Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

What did I just do? That’s the question that keeps echoing through my mind. I can’t believe I let Michael do that…I can’t even describe what that is, because the memory serves to make me wetter. Even after a mind blowing orgasm, where Michael only touched me with his fingers, I’m still wet. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing.

“Stop it,” his rough voice demands, and I jerk my head back up to look at him. He turns me around and I let him, because quite honestly, I can’t control my own legs at this point.

“What?” I ask him, trying to escape his eyes. That doesn’t work when his hand comes up against the side of my neck and he angles me to look up at him, refusing to let me avoid him.

“Do not overthink what we just did,” Michael says, and I take a deep steadying breath.

“My past—”

“We’ll talk about it, and you’ll tell me. But I could give a flying fuck about Blade and his damn trained monkeys.”

“But—”

“No buts, I’m a grown man. I do whatever the fuck I want, and trust me when I tell you, Hayden, that right now. I. Want. You.”

“I’m pregnant,” I remind him, as if he could have forgotten.

In response, his hand comes to mine and he grabs it, pulling it to the soft cotton material of his sweats. He presses our hands against the obvious outline of his cock.

“Does it feel like that bothers me at all, Hayden?” he asks, and the intense desire apparent on his face and the vibrating of his voice combine to rock my body with need. My nipples harden, and I wish I had done more than just put my bra back in place earlier. His dark gaze drops down, and I know he can see the evidence of my excitement. I’m pretty sure he’s got a smile hiding behind that beard.

“We really need to trim that jungle you’ve got going on.”

“You keep bringing that up,” he mumbles, raking his hands through his hair and reaching over to finally turn off the shower I had left running. It’s probably completely cold now. I was hoping for a hot shower.

“I like seeing your face,” I tell him and even to my own ears I sound defensive.

“You’ve seen some of the scars,” he growls, and he turns away from me to walk to the door. I shouldn’t have pushed him. I regret it, but something about what he says bothers me.

“Do scars bother you?”

“Scars are nothing,” he says and his voice is monotone. His back is to me, so I can’t tell, but I get the impression that he’s lost in his own thoughts.

“It was only a suggestion. I just find myself wishing I could see your lips easier and maybe…”

“Maybe?" he asks, finally looking over his shoulder at me.

“It’d be nice to see more of your face. To be able to touch it,” she shrugs. “Scars don’t bother me, Michael. I’d be the last person to ever be bothered by someone’s scars.”

“Are you hungry?” he asks, and I’m definitely taking that to mean he’s done with this conversation.

“I could eat. I should definitely try to make sure Maggie gets some breakfast,” I try to joke, though it feels a little weird talking about her, considering I’m half-naked.

“Then finish cleaning up, and I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Michael says, and he turns to grab my upper arms. Then, he brings his head down and puts a kiss on the top of my head before walking out of the room.

I sit down on the toilet, ignoring the way the cold porcelain feels, and bow my head, letting it fall down on my arms, as I think about everything that has happened since I got out of bed. I’m thinking I could be in deep trouble here.

I just have no idea what to do about it.





60





Hayden





“What’s that smell?” I ask, curling my nose when I stop by the kitchen door. It reminds me of burnt plastic. Michael turns around and looks at me, his eyes rake over me and cause a shiver to run through me. I can’t be sure, but the heated look on his face tells me he likes what he sees. I’ve never felt beautiful in my life. Not once, but Michael could make me believe it when he stares at me like that. How can he look at me like he could eat me alive? I’m not beautiful. I’ve never been. I’m plain…and I’m pregnant. How could he ever want me? It’s unreal. Yet, he did want me. What he did to me…the feel of him…his reactions…those were real…Weren’t they?

“I’m scrambling eggs,” he says, and I can tell by the way his skin wrinkles around his nose that he’s smiling.

“You don’t cook much, do you?” I ask him, walking over to the stove. The aroma from the eggs is worse close up. I look down at the skillet.

“I made soup for you,” he says, stirring the wooden spoon through the eggs again.

“Michael, I don’t think eggs are supposed to be brown,” I tell him. They’re like a brown congealed mess, and I know I see a couple shells mixed in there. “Go sit down, and I’ll make breakfast,” I tell him, reaching for the spoon.

“Anyone can make eggs,” he grumbles.

“Those shells and that smell seems to argue with that. Now hand over the spoon. Our stomachs demand it.” Michael looks at me and heat coming from him makes my stomach twist in knots, and I can feel tingles of electricity shoot through my body. My thighs grow sticky wet, and I feel my body throb with need—all with just one look. Without warning he bends down and gives me a kiss. It’s over before I can really respond, but I find my body leaning towards him as he pulls away. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to cook for you. You wouldn’t let me, so I found something else I wanted and took it,” he says with a shrug, handing the spoon over.

“Do I get to take what I want next?” I ask him bravely. Shock reads on his face for a minute, his eyes go heated.

“What do you want?”

“Let me trim your hair and beard,” I tell him without even blinking.

He rakes his hand through his hair and down his neck, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I want to see your face…I want…”

“What?” he asks, when I break off because I feel the embarrassing heat creep up my face.

“I want to be able to touch your lips and…”

“And?”

“Kiss them without having to search for them,” I finish lamely, staring at his hand instead of his face.

Which is apparently what he doesn’t want, because he puts his fingers under my chin and pulls my face up to look at him. “You can kiss me now,” he tells me, and the vibration in his voice feels like it slides against my bare skin.

“I want to see more of you, to touch more of you.” I see the indecision on his face. I know I’m pushing it, and I couldn’t explain why—not really. It feels like he uses it to hide from me, though and I don’t want that. I want…to see him as he doesn’t allow others to.

“After breakfast,” he says, and pleasure hits me like an explosion.

“You mean it?”

“Just a trim,” he grumbles, moving to the table and sitting down. “That’s all,” he warns, grumpily.

“I’ll take it,” I tell him, feeling like dancing and giggling.

In response, Michael shakes his head like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have—but it feels good.





61





Beast