The Beast (Wicked Villains #4) - Katee Robert Page 0,44
she doesn’t like it, but finally sighs. “Fine.” Isabelle looks out the window across from the couch, and I allow her that space because it means I get the answer I’m looking for. “Gaeton’s kind of hit it on the head with the dirty little slut thing. I want to be … wicked, I guess? The idea of being put on display where anyone could have me, or of walking into a bar and fucking the first person who offers to buy me a drink. I get off to those two fantasies a lot.”
Fuck.
If that’s the kind of thing that gets her off—and every piece of evidence I’ve collected for the last twenty-four hours suggests it is—Gaeton and I did her a serious disservice when we were dating. We did ourselves a serious disservice, too.
I touch her chin, the barest pressure to bring her face back to look at us. “Just men?”
She blushes a little. “No, not just men. I said the first person who offers me a drink, and I meant it.”
I glance at Gaeton, and the look on his face mirrors the determination filtering through me. Before our time with her is up, we’re going to ensure we play out both of these fantasies for her. Safely, because a whole hell of a lot can go wrong with the latter. I twist a lock of her hair around my finger. “It’s not enough to fuck a stranger, though, is it? You want to be wicked, you want to be caught. Punished. Told what a dirty little slut you are.”
She licks her lips. “Yes.”
Oh yeah, we can work with this. I give her hair a little tug and release her. “Gaeton, you’re up.”
This should be easy for us. We both play in the Underworld on the regular, and that place has a way of bringing any fantasy a person can dream up to life. Still, there’s nothing simple about this kind of honesty, and I don’t blame him for taking his time answering.
Gaeton finally huffs out a breath. “Fuck, fine. You know those parties your father used to throw all the time?”
She tenses, and I can’t help doing the same. For a minute there, I’d almost forgotten that he was gone. Another person I care about, dead and buried, a loss in the war with death that none of us will ever win. Isabelle clears her throat. “Yes, though Cordelia was the one organizing them.”
“I want you to wear one of those short little numbers, the ones that are just shy of being proper, with no panties under it.” He holds her gaze as he speaks, his expression so intense, it steals my breath. “And halfway through, I want to fuck you in that side room off the ballroom, the one where everyone hangs out at the end of the night. I want to fuck you until I have to cover your mouth to keep you quiet so no one hears you coming only a few feet from the party, and then I want you to walk back out there and make small talk while filled up with my come.” He barely waits a beat. “And then I want to do it again, and again, until we’re caught for real, until someone walks in to find me fucking the pure princess the rough and dirty way you crave.”
“Oh.”
It’s not exactly a mundane fantasy, not with the implications of what enacting it would mean, but the answer still surprises me a little. “How long have you been holding on to that one?”
He transfers his gaze to me. “Since the first time I saw her.”
I stroke my hand over her hip, aware of the way his fingers play over her legs. “The entire time you were having polite missionary sex with her, you were thinking about defiling her where everyone could see.”
“Yeah.” He gives a rough laugh. “No one could say she’s anything but mine if they caught us like that.”
Mine, not ours.
It’s fine. I have time to bring Gaeton over to my way of thinking. I sit back and give myself five seconds to imagine telling them exactly what I want.
Once, about a year into us dating, I had shown up unexpectedly to Isabelle’s room to see her. Halfway through opening the door, I realized she wasn’t alone. If I was a better person, I would have left then, but I opened the door a little more so I could see her bed. Where she was riding Gaeton’s cock. I