Free Disciplining the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 5 by Tina Donahue

on his poker face, his discomfort far too obvious. He didn’t want her in paradise. Who could blame him? Taking her there was no different from a crown prince introducing his druggie girlfriend to his mum, the Queen.
    Rafael lifted his shoulders. “Your place?”
    She hadn’t straightened up before leaving for work, but what the hell, it was either there or a treatment room. “It’s not much.”
    “I don’t mind.”
    He wasn’t putting her on. Not because good angels couldn’t lie, his tender caress and touching expression spoke volumes. They really needed to have a chat. “Do you need directions?”
    “No.” He banked west to her place. “The address is in your file.”
    Right. She’d forgotten he was her PO. Blame it on how he’d dressed tonight and currently nuzzled his colossal rod against her cleft. If she got any wetter, she’d embarrass herself.
    Silly fool. A badass reaper would have given him the cold shoulder at the club, raised hell and then run like mad when he’d tried to take her into custody. She’d caved faster than a pre-teen in the throes of her first serious crush.
    When would she ever learn?
    She rested her face against his neck, her nipples poking his chest.
    His cock got harder than reinforced concrete, maybe even steel. A woman could get hurt from that kind of masculine power.
    She gripped him even tighter.
    They neared her Victorian, a pink-and-white confection with ornate moldings, a widow’s walk, and lacy ironwork balconies. No need to tell him she rented the attic. He already knew and made a perfect descent into her place.
    She didn’t bother to turn on the lights. The moment he touched down, her cheapo lamps flickered wildly from her presence and finally settled, casting the cramped space in a dull yellow glow.
    Rafael’s wings slid inside his back. He turned a slow circle, taking in the discipline straps hanging over her lone chair, one-and-two-headed dildos on her shabby nightstand, crops, whips, manacles, chains, slave collars, masks, and other BDSM stuff scattered throughout the room.
    His cheeks colored but he didn’t glance away or bolt. He focused on the brass bed, her nicest furniture. A lavender-and-black satin comforter bordered with ecru lace covered the king-size mattress.
    She was a romantic at heart. So sue her.
    Before he could comment on the enigma of her soft side and obvious depravity, she pushed the chair into his legs. He dropped into the seat.
    She paced, stepping over her stuff. “You can’t possibly want this.”
    “Would you rather we go to a hotel?”
    “What?”
    “If you don’t want to stay here, we can—”
    “I’m talking about me corrupting you. Did Stefin put you up to this?”
    “Absolutely not. He and the other guys tried to convince me to get rid of you. No freaking way.” Rafael bunched his shoulders, fisted his fingers, and thrust out his bottom lip.
    A little more of this and she’d be in love. “You do realize how wrong our screwing around is, downright depraved, in fact. Once the deed is done, you will have gone where no good angel has before. You are aware of that, right?”
    “I was counting on it and more.”
    She shook his shoulders, hoping to snap him out of this lunacy. “Good God, man, what’s gotten into you?”
    “You.”
    He hauled her onto his lap, legs straddling him, her pussy touching his balls and cock. A rush of heat flowed from him, warming her faster than the depths of Hell. He was beyond hard, his kiss more than wicked, well past the far side of debased.
    Where had he learned this? What did it matter?
    She savored his unparalleled taste, lost in their passion. These last weeks without him had been worse than lonely. The endless hours had been cruel. She’d never expected much from existence except endless reaping, along with a few laughs and some mediocre orgasms.
    Being in his arms went beyond her wildest fantasies. Which this was. Drowning in his lust wouldn’t change reality. He’d been out of her