Page 21 of The Beast

I don’t answer.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I lie. Except—damn me—it’s not a lie.

“Tell me not to stop.”

I tilt my head so that I can meet his eyes. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

“There she is. The horny little bitch. And don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m not going to stop.”

His voice is dark velvet, promising things I can’t name.

“I won’t stop until you come apart. Not until you scream my name. Not until you remember who you belong to. And not until you truly understand how deeply I know you now. What you are. What you’re capable of. You destroyed me, Isabella. You and your father. And I’m going to return the favor.”

The words are horrible, but my body doesn’t seem to care, and when he thrusts in another finger, I cry out, wanting both to escape and to stay like this forever, hating myself for wanting. For craving. For making up stories in my head that if I just surrender, he’ll finally see the truth. That he’ll be Gabe again.

But those are just sweet lies. I know the truth. I know that I’m surrendering to a man who hates me.

But I’ve craved his touch for far too long to care that this is a mistake, that I’m giving him an advantage. It doesn’t matter. Right now, all I want is him. The rest is white noise.

He thrusts deeper, and I cry out, the rhythm of his thrusts designed to drive me insane—building me higher and higher, pushing me toward the edge with devastating precision.

“That’s it.” His mouth finds my breast, tongue, and teeth making me writhe. “You’re close, aren’t you? So damn close.”

I whimper, barely managing to murmur a soft yes.

He whispers, “I know.” And then he stops.

Just stops.

His fingers withdraw. His mouth leaves my skin. His body lifts off mine, leaving me cold and aching and so desperate I could scream.

“What—” I begin, but I don’t finish the sentence. I know what he’s doing.

He stands beside the sofa, tucking in his shirt and looking down at me with an expression of cold, triumphant cruelty.

“Get dressed.”

I stare at him, gathering the throw over my half-naked body, still throbbing with unfulfilled need.

“I said get dressed.” He walks to a bar cart and pours himself a whiskey, then takes a long sip without looking at me. “Get dressed. And get out. The valet can call you a taxi.”

“Are you—wait. No. We need to talk.” Panic rises in me. “We need to talk. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t have to do anything. Now get dressed, or you’ll be walking out of here wrapped in that blanket. You can thank me later for letting you have even that.

For a moment, I just stare at him. Then I nod. “You know what? Fine. And fuck you. You’re being an ass because you’re believing what you want to. And now I guess I know how little you cared about me if you truly think I would ever—ever—intentionally hurt you.”

I spit the words out, but they miss their mark. He doesn’t react at all. All he says is, “Tomorrow.” Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something that glints gold in the low light. A token, like a casino chip. He tosses it to me, and I catch it reflexively, my hands shaking so badly I nearly drop it. “Give that to the man at the valet stand outside. He’ll get you a ride back to the Monarch.”

“Gabriel.”

“We’re done.” He looks straight at me. “For tonight, anyway.”

I stare at him. This stranger wearing the face of the man I love.

Then, slowly, I reach for my clothes.

“I didn’t do it.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected as I pull on my tee and my yoga pants. “Whatever you think you know—whoever told you I was involved—they lied. I love you, Gabe. I always have. Even now. Even after this. And you’re a fucking idiot if you truly think I could ever, ever hurt you. And somehow, I’m going to make you see the truth.

Something that might be hope flickers in his expression. There and gone.

He inclines his head. “In that case, I look forward to our next conversation.”

My legs are shaking, my body still humming with frustrated desire, and my mind reeling from everything that just happened. I cross warily to the door, half-afraid he’s going to yank me to him. Half wanting him to.

I almost turn when I reach the door. To see him one more time. To give him one more chance to be the Gabriel I knew.

But he’s already shown me how that Gabriel is gone. And I don’t want to look again into eyes that believe I could hurt him. So I close my hand around the token, open the door, and leave, letting the door close behind me with a click that sounds like a verdict.