Beast_A Filthy Sweet Fairy Tale Romance

by Miranda Martin

  I push aside my stupid twinge of disappointment and keep working. I better get used to this mind numbing task. I'm going to be doing it for three whole years. I kind of zone out trying not to think too much. It'll only depress me. The sound of the elevator doors opening finally brings me out of my cleaning mode. Curious, I walk over as a short, plump man in chef whites hurries in, his impressive mustache waxed to within an inch of its life.

  He comes to a stop. "Who are you?" he demands, a slight accent in his voice.

  "I'm...Isa. I work here now." Good, awkward introduction. Excellent job.

  He gives me a suspicious look. I stare back. Maybe the ridiculous outfit will convince him.

  "Fine!" he exclaims, scurrying toward the kitchen. "You may help me set the table!"

  Guess I passed and setting the table is something different to do at least. I follow the chef through the state of the art kitchen with expansive chrome counter tops and shiny appliances and into the dining room.

  "I need eight table settings! Do you know how to set a proper place?" he asks, peering over at me inquiringly, his mustache twitching with energy.

  "No," I admit. I figure that's a safe answer since we just do plates and silverware with tumblers.

  "I will show you! Watch!" He trots over to one of the cabinets set on the side of the room and starts taking out all sorts of china, silverware, glassware, napkins. This is going to be more involved than I first realized.

  "Now, you put the plate like so, and then the bowl like so, with the large fork..."

  I listen carefully, watching where he places everything. There are a lot of steps and rules.

  "Good," he says, stepping back. "Now, you do the other seven."

  He smiles at me and scurries away. Alright. I can set a table. No problem. Muttering to myself, I start on the other seven, trying to remember exactly the order he put everything in and the little detailed notes he gave. I copy his and basically get the hang of it and start looking around while I work. I took a quick look at it during the tour, but Prince Adir was kind of distracting and we didn't spend a lot of time in here. It's gorgeous, painted a dark, rich brown with carefully placed molding and another gorgeous view of the city on one side. This time, the glass is framed with deep, ruby colored curtains on either side. The dining table is also long and elegant, with tall, carved-back chairs.

  The lighting in the room is dim, the center of the table lit with an antique candelabra, its white candles and dull gold base a pretty contrast against the table’s wood finish. There's a large fireplace with a wide mantle, a large, impressionist painting hung above it with an interesting clock set just underneath. It must also be an antique of some kind, judging by its worn, wooden body. I squint at it. It almost has a face where the— well, where the clock face is I guess. Interesting.

  I move on to the tea set. "Oh, aren't you pretty?" I murmur, taking in the delicate, thin white china with gold, purple, pink, and light blue designs along the bottoms of the cups and the rims. The rounded, matching teapot is just as pretty as the cups. I'm careful as I slowly set them where they need to go. Everything is almost done but just as I'm setting the last one down, a sound distracts me and I look away from what I'm doing. Only for a moment but it's enough. I hit the cup on one of the bowls and there’s a distinct sound of china breaking.

  "Oh, no!" I breathe, looking down at the chipped golden rim. I've ruined the cup.

  There’s a spine chilling roar, deep enough that it vibrates my whole body. I spin around, my heart in my throat. Adir is in the room, his overwhelming presence making the large dining room suddenly seem small and cramped.

  "What did you do?" he roars as he stalks closer.

  "I-I'm sorry," I mutter, stepping back automatically until I hit the dining table. "It was an accident." Nowhere else to go.

  His jaw is tight as he crowds me, leaning over, his face flushed with anger. He takes another step closer and I start to wonder if the flush is actually from anger. Or something else entirely. My breath catches as the undeniable bulge of a massive erection presses against me. His glittering eyes land on my lips as his hands come down on the table on either side, caging me in. A wave of heat goes through me that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. And everything to do with the man in front of me.

  I lick my lips and his eyes narrow, his body tensing against mine. My nipples tighten against his chest and wonder if he knows, if he can somehow sense the heat gathering low in my belly. He leans down farther, until his lips are only inches away from mine. Until his hot breath is against my skin. Until I'm aching to close the distance between us. It's crazy. I must be losing my mind. Or maybe I've already lost it. I don't care either way. I want to taste him. Feel his lips against mine. He growls, his hips moving subtly as he grinds his impressive cock against me.

  My eyes flutter shut, my hands coming up against his chest as I wait for the kiss that I'm almost certain is coming. They snap back open as the muscled heat of him disappears, the cooler temperature of the room suddenly chilly in comparison. I wrap my arms around myself, shaken and confused. Almost more because of my reaction to him than anything he did. Adir glares at me from across the room, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, the tent at the front of his pants unmistakable.

  I frown. "I—"

  "Go to your room!" he yells, his hands clenching into fists at his side as he turns away.

  I take a tentative step towards him, wanting to say something, but not quite sure what.

  "Now!" he shouts, not turning around.

  I almost run out of the room, taking the long way out to avoid him. As soon as I'm in my bedroom, I slam the door shut, reaching for a lock that isn't there. Backing away from the door, I sit down on the bed, my breath coming in gasps, my body still needing...something. What's wrong with me that he makes my body want so badly? That beast of a man.

  I watch the door, almost expecting him to burst through it after me even though he was the one who told me to leave. When it remains shut, I lay down on the bed, hot and restless. For the first time, I understand why a woman might do something stupid for a man. Especially for a man as compelling as Prince Adir. Maybe... maybe it's better if I take care of this urge myself. Maybe then I won't be so completely out of control whenever Adir is in the room. Feeling like I'm doing something wrong, though I don't know why, I tentatively slide my hand under my skirt, already hiked up almost to my hips from lying down.

  I know people masturbate but I've never really done it, never really had much of a desire to. Now, I can't seem to be able to keep my hands off myself. It’s a poor substitute for Adir but he comes with a slew of complications. Unsure, I touch myself through my underwear, stroking the obvious dampness in the cloth. I'm wet. Very wet.

  I let out a shaky breath as I slowly run my fingers up and down, a bolt of pleasure running through me at even the light touch. But I need more. I pull the cloth to the side, imagining Adir as I touch my bare flesh, caress the slickness there. His broad shoulders. Those intense eyes. The erection he couldn't hide. My back arches of its own accord as my fingers find my throbbing clitoris.

  Oh. Yes. I need more, right there. I make a hesitant circle, a sharper stab of sensation running through me at the direct stimulation.

  "Oh," I murmur, my head turning to the side.

  The door slams, hitting the wall.

  My eyes snap open and immediately meet Adir's narrowed ones, my hand still touching myself between my splayed thighs. I freeze as his eyes rake over me, lingering between my legs. Oh God. My heart is pounding as his eyes come back up to meet mine, his expression unreadable.

  "I own you for the next three years," he growls. "That includes your pleasure. Do not touch my property without my permission or our agreement is over. Understand?"

  His eyes bore into mine. A myriad of responses come to mind, most of them defiant, but in the end I merely nod. He holds all the cards. And he knows it. He takes another minute to look me over, his eyes so hot I’m sear
ed by his regard. I had no idea being wanted would arouse me so much. Not until I met Adir.

  But despite his obvious desire, he steps back, away from me. Closing the door gently now.

  I let out a harsh breath then curl over onto my side, my body frustrated and my hand still pressed up against myself.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter 8

  Adir

  I shut the door on the temptation of Isa's body, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself but I only manage to breathe in the scent of her desire. I want nothing more than to open that door and take her, make her mine in every way imaginable. Kiss those soft lips, shape and pet those delicious curves. Sink my cock deep inside her, where she’s already wet and ready. I groan, the image of her delicate fingers working tentatively appears in my mind. No. No. My beast is too strong. I will not spoil her virginal innocence. I'd only hurt her with my man handling.

  Growling, I back away, swiping my arm across a table just outside her room, sending everything flying to the floor. Something breaks but I'm too far gone to care. I snarl as I turn the corner and find a small mirror angled just right to catch my reflection. Picking it up, I hurl it at the wall, the tinkle of shattering glass floats through the air as I continue to stride away, shoving tables to the side.

  The frustration, the anger, the shame, the lust. I need to get it out!

  I leave a trail of destruction in my wake as I storm through the apartment. As I pick up a delicate vase to throw, I finally stop, breathing hard. It's pretty. Easily broken. Slowly, I set it back down on the table, staring at it for a moment.

  Turning, I walk over to the locked wooden door. I scoured the world for the perfect one, wanting something old, something grounded for this space. I fish my key out of my pocket, pushing it into the old lock that came with the door. I wanted good security for this room, but I didn't want to ruin the look and I've come to enjoy the old knob, even if it isn't the most secure option. The act of inserting and turning the key has become a ritual in and of itself. I open the door, looking back to make sure I’m alone. Reassured, I push it open the rest of the way and as soon as I walk in, some modicum of peace starts to creep back into my mind.

  The ceilings are high. The walls are lined with tall bookshelves filled with books. There’s a heavy, wooden writing desk set in the center of the space, scratched and marred from centuries of use from different hands. This space is mine alone. Nobody may enter. It is too much a reflection of my true self, the one I do not want to bare to anyone. Not even those closest to me. Today, I need to use it to re-center myself because taking Isa will not only be dangerous to her, it could be the very last thing I do. I want her too badly. My inner beast already salivates for a taste of her, bucking against my efforts to contain it.

  I'm already so close to the edge. Closer than my friends even realize. The man in me slips away, hour by hour, day by day. If I indulge in this most intense of desires, if I take Isa, gorge myself on her body, revel in the taste, the scent, the feel of her...

  I groan, raking my fingers through my hair as I attempt to get the image of her out of my mind, the scent of her out of my nose. But they seem to be etched into me now, an indelible part of me. My erection continues to throb, completely unabated. I need to get her out of me somehow.

  I sit down at the wingback chair, upholstered in a deep violet, and pick up an old fashioned pen. Dictation might be more efficient, hell, typing on a defunct keyboard would make more sense practically, but the smooth touch of the pen in my hand, the sound of it moving across the paper is much more satisfying. Connects me so much more to what I write.

  Today, I use the paper and pen to let everything out, funnel all of my emotions out onto the page. I write furiously as I let my emotions have full rein, let them pour out of me in a torrent of frustration, lust, fear. Of want. I think of Isa, of her smile. Her voice. Her body. Of her. Her defiance, her clear intelligence, her innocent strength.

  By the time I put the pen down, my hand is cramping and the page is filled with a poem written for Isa, an expression of everything she does to me. A poem that I will never let her see. It will remain here, in my sanctuary, another part of me never to be shared, never to see the true light of day. Just as I will leave my lust, my violent desire for Isabelle Stone in this room. I refuse to hurt her, no matter how the beast might rage inside me.

  Even if it means letting her go.

  Chapter 9

  Isa

  I shower and put on the yellow dress. I can do this. All I need to do is clean, keep my head down, and get through the next three years. Piece of cake. Shit. Groaning, I rub my face. Doesn't matter if it's hard, I just need to put one foot in front of the other and get through it. And maybe not think too much. Determined, I square my shoulders and open the door, walking out into the hall. It's quiet. Creeping forward cautiously, I make my way to the supply closet, the place eerily silent.

  Maybe he isn't home?

  I stay still listening. Nothing. Relaxing a little as the silence remains unbroken, I get to cleaning. Dusting, sweeping, mopping. There's a lot of space here and so a lot that needs to be done. I work steadily for a good hour before my mind starts to really wander. There's just so much to look at. I stop in front of the window, looking out at the city below for a while. So many people and so much going on but I'm trapped in this silent place; alone, completely separated from the real world.

  Moving on, I trail my fingertips over the smooth tops of antique tables and modern decor. I look in one of the open bedrooms and find another nicely furnished room. Nothing surprising in here. Though I don't know why Prince Adir needs so many rooms when it's just him living here. But I guess money buys you the luxury of unnecessary space. Maybe he just likes to walk through it and gloat.

  Returning to the dining room, I take a seat in one of the plush, wingback chairs. It's not as comfortable as it looks. Getting up again, I look inside the refrigerator out of curiosity. Just food. I'm kind of disappointed. Though I don't know what I really expected to find inside. He's just a person after all. The Singarti eat what we eat.

  As I continue drifting through the penthouse, I make my way inexorably to the wooden door Prince Adir had such a strong reaction to earlier. I really shouldn't go in there. The last thing I need to do right now is further alienate him. I shouldn't even be looking at it. I turn away, focusing my attention instead on a sculpture set in a recessed alcove. It's quite pretty with curved lines, the suggestion of something feminine without being overtly sexual. After going through the place, I'm starting to get the niggling idea that there aren’t really a lot of fake or faux things here, which means all of the natural materials might actually be natural and not man-made. And worth a fortune.

  But even as I stare at the sculpture and think about the amount of money Prince Adir spent to furnish and decorate, my attention is still on the door behind me. What could he possibly be hiding in there? I glance back at it over my shoulder. It looks just like a door. A beautiful door. But just a door.

  I bite my lip, turning away again. It's a terrible idea. My curiosity is not a good enough reason to be an idiot. I force myself to walk away but then I stop. Maybe he has someone else trapped in there. I mean, it would be my duty as a socially conscious person to make sure he isn't holding someone against his or her will, right? Right. I turn back towards the door. Even as I walk up to it, I know he isn't keeping anyone trapped there. Why would he? He can get people to agree to what he wants easily enough. Just look at me. Must be nice to have that kind of power. But despite acknowledging how ridiculous my excuse is, I don't stop until I'm standing in front of the door. I stare at it for a few seconds. I'll just try... I reach for the doorknob and attempt to turn it.

  Locked. I shake my head. Of course it's locked. Now what? I laugh at myself. All this build up over nothing. Did I think it was just going to be open and waiting for me to stick my nose into? After the fuss he made about it? I push at the door a little with one palm, turning a
way and shaking my head at my own idiocy.

  It gives a little under my hand. No. I freeze, my heart beat picking up. Turning around slowly, the door is open about a third of the way. That slight push was enough to open it; it must not have latched properly when he closed it last. I stare at the partially open door. Nobody's home. He won't even know I was in there. I'll make sure to leave everything exactly how I find it. When else am I going to get an opportunity like this? Knowing I'm probably making a mistake, I push open the door the rest of the way and step inside.

  "Oh..." I breathe as I take it in.

  Oh wow. This is...this is not at all what I expected. I take another step inside, trying to look at everything at once. Books. All the way up to the high ceiling, rows and rows, shelves and shelves of books. An old fashioned ladder on a railing system hangs on one side of a narrow balcony about halfway up with a safety metal fence to peruse the higher shelves. I walk over to them, my fingers trailing along the spines, noting the dust. I wonder if he ever lets anyone in here to clean. Judging by how much more dust is in here than in the rest of the apartment, I'm going to guess no. My fingers itch to clean in here, but I know I can't. I can't do anything that he'll notice, including touching the layer of dust.

  I look up. God, there are so many books. I walk along, reading titles. History books, books on science, popular fiction. He even has first edition classics. 1984, Don Quixote, The Great Gatsby, War and Peace. The list goes on and on. Books I've never even seen before. My fingers linger on a particular one, a history book from when the Singarti first arrived on Earth. Told from a human perspective. I pull it out, staring at the cover in disbelief. The Singarti Arrive. There are rumors about this book, but I've never laid eyes on it. Whispers are that the Singarti made sure to burn every copy they could find. It isn't supposed to be a flattering account of what happened. Understandable considering the fact that there's no denying Earth was invaded by an alien race.