The Virgin and the Beast Read online

  He manages to last for a whole half a piece of French toast before hauling me onto the table and fucking my brains out, breakfast forgotten. I mewl like a cat as my orgasm hits, scrabbling at the table for purchase.

  He thrusts even more vigorously, riding me through the first and right into a second. Turns out, he has even more energy in the mornings than at the end of the day.

  I’m sweaty, satisfied, and breathless when he pulls my jeans back up and returns me to my cushion at his feet. I lay my head on his thigh, still recovering, and he strokes my hair back from my face.

  Back in the city I always got it cut promptly each month to keep the bob fresh, but in the month and a half I’ve been here, it’s started growing out. I’m constantly pushing it behind my ears to keep it out of my face.

  Xavier hasn’t said anything about it, but I think he’d prefer it longer.

  And suddenly I’m very keen to conform to whatever Xavier might like best.

  Even a few weeks ago the thought would have disturbed me. Outright disgusted me. But as I nestle my cheek against him and let out a contented sigh, now I wonder, just, why? Why was I pushing so hard against him?

  I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy or content. This free.

  And yes, I’m clear-headed enough to realize how ridiculously contradictory that sounds.

  But it’s true all the same.

  I feel liberated.

  Like I have no worries in the world. I don’t have to worry about anything. Xavier’s taken it all for me.

  I laugh at the realization, feeling a strange giddiness and press my face into his thigh. My whole life has been a mad-dog fight. For grades. Then for the best internships. Then to be better than all my male colleagues to get ahead at work. And for what? What did all that get me? I was never really happy. It was all about just waking up again the next day and striving more for the next hurdle to overcome.

  But now?

  I think this feeling flooding me is genuine happiness.

  Here of all places.

  With Xavier.

  Because of Xavier.

  I raise my head and grin up at him. He pauses stroking my hair, his expression wary and a little befuddled.

  I laugh and stand up, then climb up into his lap face to face, straddling him on the chair. I take his face in my hands. The burned part feels smooth and cool to the touch. My finger traces down between the raised ridges of one of the spider lines that runs across his cheek and he reaches up to grab my wrist. He shakes his head back and forth.

  I purse my lips but then say what I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all morning, double now after our breakfast table quickie. I can’t help the grin from taking over as I lean my face into his, searching his eyes.

  “We might have just made a baby,” I whisper. For the first time in my life, the concept doesn’t immediately send me into a crazed panic either.

  I’m not sure why exactly, except that I know it’s because of Xavier. Everything’s changed because of this giant who just barged in and inserted himself in the center of my life. Or rather, he stole me away to his world and like a sun, my life now revolves around him. There’s a voice shouting in the back of my head, unhealthy! Unhealthy!

  But when his eyes flare at my words and his hands drop to my waist, I don’t care.

  Especially when next, a goddamned miracle happens.

  He kisses me.

  And not on my ear or my neck or one of the other hundred places his mouth has explored before.

  No, I mean he kisses me on the lips.

  It’s not just some gentle peck either.

  He kisses me on the lips and immediately goes for the kill, pushing through the seam of my lips with his thrusting tongue.

  I can’t help clamping my legs tighter around him and kissing him back.

  I’ve been kissed before. A fair amount even. I was a virgin but still curious. There were a few boyfriends that I kissed a lot before I broke up with because I didn’t want them getting ideas that all the kissing meant I was willing to go further.

  But no kiss in my life has come close to anything like this one.

  As with everything else, Xavier immediately takes command of the kiss. And it doesn’t just involve his tongue and lips. No, his whole body is tense and alive underneath mine. His hands grip and knead my waist with a desperate intensity. He kisses me with the ferocity of a man bent on devouring his prey.

  And me? I might be happier than I ever imagined, being under this man’s power, but that does not mean I’m about to become some meek little delicate flower.

  Hell no.

  I give back as good as I get.

  My tongue tangles with his and I thrust back into his mouth, as eager to taste and explore him as he is me.

  I’m no longer satisfied with the façade he’s been willing to show me thus far. Dammit, I want it all. I want to know the name of the first horse he ever owned and what his goddamned favorite color is. I want to know what haunts his sleep and what makes him happy and sad and everything in between.

  So I kiss him back like my life depends on it. Because maybe if I’m lucky, this is the first chink in his armor and I’m paving my first inroad to getting to know this eccentric and, sure, a bit fucked-up man.

  But maybe he’s my eccentric, fucked-up man? Or he could be?

  Xavier’s hands travel up my body, pausing to squeeze my breasts before coming to hold the sides of my face again.

  And God, him cupping my face while kissing me with those soul-deep kisses? It’s enough to have my stomach dropping out beneath the floor.

  I can’t help the low moan that rumbles out of my throat. I know I just came twice but I’m already primed and ready again.

  “The animals will be fine for one day, surely. How about we take the day off?” I look up at him hopefully.

  But Xavier pulls away, shaking his head in amusement, eyes still centered on my lips.

  I try to lean forward to recapture his lips with mine. “Then how about just for the morning. They’ll be okay for one little morning. Think of it as letting them sleep in.”

  He laughs full out, halting my progression by grabbing my upper arms. “Horses barely sleep. I never break routine. And,” his eyes flick up to the clock on the wall behind me, “we’re already late as it is.”

  Then he’s standing up, hauling me with him as he goes.

  He ignores my pouting lip. “Would it make a difference if I begged?” I try.

  I get one of his rare grins at that. Along with a smack on my ass. “By all means, go ahead and find out.”

  I put on my prettiest pleading face. “Please, Xavier, can we postpone chores so that I can feel your delicious cock filling me up so good?”

  His jaw tenses and eyes darken at my words but then he smiles and smacks my ass again. “No.”

  And with that single word of dismissal, he turns and heads for the door.

  My mouth drops open. “No? What do you mean, no?” I demand, stalking after him.

  He holds out an arm, gesturing for me to go out the door ahead of him. As if he’s some gentleman.

  I cross my arms and glare at him.

  “Pet, don’t test me. Remember who’s the Master here. Nothing’s changed. I make the rules and you obey them.”

  I expel a huge breath of air. Nothing’s changed? Nothing’s changed?

  Okay, good to know that even in my new state of relative bliss, he can still piss me off like no one else ever before in my whole life.

  “But you said all I had to do was beg,” I remind him, both genuinely confused and barely suppressing the urge to flip him off. “I’m following your rule.”

  “That was a one-time offer. You don’t get to simply snap your fingers and I drop my pants at your beck and call.” He says it so calmly.

  “Oh, but you can snap your fingers and I do?”

  His eyes don’t even flicker once. “Now you’re getting it.”

  I scoff in outrage, throw my hands up in t
he air, and then stalk off in the direction of the stables. It’s barely sunrise, light just filtering over the horizon, dew wet on the ground.

  I walk as quickly as I can, but annoyingly, Xavier is at my side within two strides, easily keeping stride. Stupid man with his stupid long legs.

  But then he reaches down, takes my hand, and intertwines our fingers.

  And a dumb, girlish part inside me squees, zomg, he’s holding my hand!

  “We couldn’t waste any more time inside,” Xavier finally explains, leading us around the stable, “because we have to bring Hellfire in from the pasture and get him ready for the farrier.”

  I look over at him. Why couldn’t he have just said that from the start? Frustrating man. I decide to let it go. At least he’s explaining now. “What’s that?”

  “A farrier?” He glances down at me, then shakes his head. “It’s easy to forget how green you are sometimes.” My teeth start to grit, but then he finishes his thought, “—you’re getting so good with the horses.”

  Oh. Well. That sorta makes me glow inside.

  “A farrier specializes in taking care of horse hooves,” he continues, “trimming them and putting shoes on if they need them. Hellfire’s got chronic laminitis and it flares every summer. The farrier trims his hooves and I’ve been packing his ankles with ice packs to try to make him more comfortable.”

  I nod. I’ve seen Xavier attending to the horse morning and night.

  We round the stable and head toward the back pasture.

  “Is it serious?”

  The grim look on Xavier’s face tells me all I need to know. “We’ve been keeping it under control for several years now.”

  We crest a small hill and the back pasture comes into view. Paddyshack is standing near the back fence.

  Xavier drops my hand and starts running before I realize anything’s wrong.

  I head after him. “What? What is it?” But then I get it. I don’t see Holy Hellfire anywhere in the pasture.

  At first I think it means that he got out somehow. That he broke through the fence.

  Xavier’s long-legged stride has him all the way across the field by the time I’m only halfway and when I see him drop to his knees in the tall grass, it dawns on me.

  No, Hellfire didn’t go anywhere at all.

  I pump my arms, determined to get to them. Xavier’s hands are raised to his head as he bends over the horse, who I can now see is laying down.

  Maybe he’s okay? Just resting? I rarely see the horses down like that, but from what Xavier was saying, Hellfire’s feet were hurting so maybe he just—

  When I finally get up to them, I breathe out a huge breath of relief.

  Hellfire is alive.

  His eyes are wide open and his nostrils flare out with each breath. Definitely one hundred percent alive!

  I look over to Xavier, excited, but he still looks absolutely devastated.

  My head snaps back to look at the horse.

  “What?” I ask Xavier. “Is he sick? But you said the foot specialist is coming today. Is it something else? Can you call a regular vet to come, too?”

  Xavier shakes his head, his gaze locked on Holy Hellfire, eyebrows dropped low in sorrow. “It’s the laminitis.” He reaches out and gently runs his hand down the horse’s mane like he’s bestowing a benediction. “He’s in too much pain. It’s finally time.”

  “Time?” My eyes flick back and forth between Xavier and the horse. “Time for what?”

  Xavier closes his eyes and bows his head. “Time to put him down.”

  “What!” I take a stumbling step backward. How can Xavier even tell he’s in pain?

  Though looking closer, even I can see that Holy Hellfire’s eyes are glazed and searching wildly. He only calms momentarily when Xavier’s hand strokes down his mane again. Still, it’s obvious he’s in some sort of distress.

  I haven’t spent much time with the elderly horse, preferring instead to dote on Sugar and the others on my grooming roster, but I know that other than Samson, Hellfire is the one Xavier spends most of his day with.

  I thought he was just spoiling the horse because he was a favorite.

  But was it because he knew this day was coming?

  “Go to the bedroom and call the vet from the phone inside my desk, top left-hand drawer. Here’s the key.” He reaches inside his pocket and draws out his keyring. He unclips a carabiner with the single key and hands it to me. “Speed dial one. Just push star, 1. That’ll get you the vet. Tell him Xavier Kent needs him right now for Holy Hellfire. He’ll know what it means. Then feed and water the other horses.”

  He lets go of the key the second our fingers make contact. Like he can’t stand to touch me right now. He turns his head away, his focus going completely back to Hellfire.

  I stand there a moment, imagining this glorious horse in his prime, refusing to budge when the top trainers tried to make him race, a regal legacy flowing through his blood and sinew—because he had a willfulness and stubbornness to match.

  “Go!” Xavier snaps, all but roaring at me.

  Both Hellfire and I startle at his abrupt tone and Xavier immediately starts murmuring how sorry he is for yelling.

  To the horse.

  Not to me.

  Considering the circumstances, I let it pass. I turn and hurry across the field, trying not to focus on my smarting feelings. Xavier’s hurting. It seems impossible anything could rattle the man who always has it all under control.

  But every day I’m learning more about him, aren’t I?

  First thing I do is run up to the house and then to the third floor, key clutched in my hand. I open the desk where he indicated and there, lying inside the otherwise empty drawer, is a phone. It’s an older model, though it is detachable. It sits in its charging cradle. I pull out the receiver, staring at it with an awed kind of reverence.

  Technology. A communication device.

  I look over my shoulder like this has all been some elaborate test to see what I’ll do once given my first chance at contacting the outside world.

  But no, of course there’s no one there.

  Then I remember the cameras he had watching me the first days I was here. Has he set up cameras in here? Are they recording me even as I hesitate holding the receiver, looking around like an idiot?

  While Holy Hellfire suffers out in the pasture.

  My hand immediately lunches for the number keypad. Still, I stop where my finger hovers over the star button.

  This could be your chance. Xavier is distracted by the horse. You could call someone. Tell them about what’s happened.

  But who would I call?

  Most of my friends back in New York were more of acquaintances than close friends. And even if I could call someone, the thought of going back to that life…

  I frown. Wasn’t it just this morning that I was thinking how much more fulfilled and happy I am here with Xavier than I was back in New York?

  But God, maybe that’s just Stockholm Syndrome talking. That’s a real thing. I read a whole New Yorker article about it once.

  I look back down at the phone.

  The only person I would have called would be my dad.

  Dad.

  I blink. God, what am I even thinking? Xavier shows me a picture of him with a paper every week, looking hale and hearty, but Xavier’s unspoken threat to him still stands. If I try to get away, then Xavier will… Xavier will what? Let Dad be killed?

  God, would Xavier really do that? Is he capable of…?

  No, I shake my head. He kept his promise. He’s been sending pictures of me to Dad, too. I never know when he’ll snap them. Sometimes I catch him with his camera phone out, other times I’m completely unaware until I ask to see what he sent Dad that day. In every picture I look happy, carefree even. Riding Sugar, a wide smile on my face. My brow knit in concentration as I stand over the stove, trying out a new recipe. Glancing up at Xavier.

  In response, Dad looks less stressed out in the pictures I
get in return. I know he must be confused and worried still but at least he knows I’m healthy and not being abused. That I’m even… happy?

  I’ve just let myself get so caught up in all of— I press my hand to my forehead. How can I even start to justify any of this? Is it a betrayal of Dad to actually be happy? To forget what brought me here?

  But then my stomach squeezes. Because the image of Xavier’s devastated face as he crouched over Holy Hellfire flashes in front of my eyes.

  And damn it all to hell, I press the number for the vet.

  ***

  Doing the rounds with all the horses takes about an hour on my own. My arms are killing me from hauling the feed around by myself.

  I hurry back to the house and only have about five minutes to spare before I see the truck kicking up dust as it drives up the dirt road toward the ranch.

  I jog outside. The sun is fully up now, but it’s still insanely early. I can’t believe how people out here—wherever here is, all keep such insane hours. When the vet answered my call earlier, he sounded bright eyed and bushy tailed and not as if I was waking him from a dead sleep. Even though it was only 5:45 in the morning.

  As the truck pulls to a stop, a large blue 4x4 that’s maybe a decade or so old, I glance down at the license plates.

  Well, look at that. Unless the doc is randomly sporting out-of-state plates, I’ve been holed up in the state of Wyoming for the past almost two months.

  I think I expected him to be an old country doctor, maybe pushing sixty or something. Anything but the tall, blond, mid-to-late-thirties man who steps down from the cab of the truck with a large medical bag in tow, eyes interested as he looks me up and down.

  “Howdy,” he says. “I’m Tom. Tom Dawkins. You the one who called about Hellfire?”

  I nod, not knowing how to take in this outsider to the odd bubble that Xavier’s built around me. Seeing another person feels, I don’t know… forbidden.

  He strides toward me and extends one of his large, tanned hands in my direction.

  I shake it, trying to force my lips up in a semblance of a smile. God, act human, Mel. Have you really forgotten what civilized person etiquette is in such a short time?