Freeing the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 1 Read online

  She stared at his hands and mouth.

  “I was kidding,” he said. “Well, about the palms at least.” He made a soft gagging sound, as though he was about to spit up hair.

  Becca pressed her fingers to her temple, but did giggle.

  Nice. Eric loved the sound of her joy. Especially her moans and cries of delight. No music could match its power. Certainly not the crap Desi insisted on playing in this place. One more piercing wail from the singer and Eric figured his teeth would crack. “I also had to get new underwear.”

  Becca gave him a sideways look. “You’re into stretchy boxers finally.”

  “Have to be.” He leaned close and murmured, “I need the support. I have a lot to carry around.”

  A throaty laugh poured from her. Looking embarrassed, she glanced at the other patrons to see if they’d noticed. They hadn’t. She studied their tables and frowned. “Why are we sitting so far away from the others?”

  “So Desi can torture us.”

  “You’re just sensitive. He’s a real sweetheart. Reminds me of my dad.”

  “Oh yeah?” Eric leaned back, liking how the candlelight brought out the fire in her hair and turned her pale skin to ivory. “Tell me about him and your mom.”

  Becca waved away his request. “Nothing to tell.”

  “You don’t want me to know? Or you don’t think I mean what I just said, because tonight isn’t real, we’re just playing at this.”

  She lowered her hand and looked so hurt and lost, every inch of Eric’s body ached. Before he could apologize, she shrugged and said, “Yeah, I guess that’s it. I don’t want to bore you.”

  How could she ever? She was Becca Salt. A witch who couldn’t concoct a useable potion to save her life, owned a weirdo business, had friends straight from the depths of Hell, looked amazing in everything she wore, had features that could only be considered stunning, and a heart Eric wanted to touch. Why, he still didn’t know and wasn’t going to question it.

  “You won’t bore me, I promise. The only time I nod off is after sex. For only a few minutes,” he added, not wanting to give her the wrong impression.

  Becca nodded seriously. “Guess we shouldn’t go at it on this table or under it, huh?”

  “Probably not. That’s what treatment rooms and apartments were made for.”

  She got that dreamy look again, as though she was picturing him naked and harder than stone. “Makes paying the rent that much easier.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  “You better not,” Desi said. He cradled a bottle of his finest wine with the same tenderness most men reserve for their first-born sons. “Complaining about what?”

  “Being thirsty,” Becca said and smiled.

  Desi’s already ruddy face darkened a bit at her feminine charm. “Of course. I kept you waiting too long. Forgive me.” He filled her glass, forgetting Eric’s.

  “I think he’d like some too,” Becca said.

  “No more than half a glass,” Desi warned him, pouring less than that. “You’re driving. Both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road not on—”

  “Desi,” Eric’s aunt said, tapping his shoulder. “You’re needed.” She gave Becca and Eric an indulgent smile then frowned at her husband.

  “Be right back,” Desi muttered to them.

  “So, your dad’s like that?” Eric asked. “You poor thing.”

  She smiled. “You have no idea. If I use a word stronger than darn, he lectures me on how a proper lady should behave.”

  Eric tapped his glass to hers in a toast. “And how’s that?”

  “Damned if I know. I keep getting it wrong.”

  Recalling their moments together in the treatment room, he grinned. “Like I said, I’m not complaining. You’re perfect just as you are.”

  Becca’s glass stalled short of her mouth.

  Eric pretended not to notice, taking a sip of his wine, savoring its rich body and fruity flavor. At three thousand bucks a bottle, it more than matched its price. But still didn’t taste as wonderful as she had.

  Nature had created Becca’s mouth for a hungry man, making her body perfect for lust and comfort. How any male could have found her wanting was beyond Eric. The fools she’d grown up with must have been blind.

  “You had a tough time in school, just like I did,” he said, remembering what she’d told him, figuring their common bond might relax her.

  Becca lifted her eyebrows. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  “Tell me.”

  She waved her hand again, then stopped, no doubt thinking of what he’d said earlier about them only playing at this. “You’re sure? It’s really ancient history.”

  He noticed again how smooth her skin was, how flawless, not even a mole. No wrinkles either. “How old are you exactly?”

  Becca choked on her wine and put her hand up as she coughed. “I’m okay,” she rasped, then frowned. “Twenty-seven. You?”

  “Thirty-two. Mortal years?”

  “Me or you?”

  Smiling, he pointed at her.

  “You do know that asking a woman her age or her weight makes you a jerk.”

  “I’m many things,” he murmured, “but definitely not a jerk. I think your weight is just fine. I’ve already told you, most women are too skinny.”

  Becca’s throat bobbed with her swallow. She got that faraway look again. One filled with sin that he really enjoyed. “Ah, mortal. That is, I’m twenty-seven in mortal years.”

  “Is that why you went to a regular school?”

  Becca fingered the stem of her glass and sighed. “Dad insisted upon it. He said it’d be a great experience.”

  “Well yeah, if you’re a cheerleader or football captain.”

  She nodded knowingly.

  “My parents insisted the same with me. We both know how that turned out.” Eric threw back his head and opened his mouth as if someone had punched him out.

  She laughed.

  He grinned then asked, “Did you pretend things were okay at school? That you enjoyed it?”

  “What other choice was there? I’d do anything not to hurt my dad.”

  “Just like your mom always has?”

  “Oh yeah.” She glowed. “They’re so much in love it’s nauseating.”

  Eric smiled.

  “Bread and olive oil,” Desi growled, putting the basket and bottles in front of them. “Enjoy.”

  “You’re sure you want that?” Eric asked.

  Desi clenched his jaw. “My wife says you should, so you should. Okay?”

  “Send her my everlasting gratitude.”

  “He gives you trouble,” Desi said to Becca, “you let me know. I’ll take care of him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Eric said, his attention on her, nowhere else. “She has Zoe to do that.”

  Becca lowered her face to hide her smile.

  “Zoe?” Uncle Desi asked.

  “Her pit bull,” Eric lied. “Little thing but mean.”

  Becca’s shoulders and words shook with her laughter, “Careful. She has unusually good hearing.”

  Desi frowned. “What are you two talking about? Oh hell.” He turned at his wife tapping his shoulder again. “I’m not bothering them.”

  “Then come and help us, like you’re supposed to,” she said.

  Grumbling, he left.

  “Pit bull?” Becca asked.

  Eric lifted one shoulder. “I couldn’t tell him she’s a demon, could I? She is, right? I mean with the sulfur smell, smoking hair and all.” He shuddered. “She couldn’t possibly think that’s attractive to men.”

  “It is to other demons. However, Zoe’s doing her best to convert to the mortal way of doing things.”

  Eric poured the oil and tore off a piece of bread. “How’s that coming along?”
/>
  “She hasn’t possessed or pulverized anyone for months.”

  “Good for her.” With the bread lightly soaked in the oil, Eric offered it to Becca. To his delight, she scooted her chair closer, allowing him to slip the bite into her mouth. A dribble of oil slipped over her bottom lip. Eric captured it with his finger and licked it off.

  Becca’s chews slowed then stopped. “This is really good.”

  He sensed she wasn’t talking about the bread, but the bewitching time they were having.

  “It gets even better,” he promised, not meaning the food at all. Rather, the way they were going to eat.

  Once Desi delivered their appetizer and made himself scarce, Eric planned to feed Becca.

  She must have had the same thought about him because she slipped a wedge of Camembert cheese and a marinated artichoke heart between his lips. Eric licked the deliciously spiced marinade from her fingers. Becca blushed and smiled.

  He just about died from the happiest feeling he could remember.

  They fed each other the pasta e fagioli, laughing as they both recalled the cheesy pasta artwork they’d created for their parents as kids.

  “I did one of my dad’s trucks,” Becca said. “He gushed like mad. Said it was the best drawing of a piggybank he’d ever seen. I wouldn’t speak to him for days.”

  Eric grinned. “I did Cupid. On steroids. Arrows flying everywhere, taking the bad fuckers down. My mother cried and kept suggesting therapy.”

  Becca’s face turned red from her laughter.

  They enjoyed their medium rare steaks next, the meat seared and seasoned to perfection. Eric pretended to accept the slice Becca held out to him, then nibbled on her thumb instead, making her giggle. He slipped a bit of his steak into her mouth, captivated by her tongue capturing its juices before they slipped past her lips.

  At the end of their meal, Desi insisted they try his tiramisu, which he promised would be the best Becca had ever tasted, decadently layered and just brimming with espresso.

  “So you don’t fall asleep while you’re driving because you had so much wine,” he said.

  Eric hadn’t even finished the little Desi had given him. Nor had Becca enjoyed all of hers. They’d forgotten the booze, not needing it, clicking during their meal as though they’d been dating for years.

  Desi handed Becca a fork. “You can share your dessert with my nephew. If that’s okay with you,” he said to Eric, sounding as if he couldn’t care less.

  Eric’s attention slipped from Becca’s mouth to her breasts, the hard tips of her nipples pressing against the stretchy fabric, calling to the beast within him. “I’m full,” he said. “You?”

  She nodded enthusiastically.

  “I’ll wrap it up,” Desi said. “You can take it with you.”

  Eric didn’t want to wait that long. “Another time. You have my AmEx number.” He helped Becca from her chair.

  Desi scowled. “You’re leaving already?”

  To Eric it seemed they’d been here most of his life, and yet, not that long at all.

  “We have plans,” Becca said.

  Eric hoped hers were as good as the ones he was imagining. “A show. Movie. Starts in a few minutes. Isn’t that right?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “Thanks,” she said to Desi. “It was great.”

  “Come back then. Soon.”

  Not until Eric had had enough of her. How long that might take, he hadn’t a clue. He escorted Becca through the packed dining room. The air had cooled somewhat, a pleasant caress compared to the day’s suffocating heat. Not that it tempered what was going on inside of him. Fevered and wanting, Eric got Becca to the bottom of the stairs before he took her in his arms again.

  They kissed as though Desi had spiked their food with turbo-charged aphrodisiacs, which was idiotic. Eric knew real when he felt it, and this couldn’t have been more genuine. Never had he wanted a woman more. Becca must have felt the same about him. She definitely wasn’t holding back, sucking his lower lip, thrusting her tongue into his mouth, grinding her pussy into his cock.

  Yowza.

  She finally broke free to wheeze in some air. Still panting, she asked, “Where’d you park?”

  He pointed, then slipped his arm around her waist, leading her to his Mercedes.

  “No,” she said, halting abruptly.

  She’d changed her mind already? He frowned. “No?”

  “Your car’s too far away.” She glanced at the others in the lot.

  “We can’t break in and use a stranger’s,” Eric said. He was horny, not nuts. He wanted to wrestle with her, not the cops.

  “Right. What’s over there?”

  He looked to where she was pointing.

  “The back of the restaurant, its al fresco dining area. Closed for an upgrade—you want to go there?”

  “Think your uncle will come out?”

  Doubtful. Even if he did, somehow Eric didn’t care, and figured it was her mother’s amazing potion working on him, giving him brass balls. Taking command—as he should—he led Becca around the building. The area’s tiny white lights were off, the wrought-iron tables and chairs empty, shadows providing tons of privacy though not total darkness.

  Her eyes sparkled from the faint illumination bleeding past the building.

  Eric saw what he had before, desire and submission to what they both wanted.

  He gathered Becca in his arms, inhaling deeply at how soft and lush she was. All woman. Damn. It was nearly more than he could bear. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “Are you wearing a thong?”

  “No.”

  Crap. “Panties?”

  “No.”

  Hell. “A girdle?”

  “No.” She elbowed him.

  He puffed out a mild groan, thinking about her answers. No thong, panties, or girdle, which left… “Nothing.”

  “Bingo.”

  If his cock could have sung, it would have. He searched her face, checking to see what she thought, felt, wanted. When it came to women, he never knew for certain and should have asked, but didn’t want to break the spell they’d woven around each other.

  Apparently, neither did Becca. After easing away from him, she placed her purse on the nearest table and pulled out the chair in front of it. With one high-heeled sandal propped on the seat, she ran her fingertips over her skirt, teasing it up her leg.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispered.

  Chapter Eight

  The muggy breeze ruffled the fabric of Becca’s dress, rippling it against her calf and thigh.

  Eric stared at both as if he’d never seen a woman’s leg before. The pronounced ridge of his throat bobbed with his hard swallow. He scanned the area, her, then the area again, and finally took off his jacket. Lightly, he whapped it against the table behind Becca.

  The mosaic-tiled top pinged with each of his strikes.

  She spoke quietly. “Are we going to lay down on that?”

  “Not both of us. Hang tight.”

  Easier said than done. If her nipples got any harder, they’d poke holes in her top. Her pussy was so freaking damp, Becca felt the breeze licking it, fruitlessly trying to dry her out. “Want me to help?”

  “Done.” Carefully, Eric spread his jacket over the freshly dusted tiles then offered his hand.

  Becca left the chair and moved into him. He embraced her with such confidence and need, her excitement sparked to an alarming level, leaving her lightheaded. They were really going to climb all over each other out here.

  Somehow, it continued to seem reasonable.

  She bit back a moan at Eric kissing her hard and unyieldingly with a right she’d not only given him, but one he’d taken as the newest member of the Bad Boys Club.

  Probably not a good thing, but hardly a matter Becca could resist.

>   He ran his hands down her back, over her ass, cupping those cheeks to pull her closer so her cunt could feel the wonder of his cock.

  Reinforced concrete had nothing on him. Becca’s heart sputtered then raced at how he savored her lips—with far more gusto than he had their meal. He angled his head to the left and right, trying to sink his tongue more deeply into her mouth.

  A gift she accepted with no hesitation, suckling him greedily, gripping his shirt to keep him as close as possible.

  He ground his hips into hers, his rigid shaft pressing against her cleft, wanting in.

  Soon, baby.

  His actions said screw that, no more waiting. Tearing his mouth free, he rasped, “On the table. Lay back. Now.”

  Even in the treatment room, he hadn’t sounded as husky or insistent, and he’d been out of control then.

  Wow, this was nice. Smiling, Becca leaned into him.

  Eric pressed his cheek to hers and whispered, “I said, now.”

  He took matters into his own hands and directed Becca onto the table, helping her as she lay back on his jacket. Her hair fell away from her face. Despite the humid night, a spray of stars twinkled above, reminding Becca of her navel jewelry.

  The delicate trinkets slid over her belly. Something inside her turned over as Eric lifted her arms above her head, positioning them as though she were a dancer…exhibiting her body to him.

  He arranged two chairs so she could rest her feet on the backs of them, her legs spread widely apart. Eric touched the straps of her sandals, her polished toenails.

  Giggling softly, Becca wiggled her toes.

  He didn’t smile or comment. Instead, he stroked her ankle, then leaned over her and whispered, “Why didn’t you wear those chains around your leg like you used to? What happened to your toe rings?”

  Constance had talked her out of them. Damn her. Becca had no idea how much Eric liked her jewelry. “None of that stuff matched my dress.”

  “You should have worn them,” he grumbled.

  Next time, her heart said. Yeah sure, good sense mocked, telling her to enjoy what she had right now. An evening that was more than she would have ever hoped for.