Beauty's Beast Page 9

  Hungry in a way she'd never been before, and not at all happy to have been left hanging, Taren nearly knocked the drink out of his hand trying to get him to put it back between her legs, which was, of course, like trying to lift a felled redwood. Especially, since he apparently had absolutely no intentions of satisfying her – at least not at this moment.

  When she found she couldn't get him to finish what he'd started, she had blatantly defied him and reached for herself, rucking her dress up, her hands at her pussy before he realized what she intended to do – because he really hadn't expected that of her.

  But he was nothing if not a quick learner, yanking her hands away and her over the table that was next to them, pushing her dress up even further than she had and tugging her thong up, rather than down, so that it cut into her tender flesh.

  No more so, though, than his hand thoroughly scourging those lovely globes.

  "Bruce! Bruce! What about the pilot? He'll hear!" she tried not to yell, but didn't succeed very well at it, considering the painful impetus he was applying to her.

  And he didn't bat an eyelash or slow down the fast-paced clip at which he was swatting her in the least as he agreed, "And probably the co-pilot, too."

  So when they sat down at that wonderful dinner, and then again on the chair in front of the slot machine she was now staring at, she had done so quite gingerly, and with the full knowledge – because he had actually shown her once he'd finished spanking her – that she was dripping wet.

  She still hesitated about pulling that arm – or rather, pushing the button, as he'd shown her. None of the new machines even had arms anymore she was surprised to learn.

  "We can sit here all night, lass, although I had thought we might go take in a show."

  Taren turned to him, regretting her impulse immediately as her non-nylon clad bottom stuck to the seat, and the sorry state of her angry red flesh became front and center in her mind again. "Really? What are we going to see?"

  Bruce's eyebrows rose. "Nothing, until you start playing, my girl."

  Huffing agitatedly, she returned her attention to the machine in front of her, giving the 'bet' button an almost angry push.

  She won a hundred dollars, but something else caught her eye – she saw how much it cost to push that button just once.

  "Holy mother of Christ on a cracker, it's five-hundred dollars a pull!"

  He had a mouthful of very good scotch at the time, and she said it so loudly that the entire place was going to think they were posers, which had him very nearly doing a spit take.

  Indeed, a few heads did turn in the direction, not that he cared one bit.

  "Do it again."

  Taren was on the verge of standing up, he knew, but he put his hand on her knee to stop her. "Go on. Do as you're told, wee one. Let me worry about affording it, and, not to be vulgar, but I don't want you worrying about my bank balance. I assure you that I could afford for you to sit there all night and not even notice a dent."

  She wanted to. It was stupid. She shouldn't want to spend so much money on something so stupid, but she loved it. Her eyes went to his, and they had more than a small glint of, 'Obey me,' in them.

  It took her a second, but she got herself to a place where she said, "Fuck it," and pushed the button. A bell went off and loud sound effects played, and the screen said she had won a thousand dollars.

  With that, he grabbed her hand and guided her out, tucking hers into his elbow. "See? We ended up on the plus side by a hundred."

  "Yeah, but…" she shuddered delicately, and he tugged her closer to his side.

  He escorted her to a limo, and for the entire ride, she sat on his lap.

  "Where are we going?"

  He smiled up at her brightly. "Well, I know how much you love music, and so do I, although we have convergent and divergent tastes, I thought you might like to see the Beatles Love show, by Cirque du Soleil."

  She didn't know much about it, but if it was Beatles-oriented, she was in.

  Chapter Eight

  A week and a half later, Bruce was nearing the end of his time with them, and everyone on the Circle Star Ranch thought he had done an amazing job. He now rode like a centaur, could rope a calf, understood the logistics involved in planning and executing a successful roundup, shot, spit and cussed with the best of them – if the last in a varyingly heavy brogue.

  Taren was waiting for him in her office. He wasn't due for another fifteen minutes, but she was compulsively early, and she had some crap to work on anyway before he got there.

  As she did so, though, her mind wandered back to their time in Vegas.

  She hadn't really had any expectations about the trip at all – since it had been a complete surprise to her – but she knew that it hadn't really turned out exactly the way Bruce had wanted it to, either. Though, although she guessed it was best that what took place happened early in their nascent relationship – such as it was – rather than later.

  The show was wonderful. It reminded her why she adored the Beatles' music so much, and she had been euphoric when they'd left. But their limo wasn't at the private exit, and they'd had to walk all the way around to the front, where there were throngs of fans and photographers that closed in around them and blocked them from coming back the way they'd come.

  To his credit, Bruce kept her behind him, cautioning her in a no-nonsense tone to stay there and close to him. As soon as they were seen, they were pretty well surrounded, and then – above the calls of "Bruce", which sounded almost like "boos" – Taren began to hear things she'd heard almost all her life – but things she would have given anything not to have Bruce hear.

  "Look at her face!"

  "Damn, she ugly!"

  "What happened to her face?"

  And the one she had thought herself enough times: "What's he doing with her?"

  The things people felt were perfectly all right to say, right in front of her, appalled Bruce. He had always had a very good rapport with his fans, and he knew that doing what he intended was going to cause a stir, but there was no way that he wasn't going to defend his lady. They could go back inside if they had to, but he wasn't much for running away from problems. He'd much rather stand his ground and deal with them.

  He raised his hand and asked for quiet from the crowd. Taren, who was doing her best to hide her face against his broad back so as not to cause him any further embarrassment, was amazed to realize that there was almost instant silence, even amongst the professional photographers, who continued snapping pictures, but left off incessantly calling his name as they had been.

  "I will stay and sign as many autographs and take selfies with you until my limo arrives, but I ask you to respect the privacy of the lady that is with me. I know you can see that she has a mark on her cheek, which she bears as a result of an act of selfless heroism she performed as a child. I know you all will treat her with kindness and respect, as she is very special to me."

  Bruce reached around behind her and, although he practically had to force her to do it, he brought her around to stand at his side, although she stared at the ground the entire time, and he could feel her shaking against him.

  Their driver – who had been caught in traffic, and who was also his bodyguard – bullied his way through the crowd to stand next to him and say, "Sorry, Boss."

  He was almost bigger than Bruce was, and it was strange to hear such a big man sound so contrite, but he most definitely was.

  "No worries, James. But your job in this situation is to ensure Miss Cavanaugh's safety," he said quietly, under his breath, then much louder, "I have the best fans in the world, and I've enjoyed spending this time chatting with you. I have to leave now. My lady and I wish you all a pleasant evening."

  As Bruce instructed, James concentrated on protecting Taren, but there were no further incidents. If anything, if his fans reached out to touch her, it was to pat her on the back or touch her arm, surprisingly gently.

  When they were finally, safely ensconced in th
e limo, he pulled her onto his lap, but she simply lay there, stiffly, in his arms.

  "I'm sorry that happened, lass. My fans are generally of the very good sort."

  "I'm glad it happened."

  He was stunned at her statement and concerned by the carefully neutral manner in which it was spoken.

  "Glad?"

  She struggled to get away from him, but he refused to let her go, so she went back to sitting there, obviously uncomfortable, on his lap.

  "Yes, you'd be quite surprised at how often people make remarks like that to me – not people who know me or who live in the surrounding small towns much – most of them know what happened, but when I go into Albuquerque. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to go into the airport that day to pick you up? How many people stared at me then and stare at me every day? I'd almost rather they came over and said something – even something unkind – rather than just staring at me like I'm some freak."

  "Taren, my darling…"

  "Stop. Just stop that, right now. I was right in the first place, you know? Even if you're not willing to admit it – your fans and I am. You don't belong with me."

  His arms closed around her, whether she wanted them to or not. "I will never, ever admit that, and I certainly will never, ever think it. You do belong with me. You belong by my side on the red carpet…"

  She put her palms flat on his chest and pushed, but got nowhere

  "You belong in the audience with me when I accept my first Oscar, you belong under my arm while we're walking down the streets of London or New York or Paris..."

  She was sobbing silently, and he thought his heart would dissolve at the sight of it. "But most of all, you belong beneath me, with my cock inside you, my lips on your nipples, trying to catch your breath as I surge into you."

  "No! Stop saying that!" She used all her strength to lean back away from him and look him in the eye. "None of what they said to me today – what anyone says to me – is wrong. They're not wrong. I am ugly. But you don't need to be with a woman who's at best a…" she knew if she said the word she was thinking about that she was going to find herself getting spanked again. "A curiosity."

  He cupped her scarred cheek and met her eyes. "I thought we'd already talked about the fact that no one tells me who to date. Not my agent, not the studios, not my fans...and not even you." Bruce sighed. "I can hardly deny it – I've dated a lot of gorgeous women. But I haven't married any of them. Not a one. I haven't kidnapped any of them to Vegas. I haven't given any of them free reign to spend my money in one of the most expensive cities in the universe. I haven't attended a hoe-down in a kilt because I was hoping to get a dance with them, I haven't gotten myself up every morning – after only about four hours of sleep – to spent a few stolen moments alone with them in a kitchen..." He knew it was now or never. He knew that she was seconds away from asking him to take her home, and he couldn't have that. It was past time for him to put his cards on the table. "I haven't fallen in love with any of them, but I'm afraid I've most definitely fallen in love with you, Taren Cavanaugh."

  Her hands came up to cover her face as she sobbed into them. "Fuck me. Don't say that. Please, please don't say that."

  Bruce reached out and tugged her hands forcibly away from her face. "I said it. I'll never take it back. I love you, and God knows I want you every second of every hour of every day. If you'll have me, I can't promise I'll ever let you see the light of day much – we'll travel a lot, but the only view you'll see will be the insides of nice hotel bedrooms – or that you'll be able to walk very well, but you'll always have a smile on your face."

  Taren crumpled in on herself at his words, not even trying to get away from him anymore, leaning her face into his chest. "You can't love me," she whispered.

  "Stop telling me what to do, lass." His hand cupped her behind threateningly.

  The car stopped at that moment, and she went to move off his lap, but instead, when the door opened, he exited the limo with her in his arms. They were at another private entrance, so there were no photographers or fans around.

  "Take me home, Bruce." Her actions belied her words, though, as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck.

  He sighed. "Are you not listening to me, wee one? I'll not be taking orders from you. It's the other way 'round, entirely. And you're coming up to our room with me, so that I can finish pampering you silly. There's no need for us to talk about any of it any more. I'm sorry it happened in some ways, but less so in others." He stood in the elevator, Taren still held tight in his arms, not showing any signs that he was bearing any kind of extra burden whatsoever.

  Bruce didn't set her down until they were in their gigantic suite. He could have gotten a bigger, more expensive one, but he'd been here before, and he knew what these rooms looked like – they were quite femininely appointed, with lots of roses in pinks and blues with cream accents – and he thought she might like this better than the more sterile but somewhat better appointed rooms.

  Besides, he couldn't see them bowling in the middle of the night in their own private alley.

  As soon as her feet touched the floor, he assumed the improbable role of ladies' maid, holding her to him, but divesting her of her clothing at the same time.

  "Bruce, we shouldn't," she whispered, doing her best to interfere with what his hands were doing.

  But her efforts only earned her a very hard swat to a bottom that had already been spanked once, so when his hand connected with her, she yelped rather loudly.

  "That will teach you not to say patently ridiculous things, Taren," he scolded sternly. "And if it doesn't…" He reached down and touched his leather belt.

  "Please, Bruce, I…"

  Damn it, that was when he started kissing her. And she had no resistance to him at all when he did that – as he knew all too well, those big hands coming up to cup her cheeks and hold her still as his tongue plundered boldly, his lips nibbling hers just shy of biting but tugging a bit and suckling eagerly at hers.

  "Bruce…" she started again when his mouth lifted from hers, but it descended again as soon as she spoke, his hands making quick work of her clothes, leaving her standing before him completely bare.

  And when those lips left hers again, she opened her mouth, but as he bent his head to tug deliciously at a nipple, all she could get out was a long, low groan.

  "That's more like it, woman. That's what I want to hear from you."

  And he did – more often than not.

  He'd been teasing her all night, but he wasn't in any hurry to satisfy her immediately now, either, stretching her out on the big bed and loving every bit of her with his mouth – some parts more than others, until she was mindless from it, every part of her having been touched and explored and licked and sucked and flicked.

  She knew she wasn't alone in her desire, and she didn't know how he was possibly managing to hold out this long. Taren was just about to do her level best to push him down onto his back and mount him herself when he tugged her over his lap on her tummy.

  She knew where this was going to lead and tried to ward it off, but she was beginning to get the idea that she was never going to be able to accomplish that, no matter how hard she tried. And she was right.

  He kept her right where he wanted her with depressing ease, one hand on her bottom – threateningly, which was already the most common way she thought of his hand being anywhere near there – and the other reaching beneath her, coaxing her legs gently apart.

  "Bruce – you're not going to…"

  And then his fingers slid between swollen lips and over her, and all thoughts that didn't have to do with where his fingers were left her mind. As long as he continued to touch her there, she didn't much care what else he did.

  His big paw came down on her previously tenderized butt and she cried out – but his fingers were there to ease the pain considerably.

  He kept her balanced there, on the edge of oblivion, for an interminable amount of time, redde
ning her behind at least as badly as he ever had. And yet she was sighing and moaning and he had yet to see a tear from her – and he would chock it up to sheer frustration more so than anything else if he did see one.

  Although he knew her bottom must be very sore.

  "Would you like to cum, Taren, my girl?" he asked.

  She would have given him such a dirty look in any other situation, but considering that she dearly hoped that he was going to be the author of her release, she didn't want to do anything that might screw that up. So she simply groaned, "Yes, please, please!"

  "Anything you say, my love."

  He turned her onto her back and dove between her legs, and as she looked down at him, Taren realized that he was still fully dressed. With his long black hair and traditional dress, she could totally see him as her wild Highlander lover.

  As her wild Highlander love.

  She very nearly came off the bed when he surrounded her with his mouth, and when she finally relaxed back down, she panted, "Not long. Not long!" almost apologetically.

  "Whenever you need to, lass, you cum," he said, his voice rough and hoarse with his own desire. "I'll love nothing better than to feel you fly apart against my mouth."

  And when he reached up to pinch each nipple with his strong fingers, that was her undoing, and she screamed.

  She stifled it immediately with a hand over her mouth, but he pried it away, saying one word, which was the other reason for taking this suite. "Soundproofed."

  Just the very idea that he could make her scream uncontrollably like that had him rubbing himself against his kilt, and, when she was completely finished, several other equally loud, rowdy climaxes later, he crawled up her and positioned himself between her legs. "Now you get to find out what a real Scotsman wears beneath his kilt, lass."

  And the answer was, as he sank himself within her, nothing.

  She writhed and moaned and bucked up against him even before he began to move, so much so, that he really didn't need to do much. She drew it almost forcibly out of him with her wild actions, arching up and flicking his nipples with her tongue set him off less than a minute after he'd mounted her.