I’ve never been naked in front of a man before.
The Beast can think whatever he wants, but I’m a virgin in every sense of the word. I’ve never done…anything. Ever.
And his eyes aren’t gentle looking anymore. They’re heated and his nostrils flare as his eyes scan up and down my body. He’s looking at me like…like the way a man looks at a woman. He’s not trying to hide it. He wants me. Wants me like that.
He runs his huge hand down my thigh, pausing on my knee, and then down my calf to my ankle. My ankle has never looked more petite or delicate than when in his giant hand.
I can only watch, mesmerized for some reason, as he pulls out stirrups from the bottom of the bed and sets my left foot in them, and then repeats the same ritual with my right. I’ve never been so, well, manhandled, before.
You should be afraid right now. You should be kicking and screaming.
But his touch continues to be delicate as he skims his fingertips back up my leg, and then up the hollow of my stomach, between my ribs, and finally to my sternum and up to the little bow on the front of my bra in the valley between my medium-sized breasts.
My breath hitches again—good gods, have I taken a full breath since he put his hands on me?—as his deft fingers undo the snap right above the tiny silver bow. The next second, my breasts spring free and my nipples immediately pucker in the cold air.
He’s standing close enough that I can hear his breath catch. And he’s so solid, so huge, so masculine and warm and so sure in his movements—it’s ridiculous to be comforted by him… But I am. I’m naked and vulnerable and he’s clothed and warm and my body instinctively turns towards him.
His eyes shoot towards mine, obviously surprised at my movement. Yeah, buddy, me too. I blink but don’t look away. He’s the one to break eye contact first, but I quickly discover it’s only so he can get back to his work. I soon hear the snip of the scissors again and then my panties, my last bit of coverings, are falling away.
Instinctively, I try to lock my knees together but the Beast whispers, “Shhh, open to me like the beautiful rose you are.”
And then his hands, those sinful hands of his, are skimming down my thighs again. Except that this time, they move right back up along the inside of my thighs as he moves around the bed from my side to—I suck in a deep gulp—to in between the stirrups.
His huge hands gently caress my knees.
Then he pries them apart.
And I let him. Oh gods, I let him.
His thumbs immediately go there. To my…my private places. I jerk in my restraints as his thumbs massage along the outer lips of my…my sex.
“I’d prefer to use your natural lubricant to examine you,” he murmurs. “Give me your juices, Daphne.”
I nod because I don’t trust myself to manage words. But to be honest, I’m not completely sure what he’s talking about. I mean, I sort of know the biology of, well, sex. My face flushes even thinking the word. But I just don’t— I mean, I don’t have time for that sort of—
Okay, so a couple of times I tried touching myself but I’m usually so tired and I was never sure if I was doing it right anyway. So I always gave up before anything really happened. There were always so many more important things to attend to anyway. Who cared if I never figured out sex when I was trying to save people’s lives?
But the Beast’s fingers aren’t clumsy like mine were the couple times I attempted to touch myself. He’s sure, in command, and more than that, demanding as one hand continues to play with my sex and the other presses flat up my stomach back to the valley of my breasts. But this time, he strays from the beaten path.
He cups my breast. I’m dwarfed in his hand, but when his thumb strums over my nipple I don’t feel lacking. My back arches off the table into his touch and as if it’s instinctual, he pinches my nipple harder.
And that lubricant he was talking about? It fairly gushes all over his other hand.
“That’s right,” he growls, sounding more like his old self as the hand at my sex probes between my now-soaking folds.
My breaths come in short, shallow pants. “What’s happening?” Pleasure shoots from my breast to my sex and my stomach liquifies and swoops. Gods, I’ve never felt anything like this before.
His hand grips my breast harder. “Don’t mock me. No one’s that innocent.”
But the more pressure he applies, the more the pleasure intensifies. My hands ball into fists and I want to scream at him to keep touching me, to keep going. My sex clenches as his thick forefinger teases at my entrance.
I think… I think I want him to push his finger inside. I want something inside me. He strums his thumb across the flesh about an inch above the opening and if I thought I was on fire before, “Oh!” I cry, a shudder wracking my body. No, I don’t just want something inside me to clench around, I need it. I’ve never— This is—
“Please,” I whimper, not really knowing what I’m begging for, but knowing he can give it to me.
Through slitted eyes, I see confusion on his face, but then his expression hardens and he gives me what I’ve asked for.
He plunges a finger inside me.
It hurts and feels amazing at the same time. I blink at all the sensations assaulting me. A man has his fingers inside me. He’s penetrating me. He’s…he’s finger-fucking me. I shudder at the dirtiness of the thought and the feel of his digit impaled inside me.
“Daphne,” he cries, voice choked. “You’re a virgin.”
I want to laugh. He sounds so shocked.
“I know,” is all I say.
Though, am I still technically a virgin now? I mean, did his finger rupture my hymen? He shoved it in so forcefully.
I clench around his finger. I’ve become acclimated to it and now I want him to move it. If he did break my hymen, then surely this was much nicer than having a huge cock do the work—surely that would hurt a lot more. This was just a short little pinch and now I want him to explore.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he whispers, starting to remove his finger.
“Don’t,” I whisper and his eyes shoot to mine. I can’t quite bear that. This is all too new, I’m feeling too many things. Eye contact seems like too much.
But still, I manage to continue. “Not yet?” It comes out as more of a question and then I stupidly follow it up with, “um…please?”
But the reward comes so quickly I’ll happily beg again. Besides, when was the last time I asked for something I wanted? Something just for me? But this…this is a space out of time, out of my regular life.
The finger inside me begins to move. Slowly. Languorously.
“You’ll get your reward now,” he whispers. “You’ll get your reward for staying pure for me. Tell me, little Daphne, do you touch yourself when you’re all alone in the dark?”
I shake my head. “A couple of times, but it never felt like this.”
His nostrils flare again. “Good girl. Good, good girl. You never touch yourself. I’m the only one who touches you. Ever. Do you understand? I’m the only one who touches this pretty, pretty pussy.”
My sex clenches around his finger at the dirty word. Pussy. Another shudder of pleasure runs through me.
“Oh, you like that,” he croons. “You want me to master your pussy and your pleasure. Your sweet little cunt is so creamy for me.”
And then he leans down between my legs and inhales. Aghast at his action, I try to shove my legs together but his huge, broad shoulders are wedged between my legs and it's no use.
“Uh uh uh,” he chastises me. “I’ll smell your sweet cunt all I want. I’ll wake up, tie you down, and lap at your delicious smelling cunt for breakfast if I want to. And you’ll let me, won’t you. You’ll beg me to.”
I’ve never heard such filthy words in my entire life. And the way my body responds? Oh gods. I’d be embarrassed if he didn’t seem to be getting off on my every reaction, too.
Every little whimper I make, he inhales and his chest seems to expand eve
n more, as impossible as that seems since he’s already so huge.
But it’s like he’s feeding off my energy, and the synergy we’re creating is the most intense thing I’ve ever experienced. It’s a high I didn’t know could exist, and I can’t escape the whirlwind—don’t want to escape, oh gods, I never want to come down.
Especially because it’s still ramping up. That slow, torturous finger moving in and out of me plus his thumb, oh, that wicked, wicked thumb of his, plus the hand massaging my breast and tweaking my nipple—I thought it was a myth that breasts could arouse a woman. But I was wrong. Oh, I was so, so wrong.
And everything he’s doing to me is so, so right.
“Yes,” I cry out, grinding my hips into his hand in an instinctual motion as my mouth goes dry from panting. “Please, yes.”
“That’s right,” he grinds out, “beg for it. Beg for me.”
“Please, please.” My hands clench around the material of my restraints. I have to grab something, need something to ground me as my body spirals out of my control. It’s his, he’s the commander and master of my body now. It’s going where he takes it.
He leans between my legs and inhales my scent and it’s the dirtiest and hottest thing I’ve witnessed yet, this godly, masculine man of all men, scenting me at my most secret place. And then he breathes out on me, blowing the warm air from his lungs in a warm stream across my sex, making me tremble. He redoubles his efforts on the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex at the same time he massages me deep within and it’s too much— It’s—
“Ohhhhh!” I cry as the volcano that’s been stewing inside me finally erupts.
I want to clench him to me as white light engulfs me and shock waves blast outwards from my center, singeing me from my scalp to the tips of my fingertips and toes.
One wave…and then another and…oh gods another.
My legs spasm as yet one more wave hits. The restraints hold me down so all I can do is look at my Beast with all the longing and euphoria I feel.
His eyes are wide and satisfied and…shocked.
I don’t think he expected this any more than I did.
As the last bit of pleasure spasms and then ekes out of my body, my limbs sink limp to the table and I feel like I’ve expended every ounce of energy I ever had. But it’s not like at the end of an exhausting all-nighter at the lab. I feel…sated. And so, so satisfied. Like, I didn’t even know the meaning of the word satisfaction before this moment.
I breathe out every ounce of tension and sink into the table, goosebumps rising from the cold hitting my sweat-drenched body. I couldn’t care less.
For once in my life, all my thousands of worries and concerns are quiet. It’s so blissfully quiet in my head. I sink into the beautiful silence. Gods, I want to live here. I’m so tired of carrying everything. I want to just put it all down.
So I sink into the silence, so much so that I barely feel the hands undoing the restraints on my wrists and ankles.
And when my Beast gathers me into his arms and carries me from the room, I sink against him, my mind still blissfully quiet as I listen to the solid thump thump thump of his heart in his huge, warm chest.
Ten
Beast
That didn’t go as planned. She wasn’t supposed to be a virgin. I was so sure she wasn’t a virgin. That she was a liar, just as corrupt as the rest of them.
But I was wrong. I was so wrong.
She’s a rarity, a hardy winter rose among flashier summer blooms, made of sterner stuff and all the more beautiful for it. And the way she unfurled before my eyes…
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I whisper into the silky fall of her hair. Hours of freezing torture in the tower, and she’s as beautiful as ever, her olive skin flushed from the pleasure I gave her, if a bit smudged from sleeping on the dirty stone. “Time to clean you up.”
She murmurs a protest when I set her down in the tub.
I turn the gold knobs and test the water temperature until it’s perfect. There’s a new cake of soap waiting to be unwrapped. Rose scented, of course. I lather a soft washcloth and place it between her legs. She winces with a little moan.
“Sore?” My deep voice echoes around the bathroom and brings a deeper flush to her cheeks.
Biting her lip, she nods.
“Was that the first time you’ve had something inside you?” I still can’t believe she’s a virgin.
She raises her chin, looking regal even though she’s wet and naked. “That’s none of your business.”
Still that fire in her eyes even as she gave in to me so beautifully. My cock is hard as a rock from just remembering her sweet submission.
I growl and pull her hands away from where they cover her breasts. “Everything about you is my business. You belong to me now, Daphne.”
“I don’t belong to anyone. I’m my own person.”
“Really? Is that why you’ve worked so hard to be a clone of your father?” And Adam Archer, I add silently, though I won’t say that fucker’s name. Maybe I don’t have to kill him now, since he hasn’t defiled my precious rose.
It wasn’t supposed to be about her. It was supposed to be about revenge…but now. After having her here, after watching her shatter beneath me, inhaling her virgin scent as she detonated in her first ever orgasm that I and I alone wrung from her—
To my surprise, she gnaws her lip. “That’s also personal.”
I catch her chin. “You’re not theirs any longer. You’re mine.” This is the only thing I’ve become absolutely sure of over the past hour.
She’s changing everything.
But it doesn’t mean I can’t have my revenge still.
She will be my revenge now. I will take Dr. Laurel’s daughter and make her mine. I will snatch the woman Adam Archer wants right out from under his nose. When I’m done with her, she’ll crave no one else but me.
Except maybe…maybe I’ll never be done with her. If she continues to be what she appears, if she really is pure, then…
I gaze down at the perfect beauty, naked before me. Steam rises from the tub and she groans in pleasure. Can she really be all she appears to be? There’s so much more of her to explore. Not just her body, but her mind.
The tub is one of the few modern accoutrements I’ve added to the place, along with all the modern plumbing and lighting. One of the few pleasures I allow myself. It’s large and when I reach over and turn on the jets, Daphne murmurs happily.
Other than her few spitfire moments since we finished earlier, she’s mostly been like a sleepy cat. She reaches for me again and again, and I have to capture her wrists before she tries to dig her paws into my chest.
I’ll have to train my kitten, won’t I? No touching her Master.
Only I do the touching.
But she’s had enough lessons for today.
So I gently wash her. She tries to cover herself, but I tsk and pull her hands away. After a moment, her raven head sinks back against the tall edge of the tub.
“What am I doing?” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “This is so wrong.”
“Why?” I ask, sifting my hands through her long, dark, silky hair. I pour some shampoo into my hand. I added a feminine sounding shampoo to my grocery order yesterday and the scent of roses soon fills the bathroom. She leans forward when I direct her, bowing her head.
I love the shape of her tiny, delicate skull in my hands as I massage the suds in. So much life embodied in such a fragile container. And her amazing brain. I know just how smart Daphne Laurel is.
That she has the capacity for such genius and also such beautiful submission… My hands tremble as I continue to wash her hair and I’m glad she’s facing away so she can’t see.
“What do you mean, why?” she asks. “You’re my, my captor,” she sputters.
I purse my lips and continue to massage her scalp. “Or we’re two consenting adults and for a while you’re deciding to give your power over to me. You’re just realizing how good it feels to l
ay it down. To let me take care of you.”
I slide one suds-slippery hand down her neck and down the front of her chest to her breast and lean close. “Maybe you realize how good it feels to be bad. To let go.” I bite at her ear, and it's more than just a nibble.
She gasps and her nipples that have only been pebbled before turn hard as rocks, peeping out just above the roiling jet water.
“What’s so wrong about that?” I continue whispering in her ear before pulling away and sliding my hand back up into her hair.
She’s left panting and I smile. No one’s ever reacted to me the way she has…but maybe that’s the point, too.
I’m only able to be my true self with her. Only with each other are we able to be our true selves.
Only with each other are we able to be free.
She doesn’t say anything else as I pour pitchers of warm water over her head to wash out the shampoo.
I continue talking and washing her sweet, petite little body. “That’s right. Let go. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to do a thing.”
I lift her arm and run just the tips of my fingers up and down her forearm, then up to her biceps. I brush a bar of pink soap underneath her armpit and she giggles and drops her arm back down.
It’s the most precious and adorable sound and I immediately want to hear it again, so I pull her arm up and repeat the motion. Her giggle is even more high-pitched this time. She squirms and splashes, trying to get away from me.
She flips like a fish in my arms but I’m even quicker, grabbing her wrists and pinning them to the sides of the tub as I flip, too, looming over her. Water droplets gleam like gemstones on her eyelashes and she’s still laughing but she quickly sobers, her eyes searching mine back and forth.
“Will you take off the mask?” she asks, breathless. “I want to see you.”
If there’s one thing that could sour my mood, it’s that question.
“No, you don’t,” I bark, pulling back, but only so that I can grab her by the waist and bend her over the side of the large tub.
Beauty’s Beast Page 6
