The Beast

“Can you brush my teeth for me?” she asked. “That is the real question.”

“You got it.”

As he went to turn away, she laughed. “That was a rhetorical.”

“I was going to bring you your brush and a glass of water.” He put his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “Unless you’re determined to make it to the sink?”

Boy, he was a fantastic-looking male specimen, she thought as she measured his enormous shoulders and bulging arms, his flat stomach and lean pelvis, those long, powerful legs. And then there was that blond hair, those brilliant Bahamian blue eyes, that bone structure that seemed drawn by a master artist as opposed to something that had been born into this world.

“Mary?”

“Just admiring the view.”

“Oh?” He pivoted and flashed his ass. “You like?”

“Very much. How ’bout you take that shirt off for me?”

Glancing over his shoulder, he narrowed his eyes. “Are you coming on to me?”

“Why, yes, I believe I am.”

He turned back around, grabbed the front of his muscle shirt, and growled, “Say please first.”

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease—”

Riiiiiiip. And then his bare chest was on display, all that musculature throwing shadows in the dim light from the lamp on the bureau.

Rhage moved his hand down between his legs, gripping the hard length that had made a very serious appearance in the front of his leathers. “You want to see something else?” he drawled.

“Yes,” she breathed.

His fingers were slow on the button fly, teasing her as he revealed his erection inch by inch until it popped free and jutted straight out at her.

Mary reached down herself and disappeared her pants, spreading her legs as he stood back and stroked himself.

“Come here,” she said.

Rhage was up on that bed of theirs, up on her, in the work of a moment, and she guided him to her, bringing his head to her core. With a moan, she wrapped her legs around his ass, and he moved with force, joining them, rocking against her with increasing speed, going hard until the bed creaked and the pillows got bounced off and the duvet waded up beneath her.

As she grabbed onto his back, she felt the beast surge under her nails, the tattoo rising up and creating a pattern in his skin as if it wanted to get out.

“Mary,” Rhage said into her neck. “Oh, fuck, Mary . . .”

At the sound of his hoarse voice, an orgasm hit her like a lightning strike, the pleasure making her call out as he punched his pelvis into her again and again while he ejaculated.

When they finally went still, she stroked his spine, petting the beast, which surged under her touch. And it was so strange. In moments like this, even though it was crazy, it seemed like the three of them were together.

“Would you like to come shower with me?” Rhage asked as he nuzzled her throat. “I can think of some fun things to do with the soap.”

“Really? Do tell.”

“Cleanliness is next to godliness—isn’t that the human expression?”

Mary yawned and stretched, feeling him still inside. “I have an idea. You get started and I’ll be right in.”

“Perfect.”

After a couple of lingering kisses, Rhage pulled out and got up. Ditching the leathers from his lower legs, he walked buck naked into their bathroom.

Talk about a view.

He was like a walking Greek statue.

The shower came on, and she caught a whiff of the shampoo they used, and then the soap . . . and then the conditioner.

Motivating herself, she stretched once more and got out of bed. By the time she made it into the bathroom, Rhage was leaning back under the spray, rinsing his hair. With a quick strip, she took off her shirt and then she was in with him, his slick, aroused body glistening in the light from the mirrors.

“There she is,” he murmured as he pulled her in close.

It was a while before they got out, and by the end of it, her legs were so loose, it was a good thing she didn’t have far to go. Wrapped in Rhage’s robe, she padded over to the bureau to take out her pearl earrings while he went to the laundry hamper in their walk-in closet with the clothes they’d left everywhere.

She’d taken one of the studs out when she noticed the folder. “What’s this?”

“What’s what?” he said from the closet.

Opening the front cover . . .

. . . she felt the breath leave her lungs.

FORTY-NINE

When Rhage came out of the walk-in, he was feeling really damn good about life. Yeah, sure, the cop had prevailed at pool again, but after what his Mary had just treated him with? He was the true winner.

That shower sesh had been straight-up Olympian, top-of-the-mountain, land-speed-record stuff.

Walking out, he . . .

. . . stopped where he was.

Mary was sitting in the chair beside their bureau, her little pink feet on the carpet, her body engulfed by his bathrobe, her head down with her damp hair hanging forward. In her lap, open wide, was a folder that Rhage didn’t recognize.

But he knew what she was looking at.

Rhage went back into the closet and pulled on a pair of nylon track pants. On second thought, he added that AHS sweatshirt he’d worn the other night. Coming back out, he walked over to the bed and sat down.

Mary looked up when she got to the last page. “What is this? I mean . . .” She shook her head. “I think I know what it is. I just . . .”