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

life longer than he’d ever been in it. What they were doing wasn’t worth the trouble or grief.
    She couldn’t let go.
    He cupped her ass, stood with little effort, and strode to the bed. The frame groaned from their combined weight, the mattress shimmied, her breasts popped out of her top. He latched on to one nipple and squeezed the other.
    Too many feelings rose to the surface. Desire, happiness, fear, confusion, sorrow, need. She pushed the bad shit aside and concentrated on the good. This represented a once-in-a-lifetime chance she didn’t want to miss. Paradise couldn’t be better unless he was there with her, smiling, scolding, sharing, loving.
    Impossible. They only had now.
    She tugged his shirt, wanting it off, him nude and inside her.
    He lifted his head, eyes dazed, lips damp. Without comment, he swooped back down and suckled her neck, tickling her.
    She squealed. “Take off your clothes.”
    He panted, his breath warming her throat. “I thought you liked my costume.”
    “I prefer skin. I want to see yours. I want to see everything.”
    His clothes flew in all directions, his boxer briefs landing on her lampshade, his shirt on the floor, its laces torn away, back ripped. He’d also broken his fly during his enthusiastic striptease. On his knees, he faced her.
    Her belly fluttered.
    His tiny nipples were the same color as fine cognac, pecs and abs nothing but hard slabs of bronze muscles. Dark, silky hair peeked from beneath his arms. Male fur trickled in a thin line from beneath his navel to his groin, and his cock jutted from a thatch of thick black curls.
    He was even larger than she’d suspected, simply exquisite, his meaty crown scarlet with passion, pre-come shining dully on the slit. Ropey veins snaked up the thick column. Short, dark hairs dusted his succulent balls. His powerful thighs and calves were wonderfully hairy too. All man.
    He searched her face. “You like?”
    “Are you kidding? You’re drop-dead gorgeous.”
    He smiled self-consciously. “Now you. I want to see every part, nothing hidden.”
    She put out her hand, stopping him from touching her. “Not so fast. You’re not done.”
    He glanced down then over. “I took off my shoes and socks.”
    “You did, but I want to see everything.”
    “What else is there?”
    “Show me your wings, and I’ll show you the way to Hell and back.”
    Laughing, he unfurled the things. Thankfully, her room was wide enough that the tips stopped before touching the walls. She pressed her hands to her chest. “Wow.”
    He flapped them andflexed his cock.
    “Now you’re showing off.”
    “You know me too well.”
    She didn’t know him at all but wanted to, desperately, foolishly.
    He stroked her thigh. “Your turn. Please. I’ve been fantasizing about you for weeks. I tried not to but couldn’t help myself. No, that’s not right. I didn’t want to stop. Thinking about you was the only thing that made my days bearable.”
    All the praise in the world couldn’t have touched her more deeply than his sweet confession. He wasn’t someone who could con to get what he wanted. The truth meant something to him.
    Humbled by his desire, excited too, she tugged off her boots and struggled with her zipper, finally breaking it as he’d done with his. Slowly, she peeled off the leather, suddenly shy that she hadn’t worn underwear.
    She chanced a peek at him.
    Acceptance shone in his eyes, along with enchantment. He beamed.
    She pitched her pantsuit past his wing. The garment landed on her whips.
    He took in her breasts, mound, eyes, mouth, and then journeyed back to her cleft. “I had no idea anyone could be so perfect.”
    “I was aiming for the chair.”
    “You know what I mean.” He gestured from her head to her toes. “Perfect.”
    “No, you’re wrong, I’m not.” Millions had proven that by avoiding her. “I’m a reaper.”
    He smiled. “Oh, yeah.”
    “That’s not good.”
    “You want to debate this and lose, because you