The Virgin and the Beast: a Dark Erotic Beauty and the Beast Tale

by Stasia Black

  Screw cowardly.

  I run forward and flip the flimsy lock on the bathroom door.

  Then I stand there in the brightly lit bathroom for about five minutes until I realize that a stupid bathroom lock isn’t going to be much more of a hindrance than my Gucci suit to a guy as big as that.

  So I rush out into the larger room and lock that door. Then I run to the huge mahogany dresser and try to shove it over in front of the door.

  It won’t budge.

  Goddammit. I lower my center of gravity by crouching low and try again.

  Still nothing.

  That doesn’t make sense. Sure I might not be winning any girl’s heavyweight titles in the near future, but it didn’t even budge.

  Which is when I lean over and see it’s freaking bolted to the ground.

  Holy crap. Did he anticipate me trying to move furniture to try to block him out of my room? Are his plans for me that horrible?

  What the hell am I doing?

  I can’t—

  This is too—

  What was I thinkin—?

  I jerk the bedroom door open and fly toward the stairs. I take them two at a time, stumbling and only managing to keep upright because of my death grip on the stair railing. I jump the last three steps and then I’m over to the door, one hand on the knob.

  I jerk it open, only to be greeted by the vast, empty landscape I saw earlier.

  “Leave and our deal is done.”

  Out of nowhere, his voice is suddenly booming so close it’s all but in my ears. I whirl but don’t see him. I turn frantically left, then right. Finally I locate him at the top of the stairwell. The sound must have carried off all the wood since there isn’t a lot of other furniture in here.

  “I’ll not only bring your father back into the country,” he leans over the balustrade, his body just a silhouette in all the gathered shadows, “but I’ll drop him right on the doorstep of the men who are looking for him. The blood won’t be on my hands. He made his own bed.” His voice is cold.

  Damn him.

  I slam the door, wrapping my arms around myself and backing against the wall of the large foyer.

  “Good choice. There’s a whole lotta nothing for thirty miles in any direction. You wouldn’t have gotten two miles before I dragged you back here.”

  I expect him to come storming down the stairs but the next time I look up, he’s gone.

  ***

  I lie awake the whole night in bed. Waiting, on edge, sure each moment I’ll hear the click of a key unlocking the door as he comes to claim his prize. Because, duh, obviously he probably has keys to all these rooms.

  But he never comes.

  He doesn’t come the next night either.

  Or the next.

  I’ve given up on hiding in my room and wander the giant house freely now. He’s gone all day. Each morning out my window I see him leave out back, looking like a cowboy, big hat and all. I didn’t go exploring until the second day of no activity. He stays out all day doing… whatever he does. Ranching? All I’ve seen are cows. He disappears around the side of the house and I have no idea how big the property might be.

  Even though he was gone all day yesterday, I’m still tentative as I head downstairs. Maybe I can find a computer or a phone?

  Not that I know exactly who I’d email or call or what I’d say if I could. In a way, I’m an accessory to helping Dad jump bail. It would certainly be very easy to frame it that way. And the people who were after Dad… would they still try to harm me if I suddenly popped up again? How long does Dad have to be gone before they accept he’s gone?

  God, even thinking about Dad makes my chest hurt. Where is he? Is he okay? He’s got to be freaking out worrying about me. And then I start panicking all over again because what if he hurts himself? But no, he swore. And he has to know that at this point, it wouldn’t do any good. I’ve already been taken. The deal is done.

  Please, Dad, just be okay.

  Turns out it doesn’t matter who I’d email if I could because my captor is either allergic to all technology or he has it locked up tight. There are landline phone outlets, but no phones. No TVs either. No freaking TVs.

  The first floor of the lodge is pretty stripped down. There’s a well-stocked kitchen, which I raid freely. In the main lodge area, there are just a few tables and a big leather couch left in what was obviously once meant to be a big bustling common area for a lot of guests.

  Both the first and second floor have fireplaces in the central guest areas, which are sparsely decorated with random furniture. While the lodge is in good shape, some rooms on the third story are completely empty of furniture altogether. I’ve only peeked up there. There’s one locked door that I suspect is the giant’s room. I didn’t pay it much attention, frankly.

  Once I find the library on the second story, I keep blissfully busy.

  Books. Reading. You know—that thing we all used to do before YouTube videos and Pinterest ate up all our time?

  I was frankly going a bit nuts trying to play Nancy Drew and discover clues about my captor while waiting for him to decide he’s done toying with me.

  Shudder.

  No thank you. Escaping into other people’s drama is far more preferable to living my own.

  There’s another big couch in the library by a big window. I throw back the curtains to let in the light and then cozy up to lose myself in Jack Reacher’s latest adventure for the afternoon.

  That’s where he finds me several hours later when he finally comes for me.

  After all that waiting, ears perked for any noise at the door, eyes strained for any movement of shadow for hours on end, when he actually comes, I’m so engrossed in the book I don’t notice him until he’s standing over me.

  I let out a small screech of shock and drop the book, my hand flying to my chest.

  I look up at him in my surprise and immediately wish I hadn’t. With the curtains drawn, the room is bathed in mid-day light. I can see every monstrous melted inch of the top left half of his face.

  Meanwhile, his squinting eye seems to see straight down into me, measuring my disgust for him. My whole body tenses as I sit up straight on the couch.

  His hair is sweat slicked and he’s pulled off the work shirt I always see him go out in each morning. He’s just in a tank top and jeans, exposing acres of muscled, bronzed skin. He’s as big as a fucking ox.

  “Oh, hello.” I sit up on the couch, backing as far away from him as I can. “I was just—”

  “It’s time,” is all he says. He holds out a smart phone. I blink and it takes a second to make out what I’m seeing on the screen. But then my eyes focus.

  There’s Dad, standing on the beach, blue ocean behind him. He’s frowning and has dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise looks fine. He’s holding up a paper. The giant zooms in on the picture and I see today’s date on the paper. The writing is some kind of South Asian script. My hand jumps to cover my mouth, a sob catching in my throat.

  I try to grab for the phone, wanting to zoom out again and look at Dad, but he pulls it away and puts it back in his pocket.

  Still, it was enough. Dad looks good. No bruises or black eyes. He looks healthy.

  Safe.

  There’s no time to process though, because the next thing I know, the giant has leaned down, picked me up like I weigh nothing, and swung me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

  Then he starts jogging with me up the stairs.

  To his bedroom.

  Chapter 5

  “What? Wait, if we could just talk for a second—”

  He doesn’t stop or even slow at my continued protests.

  No, he just continues up the stairs, my body jolting with each step.

  Holy crap, what if he drops me on my head? Without thinking about it, my hands drop to his lower back to steady myself. The iron hard muscles there do nothing to assuage my escalating terror.

  Damn, this guy is built like a Mack Truck. He’s thick around the w
aist like a boxer and from what I can tell, it’s all pure muscle. He’s inhumanely big. Like a normal human except he comes in an extra-large size. His back is broader. Neck is thicker. Thighs are more massive. He takes the stairs two at a time like he’s not carrying a hundred-and-thirty-pound lead weight over his shoulder.

  He pulls out a set of keys from his pocket, unlocks his door and then we’re inside.

  I have an upside-down view since I’m still over his shoulder and at first I’m afraid to look around. What if there are, I don’t know… huge pentagrams painted on the walls or sacrificial altars set up?

  But when I finally peek it looks… well… normal.

  Except, you know, for the huge giant who’s holding me essentially captive. And the fact that there’s barely any light up here. Just a small lamp above a mantle that casts the whole room in shadow.

  There’s a large desk pushed up against one wall. It has two large monitors on it with a laptop hooked up between them. Both screens are dark now.

  Well, that answers that question. He’s not anti-technology, he just planned well in advance and doesn’t want me having access to the outside world. Awesome. That’s not super creepy at all.

  And the other major feature of the room is a bed.

  A huge king size bed. God, the thing looks bigger than king size. Do they make them bigger than king size?

  “So what’s your name?” I ask, my face still inches away from his jean-clad ass. “I’m Melanie. I mean, obviously you know that. But you know, we never really did the whole introductions thing.”

  The next thing I know, I’m flying ass over ankles as he tosses me on the bed.

  He looms over me like the monster in some movie.

  Oh God, oh God, just keep talking. Humanize yourself to your captor, isn’t that what they say? Besides, I always chatter when I’m nervous.

  “You have a really beautiful library.” I try for a smile that I’m sure comes off more as a pained grimace. “I thought at first it was just lots of old books, like, for decoration. But then I found the contemporary section. You really like mysteries, huh? Lee Child books? He’s great, one of my favorites, I—”

  He reaches back and pulls his t-shirt off over his head.

  Holy bulging muscles, Batman.

  I gulp and without really thinking about it scramble backward on the bed.

  He’s just so exponentially large.

  He reaches down and grabs my ankle, yanking me back to him in one swift tug.

  “Xavier,” he says. “My name.”

  And then he reaches into the drawer beside his bedside and pulls out a knife.

  Giant psycho’s going to kill me.

  I’m about to die.

  I screech and try to roll away from him but his huge hand clamps easily around my ankle yet again.

  “Hold still,” he growls.

  And then I hear the sound of fabric being cut. I look down wide-eyed to see he’s slicing my expensive Gucci pants off me, starting at the ankle. Once he gets to the knee of each leg, he starts to rip, his muscles flexing.

  He has to use the knife again to cut through the top where the belt loops are. I lay panting in terror.

  “You could have just asked me to take them off,” I whisper as he pulls the ruined fabric from around my body. I want to drop my hands to cover myself, but God, it won’t do any good, will it?

  This is happening and there’s no stopping it.

  “I didn’t like them,” is all he says.

  My favorite gray silk blouse is the next to go. He doesn’t have to use the knife. He just rips it open and the buttons all come off in a consecutive set of explosive pops.

  Then he flips me over on the bed so I’m face down.

  Ridiculously, I wonder: Does he just expect me to go around the mansion naked all the time now? Because that will be comfortable.

  Gotta love my knack for worrying about the really important things.

  Next he’s slicing through the straps of my bra—which yes, is very worn and has definitely seen better days. But still, it was one of my last barriers to him and now it’s gone.

  I’m still face down on the bed as the contraption holding my mid-sized breasts comes free.

  And then—shit, shit, shit—he cuts off my underwear.

  I lie here not sure if I’m glad I can’t see what he’s doing now or if I’m more terrified because I want to watch his every move.

  Before I can decide, though, one of his huge hands drops to my back.

  My eyes squeeze shut.

  I expect him to be rough. To grab me like he did my ankle earlier.

  To take what I’m here for him to take.

  I don’t expect the tentative touch.

  I don’t expect the soft exhale as his other hand comes to my skin and he caresses down my back from my shoulder blades to the top swell of my ass. He stops just short of touching it, though, and massages back up again.

  I feel the bed dip as he gets on, springs squeaking. I imagine his huge body taking up the whole bed, larger than life. Just thinking of that, his body crouched above me, is enough to have me tensing and ready to scramble off the bed and running for the door.

  His hands pause on my back. He felt the sudden tension in my body.

  Dammit.

  This was the deal, Mel. There was never going to be any getting around this part, you know that.

  But God, I only made the deal a few days ago and between then and now I’ve done everything possible to avoid thinking about this moment.

  Still, it’s here now. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and try to force myself to relax. Everything I read online over the years said it would go easier if I relaxed.

  Yeah right.

  You try relaxing with two hundred and thirty pounds of muscled beast over you while you’re buck naked.

  His hands rub down my back again and this time when he gets to my ass, he doesn’t pause. Before I can even take a full breath, both his hands are full of my ass cheeks. He squeezes them in his massive hands, first one handful, then the other. I might not be anything to write home about in the bosom department, but I’m not lacking when it comes to junk in my trunk.

  Just my luck, because apparently he’s an ass man.

  He leans down and his cheek traces the same path his hands just took, down my spine until his stubble brushes my ass.

  He’s been unexpectedly gentle the past few minutes.

  So I don’t expect the bite.

  It’s not hard, just a nip of his teeth on the round of my ass—but it’s enough to have me yelping and looking over my shoulder at the top of his dark head.

  Like he can feel me looking, he growls and glances up at me.

  The left side of his face catches me off guard just like it has each time I’ve looked him full on. And then he’s moving—far quicker than it seems like a man his size should be able to.

  He whips open his night stand. My breath catches until I see he’s only holding an eye mask.

  “Oh really, that’s not necessary. I’m sorry. I won’t look if you don’t want me to. You just took me by surprise there with the—” My voice breaks off because what am I going to say—with the ass-biting? With your scary monster face?

  He doesn’t wait for me to finish anyway. He’s already slipped the eye mask around my head and is adjusting the strap.

  Alrighty then. Guess he’s not big on talking things out.

  Then I’m being flipped again, now to my back.

  Everything’s happening so suddenly, I’m not prepared when his weight comes down on me and his mouth suctions on my right breast.

  I—

  Wait, he’s just going to—

  To jump in like this— I mean, what—

  I blink underneath the blindfold, my eyelashes fluttering madly against the silk fabric of the mask.

  I don’t—

  I mean, I just—

  That feels—

  A high-pitched breathy little gasp escapes my throat.

  And
then I’m mortified. What the hell was that?

  He’s going to think that I—

  He abandons the first breast and moves to the second. What he’s doing with his mouth— I try to get a full breath, but my lungs aren’t working right. His hand lifts and starts to massage the breast he was just suckling while he keeps at the other. He plucks and tugs at the nipple and holy crap, it’s like it’s connected to a live wire straight to my—

  My whole body jolts and without really thinking about it, both my hands fly to his head. I don’t know if I’m trying to encourage him or yank him away.

  What the hell am I thinking—yank him away, definitely yank him away.

  But I barely register the feel of his thick, wavy hair before he grabs both of my wrists in one of his hands and pins them above my head.

  I struggle in his hold. The sensations he’s pulling out of me are so foreign.

  It’s all so much, so fast. My whole body just feels restless. I need to be moving. To be doing something.

  Or maybe not. God, what am I even thinking?

  I should just be lying here, taking whatever this bastard has to do to me. Right? That was always my plan for my first time, even before this insane scenario.

  Close my eyes, pretend really hard I was somewhere else, stare at some spot on the wall and let him just rut and get it done with. That’s how a some friends in high school and college had described it—at least that’s how you got through the pain of the first time. A couple of girlfriends loved sex. But even they admitted their first times were awful. Definitely something to just be survived.

  But now here is this man—no mere guy—making me feel such crazy, intense, oh my God things.

  This is all wrong. Not at all how it’s supposed to go. Most especially because I’m being forced to be here.

  This is not some romantic fling with a man I’ve finally decided is the one that I trust to try this with. This is some monstrous stranger, taking something he has no right to, except for the fact he basically bought it by helping my Dad and—

  The hand not holding my wrists traces down between my breasts and grips my hip. And dammit, I can’t even be bothered to disguise the fact that I’m all out panting now.