Holy shit, he’s right. She does want this.
“Told you.” His attention is all on me now. “Tell me what you see, Gaeton,” he repeats.
Between one breath and the next, I decide to embrace this. Fuck it. I’m going to regret it, but the temptation of having Isabelle on my cock—in my bed—is too strong to turn away from. I lean back, intentionally adopting a relaxed sprawling pose. “It’s dim as fuck in here. I can’t see shit.”
“Unacceptable.” He shakes his head. “Can’t have her hiding from us.”
My mouth practically waters with anticipation. “She came in here wearing that little tease of a dress and flashing her pussy. Seems she doesn’t want to hide.”
“I’m inclined to agree.” Beast leverages Isabelle to her feet. He keeps one hand in her hair, steering her a few steps toward me, close enough to touch. “Best send a message then.”
At that, the hazy lust in her eyes clears. “Don’t you dare. This dress is brand new.”
I hold her gaze and rip the fucking dress in half. Her body jerks with the movement, but she can only shift so far, because Beast holds her mostly immobile. I pull the straps down her arms and let the ruined fabric flutter to the ground. She stands there in heels and nothing else and, fuck, but Isabelle Belmonte does things for me.
She’s built solid, the kind of body that fills out a person’s hands. The kind of body that can take a rough fucking, though in the past I would have fallen on a literal sword before I let myself off the leash enough to indulge in dirty play with this woman. She’s too good for that, too good for me.
I know better than to scene angry. It’s a recipe for disaster. But I am fucking furious. I sit back and give myself a moment to study the way her light-brown skin has gone dusky with desire, her brown nipples pebbled and her body shaking. “When I finger your pussy, am I going to find you wet, Isabelle?”
“I don’t—” She cries out when Beast gives her hair another pull. “Yes.”
As pissed as I am, as light as this is compared to some of the shit I’ve seen—some of the shit I’ve done—in the Underworld … “Isabelle, tell me your safe word.”
“Candlestick,” she gasps.
“You say that word, this stops.” I glance at Beast and find him watching me closely. “It doesn’t mean the bargain stops, so don’t be a fucking hero. On the other hand, if you lie to us, this whole thing is off. Not using your safe word when you need to is a fucking lie. Do you understand?”
Her mouth moves, those prettily painted red lips gasping for whatever words it will take to ensure we don’t back out of this deal. She learned from the best, after all, and she’s heavily invested in seeing this through, no matter what it takes. Finally, she whimpers, “Yes, I understand. I won’t lie.” She shivers, goose bumps rising over her skin in a wave. “I’ll use my safe word if I need it.”
It’s enough. It has to be enough. BDSM only works if there’s a measure of trust involved, and if I don’t trust her to use her safe word, then I have no business being in this room.
I’d rather cut my cock off than walk out that door.
Beast shifts her closer yet. “Now that we have that out of the way, It’s been a year since you had your hands on her, Gaeton. Since either of us did.”
The reminder makes me thin my lips; that we were both arrogant enough to date her at the same time. That I put my heart in her hands, foolish enough to think I’d ever be enough for her, that if we just dated long enough, she’d choose me, love me enough not to need him. I know he’s riling me up. I know he’s playing us both. But I have a naked, quivering Isabelle nearly in my lap. I’m seeing this through to the end.
I give a low laugh. “Better give her a thorough examination, then.” A humiliating play, examining her like she’s an animal instead of a person, but that’s the intention. Isabelle has enough pride to fuel an army. It’s part of what drew me to her in the first place, how fucking untouchable she was, standing there next to her father, perfect and above us all. I just want to carve off a little piece of that pride and get her off in the bargain.
Beast nods and hauls her back, guiding her to resume her place on the floor. “Clasp your arms behind your back. Yes, like that. Now spread your legs. Wider, princess. You can’t expect him to see properly if you’re playing the shy innocent.”
She obeys, each move jerky as if she’s fighting herself to do it. Torn between obedience and wanting to tell us where to shove our games.