Freeing the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 1 (5 page)

“I’m not. But I am curious.”

Becca put the bottle of cloves and apple seeds next to the Bordeaux, stalling for a good lie. At last, she had it. “I need to see the potion’s effect on every part of your body.” She turned. “All right?”

He stared at his groin. “By every part do you mean…”

“Nope. Just your skin.” She hoped.

He sighed in obvious relief and ditched his clothes, tossing them on one of the institutional chairs. Naked, unashamed and exceedingly well hung, he faced her.

The world stopped.

Slabs of firm, hard muscle draped his frame, all golden skin with no trace of a tan line. He swam or sunbathed in the nude and was more gorgeous than any Greek god Becca had read about in her literature classes.

“What now?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“What happens now?”

Not what Becca wanted, that was for sure. “Turn around.”

He frowned. “Why?”

So she’d quit seeing herself on her knees, his glorious shaft in her palms. She’d sniff it first, then his balls, finally his thick thatch of hair, needing to drown in his scent. He’d smell of the outdoors and something masculine. She’d moan. He’d smile, then push to his toes as she licked his wiry curls and tasted his crown, lapping it as she would a scoop of decadent fudge ice cream, savoring the bead of moisture glistening on the small slit. His pre-come. Already excited, he’d go over the moon with her slavish attention, his rod growing longer and harder and…

Becca stifled a needy whimper and continued to lie, “So you don’t see the secret ingredients I’m using.”

“Would I even recognize them?”

“You might.”

“Then they’re normal.”

“Define normal.”

“Oh hey.” He crossed the room. His cock bounced merrily with each step. “You’re not using bird guts, are you?”

Becca forced her attention from his beefy shaft to his face, then shook her head, finally understanding his question. “No. Just herbs and stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Her attention dropped to his cock again. She frowned at her lack of restraint. Her foolish desire. What she’d never have. “Stuff you buy in a regular grocery store. Stuff you’ve eaten. Stuff mortals have eaten. Now, I mean it, dammit. Turn. Around.”

He backed away from her snarl. The padded table stopped him. He rubbed his bumped ass, his birthmark.

Becca finally remembered it, figuring that’s why he hadn’t wanted to turn around. He didn’t want her looking at or making fun of that part of him. She wouldn’t. Though she might lick it a couple of times. “If you refuse to turn around, at least close your eyes.”

He rolled them first, then finally obeyed her on a frustrated huff.

Becca locked her knees to keep from going to him, suckling his prominent Adam’s apple and bristly chin, tonguing his tiny nipples. Beneath his half-moon navel, dark hairs trickled to his groin. More hair dusted his muscular thighs and calves.

She pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from telling him that he put Michelangelo’s statue of David to shame. No artist, however talented, could have adequately captured his male beauty.

He shifted his weight. His rod swung a little to the right then back to the left, like an erotic pendulum. “How long will it take you to mix that stuff?”

All day and night, if Becca had her way, which she didn’t. “Bored already?”

“Nope. You?”

He had to know she was staring at him, lusting after his perfect body, wicked sense of humor and kind heart. Making her number one of the next thousand women who’d want him. Turning away, she muttered, “I’ll be through in no time at all.”

“Just tell me when I can open my eyes.”

A few minutes later, Becca had finished. To keep him from suspecting as much, she moved the bottles around, creating a mild racket as she scoped out his muscular biceps and impressive forearms, counted his abs, noticed the mole on the inside of his left thigh, and the faint freckles on his shoulders.

Becca would have given several years of her life to be able to touch them. Oh hell, she should have at least taken pictures of him with her iPhone. Too late now.

“I’m done,” she said.

Eric started at how close she was. Just a kiss away.

“On the table,” she ordered, patting the buttery leather.

He climbed on. “You know, I’ve had dreams like this.”

“Being treated for your affliction?”

His smile faded. “Being taken advantage of by a woman.”

Against her better judgment, Becca ran her thumbnail up his hairy calf.

He grunted appreciatively.

She whispered, “Being taken advantage of isn’t in your contract.”

His pecs trembled with his heavy sigh. “It should be.”

She lowered her face to hide her grin. “Go on, lie down. I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s okay if you do. I’m kind of liking this.”

He looked like he had other thoughts when she tightened the restraints. Eric squeezed his fists and yanked, trying to break free of the leather.

“Careful,” Becca warned. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“More than you have? I’m trying to keep the circulation going that you cut off. These are restraints not tourniquets. Loosen them up.”

“No. They’re perfect.” She went back to the sink and returned with a champagne flute. “Drink this.”

“That’s the potion?”

“Yep.”

He arched one eyebrow. “You serve it to all your clients in a flute?”

“You’re the first. If you were a were, I’d probably put it in a doggy bowl for you to lap up. A vamp might get it intravenously. Since you don’t seem to like surgery or anything involving pain, I decided to put it in a glass. Go on. Sip.”

Becca cupped the back of his head and lifted it slightly so he could take a drink.

He made a face first, then dipped his tongue into the liquid and smacked his lips. Delight registered on his face. “Not bad. Reminds me of pink lemonade.”

Becca frowned at the glass, then looked over. “Hold on. This is my Crystal Light. Be right back.”

“Aw shit,” he said after tasting the real potion. “What happened to the wine cooler? This crap is worse than dirty socks.”

“No pain, no gain. Go on. Just one more sip.”

He turned his face away. “Why only one?”

“We better take this slow.”

Eric regarded his spread-eagled body, restraints and nudity. “Little late for that, wouldn’t you say?”

“Drink,” she growled and snickered.

“Only for you.” He scrunched his face, took another sip, then heaved air as though he’d just been shocked back to life.

Becca released his head. “Relax.”

“I’m trying. I can’t. Is it working?”

“It’s only been a second. You’re just scared.”

“Oh hey, I’m never—”

He’d stopped abruptly, his eyes widening at something only he could see or feel. Just as quickly, his lids slid down and his head fell to one side.

Becca’s stomach clenched. “Eric?”

Nothing.

Oh holy shit.
“Eric!”

“Becca!” Constance pounded on the door. “Everything okay?”

“You want us to call someone?” Heather cried.

Like who? 9-1-1 for Immortals? “Everything’s fine. Stay out there. Do not unlock the door and come in here.”

“Eric?” Becca shook his shoulders. His fingers flopped as though he were a ragdoll. His legs didn’t move when she ran her nail up them. His cock was fucking flaccid. “Eric, please. Oh crap, wake—”

He laughed. “Had you there, didn’t—ow.”

Becca smacked his shoulder again.

“Damn.” He tried to turn away from her. The restraints stopped him. “That hurts.”

“Baby.”

He met her glare with his own. “When are you going to be nice to me?”

Becca stepped back. Real pain—the emotional kind—along with raw desire flooded his face. Couldn’t be from the potion. It was supposed to release the beast, not tender needs. Ones as great as her own.

Not knowing what to think, Becca went with her gut and ran her fingers through his thick, silky hair. “Sorry.”

He smiled. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He was being too nice. Again. Not that she minded, but he would and might want more than a touch of his beast unleashed. Something that would totally screw him up.

“You didn’t mean anything,” he said. “I get it. Don’t stop.”

Becca brought back her hand. That’s when she noticed. She stared at her palm then his head and gasped.

“What?” He tried to see what she had but couldn’t.
“What?”

Clumps of his hair fell from her fingers. Worse—thicker, darker hair, similar to a gorilla’s, sprouted on his pecs, torso and belly.

That, he saw. “Oh holy fuck.”

Becca pressed her forehead against the door, her iPhone to her ear and tried not to panic. “Mom, this has to be fixable.” She spoke mega-low. “Please tell me it is.”

Behind her, Eric moaned, “Oh fuck. Oh holy fuck.”

Rowena clucked her tongue on the other end of the call. “Is that your Greek god? Does he always talk like that?”

I. Want. To. Die.
Becca spoke through her teeth. “He’s upset, Mom. He has a right to be. His head is bald and the rest of him is…” She couldn’t continue. Thick, shaggy hair was still sprouting from Eric’s ears, his nostrils, the soles of his feet. Every-freaking-where it shouldn’t be. “You said this would work.”

“I said it might. Clearly, him being a god is different than if he was a demon, vampire, or a warlock.”

“You think?”

“Becca, I’m trying to help, all right? No reason to get snotty.”

She wanted to scream. “Tell me what to do. What’s the antidote? Holy shit, there is an antidote, isn’t there?”

“Oh fuck,” Eric moaned.

Rowena scolded, “You two need to clean up your language.”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay. Let me think.”

The minutes crawled by. Eric alternately groaned, growled and swore. Tufts of hair were now sprouting on his palms and elsewhere.

“Mom, his lips and tongue are getting hairy. What are we going to do? Are you still there?”

“Of course I am. I’m thinking.”

“Don’t take too long. We have to get him back to the way he was when he first came in here. He can’t leave looking like this.” She lowered her voice even more. “He can barely speak.”

Gagging sounds poured from him. He swore. The hair muffled it.

“You did have him sign the contract before you gave him anything, didn’t you?” Rowena said.

Becca bounced on her heels. “Why are you asking?”

“Just wanted to be certain, that’s all. Try this.”

“Wait.” Becca grabbed a pen and notepad to write down the potion. “Go on.”

Rowena told her what she needed.

“You’re sure?” Becca asked.

“Relatively.”

Nauseous, Becca scribbled the last ingredient. “Got it. Bye.”

“Okay,” she said to Eric. “Just give me a sec to mix the stuff.”

“You mean another potion from your mom?” He gagged again then spit out a wad of hair. “Isn’t there anyone else you could call?”

“She’s the best.”

He groaned. “What if it kills me? Oh shit. That may be the only way to fix—”

“Stop talking like that. Gods can’t be killed.” As far as Becca knew, which wasn’t much. “You’re going to be fine.” Her hands shook so badly, she dropped two containers and spilled the contents of the third.

Eric thrashed. He cursed. He spit up more hair.

“Here.” She held up his head as she had before. “Only a sip.”

He tried to guzzle it.

“Eric.”

“What more could it do to me?”

Becca tried to picture him as a woman…a tall, muscular, ugly woman…then pushed the image away, praying that wouldn’t happen.

She put the flute aside and held his hand.

He curled his fingers over hers. “Don’t let go. Please.”

“I won’t. I’ll be here until this…”

He winced at her hesitation. “What’s it doing now? Don’t keep it from me. I have to know. No, I don’t want to.”

“It’s okay. Really. You’re back.”

He stared at her, then what he could see of his body. His pecs and torso were all caramel-colored skin again. His palms, the soles of his feet, his lips and tongue as hairless as they’d been before.

He looked upward, straining to see his hair. “What’s happening on my head?”

“You look the same as you did when you came in.”

Eric collapsed and gulped air. “Thank—wait. What about my junk?” He craned his neck to see. “Did anything happen to it? Aw shit, not that.”

“Take it easy. It looks fine.”

“Does it work?” Panic whisked across his face. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“Hang on.” Becca released his hand and moved to his cock. As far as she could see, it looked slightly longer than it had before he’d sipped the potion. “I think it’s bigger.”

He grinned then went deathly pale. “What if it’s bloated because it’s dead?”

“It’s not dead.” Becca ran her fingertips down his shaft. It blossomed faster than a morning glory responding to the first rays of the sun. In seconds, his erection was impressive as all hell. Thick. Hard. Macho-man virile. “It’s definitely okay.”

Becca kept stroking, just to make certain. She inhaled deeply, trembling at his rod’s musky scent.

Eric grunted. A coarse, masculine sound. His toes curled and his fingers fisted. He growled, “Come here.”

She played with his crown, running her fingertip over the satiny skin to the bumpier part in back, then around the tiny slit.

“Becca.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Come. Here.”

This time, his command brooked no argument. It was bad boy through and through. From the effects of the two potions? Her fondling his cock? Becca couldn’t stop. She ran her thumb over his slit again. “What?”

“Now.”

Becca went to him more dutifully than she’d done with any man. He oozed naked lust and intolerable desire. “You feeling okay?”

His nostrils flared slightly. His irises darkened from hazel to deep chocolate brown.

He wasn’t okay. At least the okay he’d been before the last potion. Meaning, nice. Polite. This was the new Eric.

His raw masculine allure transfixed Becca.

“Closer,” he ordered.

She leaned down. Her sigh mingled with his.

“Closer,” he whispered.