Beautiful Beast by Aubrey Irons (21)

Well, it’s done.

I wince as I sit on the toilet - more sore than I thought I’d be, though not necessarily in a bad way I guess. I stand, flushing and padding naked to the sink, where I wash my hands, then my face. I stand there a minute, faucet still on, water dripping down my cheeks and off my chin as I meet my own stare in the mirror.

You finally got that out of the way.

I’m not sure if I expected to see someone different in the mirror or feel something different after. Maybe older. Maybe more mature. Maybe more removed from the boy I should have done this with months before, even if I would have regretted it the rest of my life.

Oh, right - as of ten minutes ago, I’m no longer a virgin.

I’ve been dating Jason for two weeks now, and I’ve been having a harder and harder time coming up with reasons why we’re not having sex, surrounded by a college environment where everyone is having sex, all the time. It’s also hard because I haven’t actually told him that I’ve never done it before, which is weird, I get it. Part of it is that awkward pressure of thinking I should have done this before college - that no one shows up to four years of exploring your sexuality with zero experience on the table already.

The other part of it is harder to explain, even to myself. The other part is that while I finally made up my mind that I would sleep with Jason, I did so with the decision that “being my first” wasn’t a title I’d let him claim. Because I know despite the rage and the hatred, and the fury and the humiliation - and despite his being the worst thing that ever happened to me, there’s another boy that title should have gone to. But it didn’t, and so in my own weird little way, it won’t to anyone.

I may have mentioned this before, but there might be something wrong with me.

I do like Jason Landry, a lot actually. He’s the RA on my dorm floor. He’s sweet, and he’s quiet and cute, and he likes great, interesting music and watches super cool French black and white films without the subtitles on.

Love doesn’t have to be a word right now. After all, this is college, and this is all about experimenting and trying new things. But I like Jason a lot. Enough, at least, that I finally stopped coming up with excuses and said yes tonight when he asked me to come back to his room. Enough that I pretended I’d done this a hundred times before, enough that I squeezed my eyes shut and buried the painful yelp in my knuckles over his shoulder, at the first penetration.

It wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t anything earth shattering or life-defining like a movie or something. But it was nice.

Nice, like Jason. Deep down, I’m fairly certain I’m not destined for nice, though.

I finish drying my face and open the door of his private bathroom. Being a residence assistance does have its privileges - besides deflowering freshman, apparently.

“Hey, babe?”

I smile, suddenly feeling self-conscious at still being naked and grabbing a towel off the back of the bathroom door to wrap myself in.

“Are you on your period?”

My stomach drops, the smile vanishing from my face in horror as my eyes dart to Jason’s bed, and the little smear of red on the sheets.

I catch myself out of the free-fall somehow, swallowing back the mortifying heat on my face.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” I make a face. “I didn’t think—”

“Naw, it’s cool babe.” Jason shrugs. “I’m cool with that.”

“Cool,” I say, not sure what the heck else to say.

“Hey so, you can definitely stay for a while, but, you know…”

I do know.

Jason’s the RA. Technically speaking, he’s not supposed to have students in his room past a certain hour. Which means I’m not staying here tonight.

Which suits me fine.

“I- I should go anyway.”

I say it casually like I’m one of those girls who fucks her RA and then dips out all the time.

Like I’ve done this before.

Like every single part of me isn’t wondering how this might have been different, that night, on the boat, with the smell of the ocean the taste of tequila and lime, and the fiercest, most brooding eyes I’ve ever seen looking into me as he made me his.

I get dressed with my back to Jason, who’s on his laptop now after stripping his virginity-stained sheets off.

“See ya tomorrow.” I think I say it casually.

“Hey.”

Jason stops me, pulling me into a hug, and then kissing the top of my head.

“I had fun tonight.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He nods, smiling a crooked smile as he looks at me.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

I chew on my lip. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

Jason and I last two months. It’s never passionate, but it’s comforting. And mostly fun. And fairly easy.

And nice.

Two months later though, I find out I’m not the only freshman sneaking into Jason’s room at night. I find that out the day he tells me she and him are transferring to Colorado State together.

And that’s the end of that.

I cry after - just a little though. I’m not shattered.

I’m not broken hearted.

I’m just a little empty.

But in a way, I’m glad. I’m glad because it happened, and in a certain way, it let me get over him - the boy who should have shattered me before.

The one who only half broke my heart.

So in a way, this helps.

And that’s nice.

* * *

Almost instantly, the chat feature on my email blinks and a message pops up.

From Jack.

Well, this is interesting. We’ve chatted like this before on occasion, but it’s mostly just emails with Jack.

I smile, but I chew on it, mulling over a response.

This is new territory with us. We’ve never gone into relationships - in fact, we stay as far away from discussing it as we can. Not because of some mutually decided on agreement, we just don’t, at all. It’s crossed my mind before, but at this point, I’m one-hundred percent sure Jack is straight, just based off conversations and the way we converse. But it’s like he and I have built this purposely vague anonymous friendship, without the worry of romance or it even coming into conversation.

Until right now, fifteen minutes after Bastian made me come with his tongue on his freaking kitchen counter.

Jack must sense my trepidation. Or at least realize my lack of instant response - even a “haha” or something.

I sit there staring at the screen for a minute before deleting it and retyping.

I blink, confused why I might feel, well, confused by that. And a little sad.

I type it back instantly.

Jack takes his time on that one.

Maybe. I need more than maybe. I also need to come clean about the very, very physical, very real and face-to-face thing going on with Bastian right now.

We’re about to leap over that line of not talking about our love lives.

The three little words might as well be neon and flashing, sitting there in the chat window.

It’s weird how bad I feel. It’s weird that I somehow feel like I’ve wronged Jack somehow by falling into this very confusing, very consuming thing with Bastian.

I chew on my lip.

Or am I.

“I’m fairly certain my dirty mouth only makes you wetter than you’ve ever been before.”

The proof there is the tingling, pulsing, alive feeling still thundering through my body after earlier.

Jack says nothing for a full minute.

There’s a pause.

I grin.

I start to type “not my boyfriend,” but I delete it instead.

I grin at his words.

Somehow, with the mix of guilt, excitement, confusion, and lust still swirling through my head, I sleep.

Eventually.

* * *

The wood is smooth and the knobs and strings cool under my fingers. I feel the weight of it tug on the strap over my shoulder — the electric guitar heavier than the acoustics I’m used to.

I breathe slowly, excitement humming through me as I plug the Fender Esquire — the Born to Run guitar — into the amplifier and turn it on. The dull crackle of electricity buzzes through the big speaker, and my excitement only spikes.

This guitar has to be worth an absolute fortune. And under any other circumstances, there’s no way I’d ever be touching it. But then, Bastian did say I could use whatever I wanted in his dad’s old music room. So here I am, playing the guitar from the cover of a record I’ve listened to more times than I could possibly count.

My fingers strum over the strings, and a visceral shiver runs through my body as the deep, velvety tone thrums from the amplifier.

Oh this is going to be fun.

I start with a Bruce song – “Born to Run” off of Born to Run - because of course I do. I’ve got a stripped down cover I play live a lot, and so that’s exactly what I do. The words come smooth and easy, the chords patterns like familiar friends as I close my eyes and lose myself in the song to an audience of no one.

…Or at least, that’s what I think.

My eyes are still closed as the last notes trail off, and so the slow clap that echoes through the room scares the living shit out of me. I gasp, jumping as I whirl to see Bastian leaning against the doorframe.

“You’re good, you know.”

I raise a brow, and he sighs.

“I am capable of compliments.”

“Guess I learn something new every day.”

He grins smugly.

“I’m serious.”

“You do know that’s not my song, right?”

“I have actually heard of Bruce Springsteen before, yes.”

I grin. “Just making sure.”

Last night, this man had me naked and stretched across his kitchen counter while his tongue and fingers made me come until my breath ran out. Roughly fourteen hours later, we’re casually talking pop music, as if I wasn’t moaning his name and yanking at fistfuls of his hair last night.

“Is this—” I frown. “Sorry, is it okay that I’m playing this?”

He shrugs. “I’m not going to. Also, you sound fucking awesome.”

“Thanks.”

“The Boss would approve.”

I laugh. “Good to know.”

The laugh tumbles into a small, hidden gasp as he suddenly moves toward me, stalking across the room. He brushes past me, just enough for me to feel the heat of him — just enough for me to shiver at the illicit feelings I know he knows he brings out in me.

He leans against the grand piano.

“I actually only caught the tail end of that cover.”

“Eh, it’s a crowd pleaser. People go nuts over covers.”

“What about your original stuff.”

I shrug.

“Well, can I get a taste?”

I blush, and then immediately blush even harder for having blushed at all.

Bastian’s lips pull into a wolfish smirk.

“I’ll take another taste of that too, if you’re offering.”

“Wasn’t,” I say quickly, looking down to fiddle with the guitar. The warring feelings from the night before are still waging a battle inside of me. On one side, there’s the immediate — the visceral, physical, damaged, lip-bitingly wrong Bastian. The emotional train wreck. The devil on my shoulder whispering obscene promises in my ear.

And then there’s the physically absent yet emotionally stable, comforting, familiar, almost imaginary and almost unreal angel on the other side.

Jack.

Jack whose name isn’t even Jack who I’ve never even spoken to.

As opposed to the man standing in front of me who had me whimpering and begging for more last night. The one whose very presence has my panties growing wetter by the second.

“Play for me.”

It’s almost a command - the royal prince himself issuing a decree.

“I’m sorry, am I one of your subjects?”

“Not a very loyal one. I don’t hear music yet.”

I flip him off, and he grins.

“Can I please, pretty please with a fucking cherry on top, hear you play one of your songs.”

I smile sweetly.

“See? You make fun of my southern sensibilities, but you do catch more flies with honey than you do with—”

I swallow as he’s suddenly moving from the piano towards me, something hungry in his eyes.

“…Vinegar,” I finish, taking a shaky breath.

“I think I prefer the honey.”

“I think that’s the point of the saying.”

“Does that make me a fly?”

“A total pest.”

Bastian’s jaw twitches, that dangerous, dark smile pulling across his jaw.

“Maybe it’s that your honey is just entirely too tempting.”

The heat pulses hot between my legs, my panties soaked through as the shiver creeps up my back.

“I thought you wanted to hear me play,” I whisper, breathing heavily as he pulls the guitar from my hands and lifts the strap from my shoulder.

No. Stop. What are you doing.

The voice inside — the one that’s still fighting the war of ideals over the devil or the angel — tries to speak up, but is quickly squashed down when Bastian runs a finger over the waist of my skirt.

The devil wins.

Why did I wear a skirt?

“I think I’d rather see you play on the piano,” he growls lowly, his finger finding the space between my skirt and my T-shirt, tracing over the bare skin there.

“Oh?”

“Very much so,” his voice is gravelly and low in my ear.

His hand snakes around my waist, and I gasp quietly as he spins us, pushing me back until my back is to the piano, my thighs against the keys. His mouth traces up my neck, lips finding my jawline as his hands slide around to cup my ass.

I moan, my breath coming staggered as his lips slide down my jaw and pull away, only to come crashing into my lips.

Yeah, the devil just definitely won.

I open my mouth for his tongue, feeling the heat pulse through me as he kisses me slow and deep — claiming my lips as his hands grab my ass like it’s his to hold.

“I- I’m not great with the piano,” I whisper as we break the kiss.

“You misheard me.”

The raw need for me is heavy in his voice and throbbing hard against my thigh through his dress pants.

“I didn’t say I want you to see you play the piano,” his lips brush mine, moving across my cheek toward my ear.

“I said I want to see you play on the piano.”

I gasp, loudly, as he suddenly grabs my ass and lifts me up, pushing me back onto the top. He moves between my legs, spreading them as his hands find my jaw. He kisses me roughly, demandingly - taking the kiss even as I give it to him and taking my breath away.

He pulls away, that look in his eyes blazing fiercely as he reaches down and pulls out the piano bench.

He sits slowly, and when I go to close my legs, he shakes his head and pushes them back apart.

So that’s why I wore a skirt today…

“Now reach down, pull your panties to the side, and show me your pussy.”

My face goes bright red.

“Remember that conversation about me not being one of those girls?”

“What girls,” he growls.

“The girls who respond to you talking to them like that.”

Bastian’s eyes drag to mine, his smug, arrogant grin strong across his face.

“Oh, but Ana,” he moves forward, his hot breath teasing against my thighs, making me shiver.

His eyes drag like some sort of velvet touch up my body, lingering over my chest, rising and falling heavily with my breath, and up to my eyes. They pierce into me.

“Except you are responding to my talking to you like this.”

I swallow, shaking my head. “No, I’m not- oh shit.”

I crumble as Bastian reaches up between my legs and slowly drags one knuckle up the soaking wet front of my panties. He moves his finger up and down, shattering whatever last walls I was even thinking about putting up as I tremble under his touch. He groans, his face a mask of lust as he leans forward and pulls my panties to the side. His finger strokes across my bare slit, drawing the wetness from my lips.

“Take them off,” he growls out, pulling away.

“I’m not just going to get naked in your music room.”

“Yes, you are.”

I bite my lip, our eyes locking and flashing heat.

“Fine,” I whisper. “But you better too.”

“Done,” he growls out quickly, his hands moving to undo his belt and pull the zipper down over the huge bulge in his pants. I can feel my pulse jump as he reaches inside, and without a second’s hesitation, pulls out his cock.

His very large, very gorgeous cock.

His cock which I may or may not have fantasized about more times than I care to admit, and the reality far exceeds the fantasy.

“Jesus,” I mutter, almost to myself.

Bastian grins that cocky, smug smile.

“Should I lay off the ‘kiss the crown’ puns?”

“Please do.”

“Please take your fucking panties off. Now.”

I swallow, breathing quickly as I hook my fingers in the waist and push my underwear down my legs. I slip them off my ankles, dropping them behind me.

Bastian groans deeply, his eyes fierce and his jaw tight as his hands move to my thighs. He pushes my legs wide apart, and I gasp as he lifts them, placing my heels on the piano keys. High and low notes jangle together.

“Touch yourself.”

His eyes drag back to mine.

“Anastasia—”

I bite my bottom lip, teasing him.

“You know what they say. You catch more—”

“No more fucking colloquialisms,” he growls. He reaches up and takes my hand, pulling it down between my legs and making me moan. My fingers take over out of raw need as his pull away, and suddenly, I’m doing what he asked.

Touching myself, for him.

Bastian groans, his hand dropping and wrapping around his thick cock, stroking it. I moan, losing myself in this moment and letting my fingers slide up and down my lips, teasing my clit slowly as I watch him watching me. I roll my clit under the pads of two fingers, moaning quietly. I’m so wet I must be leaving a puddle on the damn Steinway.

Bastian’s eyes narrow as he leans closer, his breath teasing over my thighs and making me shiver. He moves closer, and I whimper as his lips find one of my fingers. He sucks it inside, licking my wetness from my own fingers and groaning lowly before he moves in. His mouth moves my hand away, and I cry out as his tongue takes the place of my fingers.

His hungry groans rumble through me as he eats me. His tongue pushes deep, tasting all of me as his hands push my thighs wide apart. I gasp, tossing my head back, my hands sliding palm-down behind me and clawing at the top of the piano as Bastian Crown wraps his tongue around my clit and sets me on fire.

He’s got me panting, and moaning, and bucking my hips against his face when he suddenly pulls away, licking his lips. He crashes against me, taking my breath away as he wraps my hair in his fist, gently pulls my head back, and kisses me fiercely,

“I have to be inside of you,” he growls between sucking my tongue into his mouth. His hands slide up my legs, grabbing my ass, and I shriek as he pulls me down off the top of the piano and sets me on the damn keys themselves. Jangled, discorded notes clang through the room.

He tears at his shirt, half ripping the buttons off before shrugging it off and tossing it away. He pulls a condom from the pocket of his dress pants before he lets them drop, kicking them off.

“Here?”

I raise a brow at the room around us.

“If you’re looking for romance, and a big four-post bed, and candles, and flower petals—”

“No, I know, I just—”

I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I know I want this. I’ve wanted this for years actually, even when I told myself I was sick or broken for wanting it with him. But past that, I honestly don’t know. I’m not entirely sure there is a “past that” with Bastian.

“Well, I honestly can’t think of a better place for me to fuck you for the first time than on top of a musical instrument, can you?”

I drag my teeth across my bottom lip, grinning. “No, actually.”

Bastian’s eyes spark into mine as he tears the wrapper and starts to roll the condom down over his frankly huge cock.

“Spread your legs.”

“Be nicer or I won’t screw you.”

Bastian moves between my legs and runs the head of his cock up and down my slit, making me moan lowly.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he groans. “And besides,” he moves his lips to my ears, growling into my ear. “You don’t want nice.”

“You don’t know what I—”

“Not with me you don’t.”

He’s right. “Nice” is nice and all, but “nice” isn’t why I’m sitting on a fifty thousand dollar piano with my legs spread and my pulse racing for Bastian Crown.

My hands slide over his grooved hips, grabbing him and pulling him towards me. He groans as he moves closer, the sheathed head of his cock easing against me.

“Then don’t show me nice,” I whisper into his lips as he brushes them across my mouth.

“Show me you. It’s the real you I want to see.”

“This is going to sound fucked up,” he growls, and I gasp as he slides the head inside of me.

“But you’re arguably the only one that ever has.”

He grabs my ass, kisses me hard, and slides every inch of his cock deep inside.

The moan rumbles deep in my throat as he buries himself to the hilt inside. My hands slide up to his back, clawing at his skin, and my knees tighten around his hips as he pulls back, only to drive deep inside again. We start to move in steady, deep thrusts, my hips rocking to meet his as we crash together again and again. He slips a hand between us to where we join, his fingers rolling over my clit in slow circles as he drives in all the way.

I cling to him harder, letting myself drown in this moment.

I’m having sex with Bastian Crown.

I’ve gone off the deep end.

Years ago, I lied to the man who took my virginity — awkwardly, and too quickly, in a college dorm room. I lied because I didn’t want him to be my first when it should have been someone else.

This someone else.

I lied to Jason about my first time because I never wanted anyone else but Bastian — the last person I should have wanted — to be able to claim it. Bastian taking that part of me is the scar I should have worn all these years. And even if he never actually did, the wound was still there.

This is the first I wanted.

This is the first I know I should have had.

Raw, nothing held back, nothing faked. Bruising, confusing — something I would compare future partners to and something that would keep me up late at night.

Nothing but me, him, and the raging, unstable ball of hate, love, lust, and pain that seemed to have consumed us from the start.

This time though, we’re giving in. This time, we’re letting the explosion take us both down.

Bastian thrusts into me, his body rippling and coiling against mine as he starts to fuck me faster, harder. I urge him on, my moans filling the room along with the sound of my ass against the piano keys — the sound dissonant, and loud, and messy, and jumbled.

The perfect soundtrack to the two of us finally coming together.

Nails scratch down his back, his teeth find my neck and leave marks that I’ll remember. Lips find lips, and breaths tangle as the kiss drowns us both.

There’s a rushing sound, and suddenly, I’m screaming into his mouth as the orgasm shatters through me. Bastian drives in deep as I come, and I can feel him throbbing against me as he falls over the cliff with me.

His hands pull me tight, his lips searing to mine, and I let go.

Hate.

Love.

Lust.

Pain.

Release.

Screwing Bastian Crown might be the mistake of a lifetime.

It also might be the only way I can let go.