Chapter 7 #2
I gulp, then cough, and Beast’s hand comes to rest at the back of my neck, steadying me. He waits until I’ve caught my breath before opening the first-aid kit, laying out gauze and antiseptic, tape and ointment.
“Let me see,” he says quietly, brushing my hair away from my face. His fingers linger at my temple, tracing the bruise that blooms purple along my jaw. His touch is so gentle I want to cry.
I put the papers on the table by the vase. I don’t have the energy to be embarrassed, not after five months of being paraded half-naked in front of strangers. If anything, I crave the warmth of his hands, the way he treats every bruise and scrape as if they’re wounds he’s taken himself.
He cleans the cuts on my knees, his thumb feather-light as he wipes away blood and dirt. He picks up my hand and turns my arm this way and that, frowning at the raw skin left by the rope used on me.
“Fucking bastards,” he mutters, anger sharpening his jaw.
I watch him as he works at cleaning each scrape and cut. I take in his black hair cropped close to his skull, the thick bands of color winding down his arms, the muscles shifting beneath the tattoos. He’s so big, so alive, and for a second I wonder what scars he carries beneath all that strength.
He finishes with my legs and looks up, his gaze softening when he sees my face.
“My name’s Elias,” he says, voice gravel and all heat. “But everyone calls me Beast. You probably know that by now.”
He pushes between my knees and settles a warm touch on my waist. His hands are big, warm and serve to ground me. For a moment, he just looks at me—really looks, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of my face.
“Can I take my cut off and check the rest of you? I promise to be gentle.”
There is an energy about him that pulls me in as much as it makes me quake with the fear of being left drained of the last of my energy if I let him too close.
My rescuer watches me intently. His eyes stroke the sides of my face before dipping to touch my lips. I get the sense there’s something he wants to say but either he’s reconsidering it or this isn’t the time.
I place my hands over his and help him remove the vest. “I’m sorry I’m not wearing much. It wasn’t exactly an option.” And isn’t that some shit to apologize for?
He flicks my concerns away with a slight shrug and a shake of his head. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
I pull my attention off the fact I’m in my panties and bra and focus on him. The way the tips of his fingers graze over my flesh.
He stops, sits back on his heels all the while staying fully within the space between my spread thighs.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’ve hunted for you for five months,” he says, words falling heavy between us. “I tore this city apart. Every lead always ended up as a dead end. I was starting to think…” He trails off, jaw tight, and then presses his forehead to my stomach, breathing deep.
“I thought I’d lose you before I ever got the chance to hold you.”
His confession unmoors something inside me. My hands find their way to his hair, fingers threading through the short, dark strands. I press my lips together, fighting the tremble that wants to take me apart.
“No one has ever cared so much about me. I can’t thank you enough. Was it Agent Montgomery? Did she ask you to help?”
He looks up, and in his eyes I see a hundred truths—relief, obsession, awe, a devotion that shouldn’t exist after so short a time but does, burning and wild.
“At first, and then you became my obsession.”
I want to say thank you again, but the words feel too small. Instead, I let my hands linger on his cheeks, tracing the rough stubble, the heat of his skin. He stands, towering over me, and when he lifts me again, I don’t protest.
He carries me to the bathroom, sets me on the edge of the massive tub, and starts the shower.
Steam rises instantly, curling around us.
Beast shrugs out of his ruined white T-shirt and kicks off his boots, but leaves on the rest of his clothes.
I take in the rest of his hidden tattoos and scars that map his body like a language I want to learn.
He turns to me, his eyes unreadable, and kneels again.
“Let me care for you,” he murmurs. “Please.”
I nod. His warm hands engulf my face and there’s a pure untethered desire written in his expression when he caresses my cheek with the rough pad of his thumb.
He slips my glasses off and sets them aside.
Something primal is happening between us but surprisingly with this man, I’m too scared to take the first step.
His hands move to my bra, fingers gentle on the clasps, and he removes it with a reverence that makes my breath catch. My panties follow, the last barrier dropping away. I stand before him, naked, battered, unashamed.
He steps into the shower, jeans and all, then holds out his hand. I take it, letting him pull me under the hot spray. The water pounds over my skin, washing away blood, grime, months of fear.
Beast takes the soap, lathers it between his palms, and starts at my shoulders, working his way down my arms, over my breasts, down my belly. His hands are steady, careful, as if I might break beneath his touch.
I close my eyes and let myself lean into him, trusting him to keep me upright.
“Tell me about your childhood. Talk to me about what little Layla Wren was like.”
That makes me smile.
“I was such a book nerd. Spoiler alert, though. I still am. When I was little, I remember my mother washing my hair. It was the one thing that was our thing, ya know.”
He hums an agreement.
“We didn’t have a lot of contact given they were both top neurosurgeons.
It’s how they met. Anyway, most times I’m pretty sure they got so tangled up in their work they forgot they had a daughter.
Except on Sundays when my mother would wash my hair.
She would ask about school and I would ask about her medical cases.
She talked to me as if were an adult and I loved her so much for that. ”
“You were a genius kid after all. I’m sure she knew not to downplay her conversations with you.”
I crack an eye and turn a fraction toward him, his soapy fingers still working the lather in my hair.
“How did you know that?”
He leans in until his nose touches mine. “I hunted for you. In order to do that I needed to know everything I could. Your colleagues were very chatty.”
That one statement brings the death of my friend to mind. I tell Beast about my friend, how I came to be in New Orleans, and eventually in the hands of the Vultures.
“That was the piece of the puzzle I couldn’t crack.
No one knew you were connected to Daniel.
The security system at the school was conveniently down the night you were taken and I didn't know to look for your friend. Harlow just knew you were on the inside and our way into cracking the Euphoria trade wide open.”
He spends the next five minutes telling me how they’ve been hunting Veles and the Vultures down and trying to weed out their infection in society for months before even learning about me. They wanted to root out the problem, not just the people, so they took their time.
“I’m sorry we didn’t just clean house on the Vultures sooner and you would have never suffered at their hands.”
Silence falls between us as he rinses my hair and then begins a second washing.
I don’t want to focus on all the things I witnessed or suffered through with the Vultures so I start talking again as a way to root myself back in my life.
“Growing up I knew I wanted to be like my parents. I wanted to help people. I buried myself in schoolwork and tried to show them I could be the very best.”
“How did you become a chemist?”
“By accident really. I graduated early in life. The more I studied medicine, the more I realized I could help people by helping them not get sick. So I went into chemistry.”
I inhale sharply and let out all the negativity that’s been eating away at my insides. “It kills me knowing my knowledge hurts people. I can’t think about all the people who took the Euphoria pills and died without me getting sick to my stomach.”
“You can’t think of that. You are not responsible for the people who chose to put drugs into their bodies.”
I turn in his arms and place my hands on his chest. “I know you’re right but I felt so alone and wanted it all to end for the first couple of months. It was hard knowing no one cared if I lived or died.”
He wraps an arm around me and tips my chin up, searching my face.
“Layla,” he whispers over the rush of the falling water, “I want you to know that you’re safe with me. No one will ever hurt you again. And as long as I live you will always have someone in your corner.”
His deep voice works into my tense muscles, and I relax into his hold.
His words shake something loose inside me. I turn in his arms, water pouring over my back, and look up into his eyes.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. “Please. I need to feel alive.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth finds mine, soft at first, his lips a brush of warmth and tenderness.
I breathe in his calmness to help ease the trembling need pulsating through me.
Then he deepens the kiss, his tongue parting my lips, tasting me like I’m the only thing keeping him breathing.
I melt into him, my hands slipping up his chest, over the ink and the scars, anchoring myself to the only man who’s ever made me feel seen.
He crowds me gently against the tile, his jean-clad thigh slipping between mine, and I gasp when he presses closer.
His hands slide down, strong and sure, tracing the curves of my hips, the dip of my waist. One hand cups the back of my head, holding me steady as his mouth trails down my jaw, over the bruises, to the hollow of my throat.
His other hand finds my breast, thumb circling the nipple until I arch into him, desperate for more.
I gasp his name, my voice ragged.
He traps my mouth in a gentle yet claiming kiss. I kiss him right back. The need to feel drives my tongue into his mouth and the second the tip of my tongue finds his, he hollows his cheeks and sucks.
I groan into his mouth. Where this moment is going is not what I need to be thinking about, but I can’t help it. He makes me feel alive. Is that a bad thing?
He takes the kiss deeper. He tastes of wild adventure, forbidden lust, and bittersweet desire that I have no business entertaining. Wanting him is the worst thing I can do right now but I love the feeling of the hot blood rushing through my veins. The feeling of being alive.
I cling to him and whimper for more shamelessly.
He buries his face into my neck and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh between my shoulder and neck.
Cool air from a nearby vent drifts across my heated skin making my nipples pucker into tight nubs.
Beast notices. Big time. And a hungry grin plays over his lips.
Heat creeps onto my face.
Slowly. Ever so freaking slowly that it has to be the worst form of torture, he leans in and sinks his teeth around a hard tip. And bites.
“Beast!” I groan with a delicious heat consuming me from head to toe.
Nerve endings I didn’t realize I had, ignite with the intensity of the sun to scorch a path straight to my aching clit.
He braces his forearm on the wall by my head. Holding my gaze, he trails the tips of his fingers up my thighs and over my tummy.
What am I doing? I don’t know…
I lick my lips and he watches hungrily as my tongue darts over the plump flesh.
“Beast,” I moan again.
My rampant thoughts disperse when he sucks in the hard tip of my nipple between his hot lips.
“Fuck me,” he gruffly comments. “Your body is so responsive.”
He traces a hot path up the seam of my bare pussy with the rough pad of his finger. With a little pressure, he dips between the folds and draws back sticky wetness.
I groan with embarrassment that I can be so wet for someone I didn’t know existed two hours ago.
He strokes me with devastating care, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. Every nerve in my body fires to life, every inch of me aching for him. I press my forehead to his shoulder, sobbing his name.
But he’s holding up the truth of my arousal. A thrill shoots through me when he sucks his finger clean. His eyes fall closed as if it’s pure honey he’s tasting. He murmurs something I can’t make out, but it sounds hot and possessive.
Hands slide over my body, touching me everywhere. No man has craved me like this before and I don’t know what to do with that information.
Rapid beats of his heart are revealed in the erratic thump of the artery on the side of his neck. It’s empowering to see how affected he is by me. Those piercing dark eyes glitter with unspoken danger but his touches tell me the only thing I should fear is how hard he’ll make me orgasm.
He spreads my folds and strokes the throbbing nub between my folds. He slides a finger into my tight channel, working me with easy strokes. I clamp around his finger and ride his hand until I feel the burning edge of my climax.
“Come for me, Layla.”
Pulsations quiver through me, pulling me from the dark depths.
I buck against his hold as he finger fucks me. I spill hot, sticky juices all over both of us.
Hard lips find mine, and the second I think I can finally take a breath, he’s right there stealing it from me the moment I break the surface.
The intrusion of his tongue into my mouth, the way he holds my thighs open with his large body so he can do whatever he wants to do to my body, robs me of thought.
The water pounds around us, steam rising like a benediction. Beast holds me through the aftershocks, his arms strong and unyielding.
He pulls his hand away and gently strokes my throbbing clit with a gentleness that breaks me open and puts me back together at the same time.
When I can finally breathe, he pulls me closer, pressing his lips to my forehead.
“I’ve got you,” he promises, voice raw and real. “I’ll always have you.”
I believe him.
For the first time in months, I believe in something again.