The Lycan Kingpin's Captive: A Baby For The Beast

Beta's Runaway Bride: 11 - Maxim

My body feels like it's been put through a fucking meat grinder. Every inch of my skin is like it’s on fire

and when I breathe, it feels like I’m gargling vodka. Flashes of memory appear in my peripheral vision

and I vaguely recall getting home, but that’s about it.

I open my eyes and groan at the harsh sunlight streaming into the room, and it’s only when my eyes

adjust that I realize I’m back in my bedroom. I lift my hand to shield my eyes from the light, but it feels

like my arm is being held down.

Sweet jasmine and lavender.

Turning my head to the left, my eyes widen when I see Xiomara on the floor with her hand on my arm

and her head resting against the mattress. It’s like she fell asleep right here, but why would she? Not

only that but her hands are bloodied, almost as if…

I look down at my body only to see the bandages and when I lift the covers; I notice that I am naked. All

the silver shrapnel and bullets have been removed from my flesh and my body cleaned up.

Xiomara tended to me. This can be the only reason she’s here passed out on the floor.

I turn on my side with every nerve ending flaring up, screaming out in pain at the movement. Those

fuckers got me good, but I can tell I’ve been healing with the silver removed and wolfsbane burnt from

my bloodstream.

Drawing my hand to her face, I stroke her hair and the ghost of a smile teases my lips. Gods, I’ve

missed this firecracker of a woman. How did she manage to burrow herself so deeply into my heart?

“Xiomara,” I murmur in a hoarse tone, my throat feeling dry as hell. “Hey, wake up, Bambi.”

She lets out the cutest groan and her eyes flutter open and shut again; but as soon as she peers up at

me, her head whips up and her mouth falls open.

“Maxim!” she exclaims, moving away from the bed. Her cheeks redden when our eyes meet, and it

makes her morning face look even lovelier. “How are you feeling? I apologize, I didn’t mean to fall

asleep here.”

I shake my head and offer her a smile. “Did you tend to me last night?” She’s still covered in my dried

blood, which tells me she must have simply passed out after removing the shrapnel and bullets,

cleaning my wounds, and stitching me up.

But she could also have helped someone else clean me up and somehow, I don’t like the sound of that.

Biting her bottom lip, she nods. “I did. You were passed out on the living room floor and broke a glass

coffee table on your way up here. I found you there and brought you up to your bedroom,” she says,

but why is she nervous?

“I… I hope you don’t mind… I had to cut all your clothing away to remove the silver and bullets.”

Oh… She’s apologizing because she saw me naked?

I shake my head and swing my legs over the bed and she rushes to her feet to help me because I let

out a struggling groan. Fuck, this is more difficult than I thought it would be. She places a hand on my

shoulder and I sigh, my body screaming out in pain.

“Thank you,” I say, doubling over and struggling to breathe. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Xiomara;

you saved my life.”

At this, she jerks her hand back and I look up at her, noticing she’s still blushing. I never would have

thought a strong woman like her could blush this much, but I find it endearing.

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” she murmurs. “You could have died and I…”

Why is she struggling to speak like this? In the short time I’ve known her, she always speaks her mind

and yet now she’s babbling. Wait, could she be nervous right now? My sense of smell is messed up

because of the wolfsbane burning my sinuses, so I can’t tell.

“Hey,” I say, placing my hand on her thigh. “It’s okay. I’m grateful that you tended to my wounds last

night when you could have just left me for dead. So again, thank you.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “Left you for dead? We might have our differences, Maxim, but I could never

have just left you there to die,” she says with a sigh. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

Oh, I never answered that question when she asked me earlier.

“I can feel myself slowly healing, but I do need to clean up,” I say, getting to my feet but swaying.

“Fuck.”

Okay, shit; this is going to be more difficult than I thought. I need to use the bathroom desperately and

then shower, but at this rate, I may be too weak to do it all myself.

“Let me help you,” she says and my head snaps to her so fast that I see white spots dancing in my

eyes. “Well, to clean you up. I can help you in the shower if you’d like?”

In normal circumstances, my cock would have twitched at that suggestion, but right now I feel way too

thankful for the help she wants to offer me. No Beta wants to go out slipping on the shower floor and

hitting his head on the wall.

“If you’re comfortable with it?” I say. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re forced to help me-”

“I want to help you, Maxim,” she interjects, slowly rising to her feet and holding her hand out for me. “I’ll

leave you in the bathroom to do your business, but as soon as you’re done, call me and I’ll help you

clean up. Is that okay?”

A small smile creases on my face, and I slowly nod. “Thank you,” I say for the tenth time and get to my

feet.

She leads me over to the bathroom with my naked body seemingly having no effect on her and leaves

me for a few minutes while my bladder screams in relief. After I flush, I slowly walk over to the sink to

wash my hands, then I call Xiomara to let her know I am done.

Looking sheepish as she pokes her head through the door, she saunters over to my large shower

space and regulates the water. She beckons me over, then she removes the bandages and gauze from

my body, sucking in a breath when she sees the half-healed wounds.

Thankfully, there’s no shower door, so getting in will be easy.

The second the water hits my skin, I sigh in relief. The temperature is perfect and I’m about to thank

Xiomara when I feel her hand on my back. I slowly turn to face her and my eyes widen when I see her

naked body in front of me.

She’s perfection personified; a full body, curvy hips, and a delicious little stomach pouch above her

pussy. I would do anything to sink into her, but it feels like that link to my cock is partially severed

because of the pain.

Grabbing a loofah and from the smell of it, medicinal shower gel, she lathers it up and starts to wash

me down. This is the most intimate I have ever been with another woman; sex doesn’t even come

close to this.

She’s careful not to wash over the healing wounds too hard, but she cleans them as if she’s done this

many times before. I’m about to ask her about it when she gets down on her knees in front of me and

proceeds to wash in between my legs.

Now my cock seems to take notice, especially when I can feel her breath inches from my thickening

length. She peers up at me through those thick lashes, then she starts to wash me right there.

She drops the loofah and starts to use her hands to lather me up, her hands running over my thighs

and in between my legs. I’m not sure if she’s just washing me now, because this turned from intimate to

damn near erotic.

Rising up, her hands skim the dips and planes of my abs and I stifle a groan at her gentle touch. She

moves her fingers over my v-line and across the strip of hair that heads to my cock, then I suck in a

breath when she wraps her hand around my swollen shaft.

But as quickly as the thought comes to her, it disappears, and she clears her throat before picking up

the dropped loofah.

“I’m sorry… that wasn’t supposed to… I’m sorry,” she stumbles over her words again and shakes her

head before gesturing for me to move down so she can wash my hair.

My dick deflates almost instantly at the rejection, but I know it’s not because of me. She promised to

help me wash up and nearly allowed herself to do something she was so ashamed of last time.

I get it, trust me; but it fucking sucks.

When she’s done washing me, she does the same to her own body. However, this time I asked her if I

could wash her hair, too. She seems apprehensive at first, but then she nods and offers me a small

smile as she hands me the shampoo.

If she can’t smell like my scent, she’ll fucking smell like my shampoo.

She stands in front of me with her head tilted back and I apply the liquid to her hair and work it up into a

lather. The tiny moan that escapes her heads right to my cock and I feel it twitch, but I push it down.

Sex could never feel more intimate than this. From Xiomara not trusting me at all, running away from

our proposed union to her closing her eyes so I can wash her hair. Something unspoken is happening

between us, but who will be the first to admit it?

After washing the foam from her hair, I turn off the water but can’t take it anymore and wrap my arm

around her waist, pulling her against my chest.

She gasps at the sudden motion, but she doesn’t fight me off. Instead, she rests her head against my

shoulder and sighs when I lean my head on the nape of her neck.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” I whisper, feeling her shiver in my arms and goosebumps forming on

her skin. Placing a kiss on her neck, I trail kisses to her shoulder and gently nip at her skin. “I’m in your

debt now; anything you want of me, you’ll get.”

I don’t know why, but my words cause her to stiffen in my arms. Then she slowly turns around and

peers up at me, a distant look clouding her Bambi eyes, then she shakes her head.

“Let’s get you dried up and clothed before you catch a cold,” she says, knowingly pushing her thoughts

away and replacing them with whatever this is. As much as I like Xiomara tending to me, I prefer her

honesty more, and now it feels like she’s hiding something from me.

She takes a towel and wraps one around her body before drying my body off with another. I don’t miss

the fact that she’s taking care of me before even taking care of herself, and I don’t know how to feel

about that.

When her body is dry, she takes my hand and leads me over to my walk-in closet. “Gloves or no

gloves?” she asks with a mischievous look in her eyes and I chuckle.

“No gloves and just a t-shirt and loose joggers, please,” I say and she obliges, helping me get into my

clothing while I feel no shame in having this woman looking after and tending to me.

After I am dressed, she seems satisfied. “I’m going to get dressed and make us something to eat,” she

says, “Wait for me and I’ll help you walk down the stairs; someone already cleaned up the broken

coffee tables, so you can wait in the living room while I cook.”

I don’t want to tell her that I’d rather watch her cook, so I simply nod and watch her walk away,

wondering how I’m going to tell her that I want her to stay with me.