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

Michael doesn’t appreciate me telling him that his hair is beautiful. I can tell by the way he grunts. I’ve wanted to trim his hair and beard forever, selfishly wanting to see more of his face and those lips of his that feel so amazing when he kisses me. I want to be able to see if he smiles, if he frowns, or if he bites his lip. I’ve even dreamed of it, not that I would tell him that.

I’m trying to concentrate on cutting his hair and not how incredibly awkward it feels to be in nothing but shorts and a bra, with my pregnant stomach in front of his face. I’ve already trimmed his hair a lot, although if I’m honest I hurt every time, just because with hair this beautiful it seems like a sin to watch it fall away. The upside is I can see more of his face. I thought he was handsome before. I was wrong. He’s beautiful. Completely and utterly beautiful.

He has these strong angles on his face that are completely masculine and even a little harsh. His forehead is wide, manly, and there’s this little scar on it the size of a pea. Along the left side of his face the scars clearly cover a larger area than I suspected, because of the way he always had his hair covering that side. They’re grim against his soft skin. On one end, they disappear into his beard, and the other they rise above his cheeks and then fade into the hair at his temple. I feel his tension increase as I softly touch them, following their lines.

For once, I don’t have to guess at his thoughts. I know because I’ve experienced them. I keep my scars hidden, at least the outside ones. Is that why he kept his hair so long? His beard unkempt? Does he think they are as ghastly as I think mine are? Mine are nothing in comparison to his, but the ugliness behind mine taints everything. I can feel his body grow tighter just from the soft glide of my finger against his face. Before he can pull away completely, I find myself bending down to place a kiss along the scar, right at the top. His hands come up and grasp my hips. Their hold is painful from his fingers biting into my flesh.

Before I can question myself, I leave another kiss, followed by another one. Kissing along the jagged line they trail. I feel his body shudder and instead of pushing me away he pulls me. I quickly adjust so that I’m straddling his lap when he sits me down. His forehead presses against mine and I can’t stop my eyes from closing.

“You’re killing me,” he says, in that gruff voice that vibrates so deep I can feel it in my center.

If I wasn’t already wet, that would more than do it. As it is, my breaths are labored as if I’ve been walking for miles, not merely being held by Michael. The scissors fall to the ground. I hear them drop against the old plank flooring. I’m glad because now I can bury my fingers in his hair. I feel his hands shove up my legs, underneath the fabric of my shorts. I have panties on, but he has to feel the way his touch makes me quake, and God I’m so hot. When he touches me, I feel like I’m on fire.

“Michael,” I whimper, not sure what to do.

Michael doesn’t have that problem. He reaches up and pushes my bra out of the way. Freeing only one of my breasts, the other remaining in the twisted fabric. Cool air hits my nipple, and I moan as a second later his mouth captures it, greedily sucking it into his mouth. He keeps his mouth there, sucking and pressing the nipple to the roof of his mouth, then teasing it with his tongue. At the same time his hand comes back down. He moves to my hips where he pulls me in closer and grinds me against his hard erection.

Sometime last night he changed from his jeans into cotton jogging pants. I liked them. I appreciated them. They hung low on his hips and he totally rocked them. He was mouthwatering and very warm when he snuggled against me. Right now, I appreciate them for a completely different reason. They’re soft and stretchy over the rigid outline of his hard cock, allowing it to press against my center at just the right angle. It pushes against my pussy hitting my clit when he pulls me down. My body trembles as desire shoots through me.

“Ride me, Hayden. Ride me,” he urges around my breast, before his hands palm my ass and his fingers bite into my skin. “Fuck baby, ride me.”





63





Beast





I look up and watch Hayden’s face as she curled over the top of me. Her head is thrown back, her eyes are closed and her body is alive with pleasure. Pleasure I’m giving her. Pleasure she’s getting just from riding against the hard ridge of my cock. I should stop this. It’s madness for a lot of reasons, most importantly, if it keeps up I’m going to come in my damn pants like a horny kid watching his first porno. The problem is, this isn’t some damn movie. This is Hayden and she’s beautiful. Even through our clothes I can feel the heat of her pussy, I feel the way she greedily moves so my cock pushes against her in all the right places, and I don’t want her to stop. I want her to come. Just. Like. This. Using me to get what she wants. I want to give her exactly what her sweet pussy wants—pleasure. Pleasure only I can give her.

“Michael,” she gasps, sounding desperate.

“I’m right here,” I growl, feeling heat run up my back. It’s been so long I’ve almost forgotten the feeling, but I know I’m getting ready to come. Fuck.

“I need,” she cries brokenly, her body riding me harder and faster, but I can tell she’s not there. Her body is searching too desperately for something…

“Tell me what you need, Beauty. Tell me and I’ll give it to you,” I vow, knowing in this moment I’d move heaven or earth to give her whatever she asks for.

“More,” she sobs, frantically. "I can’t get…Michael,” she ends in a whimper, sounding unsure. I’m torn listening to her. I know what she needs-what we both do. I don’t know why I’m denying myself really. I want inside of her so much I can taste it. I’ve resisted because I don’t know what her history is, but there’s something there. I thought she might have been abused. The panic attacks indicate that, and yet her response to me is completely different. It’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery. The mystery being why, when nothing else has for seven years, Hayden makes me…want. “Michael,” she calls again, bringing my attention back to her. I react on instinct.

I wrap my hand into her long hair and pull her head down to me. My hold is tight, and I know it brings a slice of pain to her from the way she cries. I should be gentle with her, but I’m not gentle. I’ve never been that way much, and I really don’t have it in me now. I bring my hand to the breast I’ve uncovered, capturing the swollen nipple and pinching it with my fingers. She jerks, but the grip I have on her hair keeps her from moving too far.

“You’re going to come for me, Beauty,” I growl into her ear, letting my teeth clamp down on the lobe, and my tongue slip along the shell. “You’re going to ride my cock and make us both come.”