Page 15 of The Beast & His Beauty

In my haze of fear and heady, forbidden desire, I heard what he said.

Take it.

Those hands also soothed the small of my back and stilled underneath my body. They are hands with the full capability to hurt me, I have no doubt, but he used them to pleasure me.

And to use me for his own pleasure, although he did not break through the last boundary of my body.

Is that what we are walking toward now? Is that what he has planned for me? Is there some other space more fitting for the beast to take my innocence than the bed? The bed where he already put me on my hands and knees, growled, nipped, and kissed me until I was consumed with the need I had for him?

I can’t guess how this will go. The stories of my childhood swirl through my head. The beast and the prince blend together. The tale is both true and false, more innocent than it seemed and more dangerous, and I do not know how my story will end.

My breath becomes shallow, but this time the magic does not soothe me. It stokes the fire of my emotions, making the memories of his touch even stronger. They’re matched to the heat of those hands on my hips, guiding and commanding me just as he did in bed. I am clothed, for now, but under the influence of the magic, my desire for him grows. It would be better if he was simply touching my skin instead of the fabric.

Is it the magic that plays these tricks? Or is it simply the dreams I’ve manifested for myself?

The confusion I feel between what I know to be right and the base urges of my body tightens, making it difficult to breathe.

My outstretched hand meets something made from wood. The curves underneath my fingertips make me think it is a door frame. It’s more intricate than any door frame I might have seen in my former life. My father did not have the money to spare on decorating his home. Not when we were struggling to eat after my mother passed.

I know it is only an object, but the way the curves feel in contrast to the beast’s hands make my breath catch and I stop.

The beast’s front hits my back. Instantly, I’m hot all over.

His chest is broad and strong, like his hands. I expect that he will pull himself away from me to put distance between us again, but he shifts slightly and presses himself closer. His hands tug gently at my waist. There’s more physical heat from his chest, and it seems to surround me at the same time the magic does.

I need him. I need him to be inside me. There is no reason for him to wait to have what he wants, and I know he wants my innocence because I feel his attraction, too. His heart beats steadily against my back as I arch, making contact at more places. Every breath I take is warmer than the one before. How could I want such a thing? This time, the thought is a mere whisper, and I know that is not because of the magic itself. It is because the feel of his body is overwhelmingly tempting.

Every instinct in me craves to have me turn around and put my face in his neck. To inhale his scent. What would he do if I left a trail of kisses up his neck? Would his flesh respond to me the way I’m responding to him? I do not have the bravery to attempt it, but something in me wonders if I need bravery at all. Turning around would be disobedient, as he has only told me to walk and hasn’t commanded me to face him, but the heat between us is a sure sign that he wouldn’t reject me.

If I tilted my hips just so, I could press my body over his cock. I do not, but not because I fear what he might do.

I fear the magnitude of this wanting and what it may turn me into. Would I still be myself if I succumbed to the passion I feel for him? It cannot be a passion that I would be allowed in any other circumstance. I could never feel such passion for Lord Crawe. I cannot bring myself to tolerate the man, much less want him, and yet here with the beast, my body is alive with the forbidden possibilities he offers.

For the first time since we left the room, I do not care about the blindfold. It does not prevent me from feeling his body touching mine, and I can sense his strength and feel it without being able to see. It does not prevent me from wanting him and from feeling a slick heat between my legs. It does not prevent me from wishing to stay here and take no more steps until I have had more of him.

Again, my mind whispers the question that came to me after he left my bed.

How could I want such a thing?

I do not know. I only know that I want it, though I could not say what it is exactly I am so feverish for. My mind offers many possibilities, and each one is as forbidden as the last. They are things no innocent woman would dream of asking for or having, and certainly not from her captor, from the beast.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice heady as my plea slips from between my lips.

I do not know what it is that I am asking the beast for. I can only hope he gives it to me.

THE PRINCE AND THE BEAST

Elle’s body pressed so close to mine is fucking heaven. I’ve never felt such a stir of desire and pull. Not a damn thing in this world has brought this feeling over me. She is the only thing I can smell, feel, think about. Fuck! What does this woman do to me? Is it her? Or is it what I’ve become? My obsession with every small breath of hers is undeniable.

I breathe in the scent of her hair and her skin and the warm heat of her. She’s already aroused, her lithe body arching tentatively against mine, and I’m drawn to the scent of her sweetness, too. More than anything else.

I’m almost overwhelmed by the delicacy of her scent and how quickly it has changed in my home. I distinctly remember the scent of her skin outside as I carried her through the enchanted forest. Elle was not as warm in her bed as she could have been, and I wrapped her in my cloak to protect her from the chill of the night, but it seeped in next to her skin.

The night air had been fresh and had the ever-present scent of the magic behind the enchantments. Elle’s face and hair had been slightly cold when I arrived back home with her, but she warmed quickly when I brought her to the bedroom. Her scent has warmed and grown more complex from only one night with me. The beast is far too aware, and I urge him away. The only thing more surprising than my obsession with her is how the beast listens now that we both have her in our grasps.

Yet the trappings of her old life linger under that new scent. There is the bakery where she worked, handling sweet things and breathing in air that was warmed with the aroma of rising dough. There is the faint tinge of her fear, not of me but of the man that her father might have given her to.

The beast stirs but does not growl and leap to the forefront, an odd reaction when the memory of her father’s words is so vivid in my mind.