dining room in the same colors and decor and Beauty, sitting at the head of the long silver table. She’s wearing a white button down and sits with her back straight and precise, long brown hair secure in a tight knot at the back of her head. A plain black mask covers all but her eyes, startling in it’s presence here. A neatly ordered stack of papers lays in front of her, next to a glass of water. There are two pens, at precise equidistance from each other and the papers.

  It's all a little militaristic, and I arch an eyebrow at it.

  She indicates the chair to her left. "Have a seat, Beast. We have quite a bit to go over before I can continue with my day."

  Both my eyebrows both go up at that, and I stare at her for long enough that her gaze skates up over me. Cold.

  Fuck.

  I do what she says.

  "This is my submissive contract and NDA," she says, sliding both to me. I blink at them, and she leans back, typing on her phone furiously. "Please read it carefully. If there is anything you would like to negotiate, now is the time. When the papers are signed, the contract is locked in place and the only thing up for debate will be your limits."

  I glance up at her, but she's gone back to her phone, completely dismissing me, so I read.

  It's not bad. There's a lot to it, but the gist is that I submit from the moment I set foot into the apartment to the moment I leave the complex. I go nowhere without her express permission. I do not return to the Kingdom without her presence.

  "This won't work." I point at that last clause, and the one after it—no electronic or cellular contact without her approval. "Neither of these will."

  She purses her lips thoughtfully. "Fine. You may go to the club for work, but not on the Floor. Will that do?"

  "You need to at least let me work, Beauty. I need a job when this ends."

  "Explain it to Mal," she says flatly.

  I'm quiet, and her fingers fold over her stomach as she leans back. "You aren't telling Mal."

  I shake my head and her head tilts, just a little. “Explain.”

  Well, fuck. This is a little deeper than I actually wanted to get this quick—I mean, I’ve been here like, five minutes. Still, I need to give her something.

  “He and I did this, a few years ago. It was a pretty rough point in his life, and he needed that control over someone. I was there.”

  She’s frowning. “But you aren’t with him.”

  “I’m not with you either, sweetheart,” I say easily.

  That makes her frown deepen, almost into a scowl. “I do not like that you will hide this from him.”

  I shrug, refusing to justify it. Frankly, if I try to explain this to my brothers, there’s no way I’ll sign the contract. Wolf and Mal would throw a royal fit.

  The problem being friends with Doms when you’re a sub is they get this stupid control thing going.

  “Look, I get phone calls when I want them and I get to work when I’m needed. I won’t sub while I’m with you, but I do need to be able to go to the club and do my job, and I need to be able to call my sister.”

  She ponders that for a long moment. “Fine. You can call your sister and you may work four shifts a week at the Kingdom, provided you do not sub to anyone while you are in a contract with me.”

  It’s not as much as I want, but it’ll do. I nod, and her eyes shift behind her mask. Something like relief warms them for an instant.

  “And now, your limits.”

  This, of course, takes longer.

  I don’t know what I expected with Beauty—maybe something closer to the mess of things that I was with Mal, for that insane, intense week. This is not that. This is all rigidity and carefully laid out expectations, so clinical and cold it’s almost unnerving.

  I start reading her list and immediately shake my head. “This won’t work,” I say, tapping the first provision listed. “I don’t mind you picking my clothes, and I don’t mind taking off my collar for you, but I’m not running around naked for the next three months, Beauty. You’ve got a fucking staff, for God’s sake.”

  Her head tilts again, and she purses her lips. “You don’t have to concern yourself with my staff. And you won’t be required to wear a collar.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ve got limits, and that’s one of them. Boxers or sleep pants. I’m not doing naked.”

  “Will you consent to nudity after the staff leaves?” she counters, some slight tension filling her, and I consider it.

  “If you really want me to, yeah. I prefer clothes unless we
’re in a scene, just because of comfort.”

  “Some of what we will do will not be conducive to your comfort, James,” she says glancing back at her list and making a quick note.

  I shiver and her gaze flicks up and over me. Assessing.

  “Very well,” she says, moving on, “What of your hard and soft limits?”

  It takes almost two hours to work through Beauty’s list, and by the time her housekeeper—I learned that there are two staff members, and that they leave the apartment at five o’clock every day—shows me to my room, I’m exhausted and hungry, and a little horny.

  Listening to Beauty’s low flat voice reading off the list of deviant acts she could now do to me—it shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.

  But then, I shouldn’t be into any of this.

  Except—

  This is what I do.

  It’s what I’ve been good at since I was old enough to remember. I listen, and I pay attention, and I’m what other people need. When I was a kid, growing up with a too-busy sister and a mentally unstable father, it was as much survival as it was anything else. I gave what I could, to everyone I could, because that’s what they needed.

  When Dad got me tested into Wilderwood Prep and everything changed—I had the chance to change everything. Yet it was easy, still, to fall into that—to be the safe imperfect place that Charm needed, to be the whipping post for Wolf. To be the place where Mal fell apart.

  Hell, half the time it wasn’t even sexual. I just like helping people and I’m fucking good at it.

  God knows Beauty needs this.

  The girl is a mess. I saw some of it, in her rigid control at the Kingdom, in her masks and her refusal to get close to any of the other members, and the revolving door of subs.

  But until I sat in her dining room and watched her, saw the way she got twitchy and nervous whenever I deviated from the prescribed plan she had laid out for our meeting, the way her tension racked up when the housekeeper approached—I didn’t realize just how tightly she was clinging to control, just how much she needed it.