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“It’s not about how much hair he has on his head,” I counter. “It’s his sex appeal.”
“He’s got about as much sex appeal as a rat on steroids.”
“Says the meathead—”
“Meathead? I’m fucking insulted.”
“That was the general idea,” I snip back, grinning internally at the way he slams his empty mug of coffee onto the table and folds his arms across his chest.
“Banter is one thing, but a straight up insult is something altogether different. A meathead would imply I’m as thick as shit. I’m not fucking stupid, Princess.”
I burst out laughing, only vaguely aware of the opening title sequence playing on the TV screen. “Sensitive much? It was a joke.”
“What, like calling meDaddywas, huh?”
My laughter dies on my lips as he shifts in his seat and turns to face me. His expression is serious as his knee brushes against my thigh and his arm rests on the back of the sofa. “Beast…”
“Listen, Princess, I’m a straight talking kind of guy and I do my best not to play games,” he says, absentmindedly fiddling with the ends of my hair.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Says the man playing with my hair,” I retort, then instantly regret it when he drops his hand. “Besides,I’mnot the one playing games.”
“You think I don’t notice how you look at me all the time, huh? You’ve got some kind of crush and it stops now.”
“One, I do not look at you all the time and two, this isnota crush—” It’s so, so much more than that.
“I mean, I totally fucking get it. I’m a catch.”
“You’ve got such a big fucking head!” I snap, meeting his gaze. I hate that he’s trying to turn this all around on me as though he hasn’t had a part in this growing attraction between us. I thought better of him.
He arches a brow, lifting his knuckles to my cheek. “You forget I know you.”
“You don’t. Nobody does,” I counter.
“Not even Hudson?”
“Not even him,” I admit.
Beast nods, something close to relief flashing across his face. “Tell me, Princess, have you ever fucked a man before?”
“What?!” I exclaim, my whole body stiffening.
Beast shifts closer and as he moves I get a hit of his freshly-showered scent of soap and deodorant. I try hard not to take a deep breath.
“I asked whether you’ve fucked a man, because whilst you’ve got the chat, I’m a thousand percent certain you haven’t got the game,” he says, his t-shirt pulling across his broad shoulders, hugging the muscles. I’m momentarily jealous of that piece of material for being so close to his skin.
“That’s none of your business.”
He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at me. “Do you know what I think?” he asks, licking his lips in a way that makes my insides squirm.
“No, what?”
“Not only do I know that you’ve never been fucked, I also know that you’ve never been touched, licked, stroked or evenkissed.”
“You forget I have a piercing in my clitoral hood. I don't know many virgins who’ve got that area of their body pierced, do you?”
He smirks. “I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
“You don’t know shit.” I snap my head to the side, this time failing to hide the rapid rise and fall of my chest. I’m angry for being called out, turned on, and fucking terrified of admitting the truth. He’s wrong about the piercing, but he’s right about everything else.
