Beauty’s Beast

by Black, Stasia

  He draws the bed curtains, cocooning me in velvety darkness. His finger ghosts over my cheek before he strokes my hair. “Sleep now.”

  I catch his hand. He stiffens and I drop it. “Sorry.” He never lets me touch him.

  A pause. “It’s all right.”

  “Stay with me a bit?”

  “And do what?”

  It’s my turn to stiffen. He’s touched me all over, and held me in this very bed, and I know we’re headed to something more, but I’m still weak and—

  “Shhhh, Daphne. It’s all right. I’ll stay. Right here.” He seats himself in his usual chair beside my bed. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “Yes. Tell me a story?”

  He studies his hands. He often wears gloves but he’s left them off to tend to me. The skin is mottled and scarred, as if they sustained chemical burns. “I’m no good at stories.”

  “Then I’ll tell you one.”

  “You should rest—” he starts, but I grab his hand. He stiffens but I don’t let go. I clutch his hand with both of mine, holding on like a lifeline. After a second he relaxes a fraction. Not perfect, but it’s a start.

  “My mother used to tell me stories. There once was a princess who lived in a castle…” I launch into one of my favorites, a blend of Princess Bride and Rapunzel, with a couple of dragons because why not? “And they all lived happily ever after in their castle surrounded by rose bushes.” I finish with a yawn. The Beast hasn’t moved a muscle since I took his hand. He might as well be a statue, a dark gargoyle watching from afar.

  “That’s a lovely story,” he rumbles.

  “Mmmm,” I close my eyes. My grip on his hand loosens. He pulls away, but he takes one of my hands between his, holding it like a little bird. “I like stories,” I murmur. “As long as they have a happy ending. My mother said all stories should have happy endings.” She felt my childhood was filled with too much pain and sadness.

  “And your story, Daphne?” The Beast’s voice turns harsh, even as he strokes the back of my hand gently. “Does it have a happy ending?”

  “I don’t know,” I sigh. Sleep’s closing in. Even though the Beast is growling again, his big body vibrating tension, I know now he’d never really hurt me. I feel safer with him than I have in a long time. “I guess it’s up to you.”

  * * *

  Morning finds me curled in a Beast-sized armchair by the fire. Outside a winter storm beats freezing rain against the window, but my body’s stronger than it’s been in days.

  I can’t believe the Beast tended me all this time. He’s been inordinately gentle. He even let me touch him last night. I held his hand, though I can barely remember our conversation.

  The bedroom door creaks and the Beast appears. He sees me and stops in his tracks. “You’re awake.”

  “I got up and dressed all by myself,” I brag.

  “Well done.” There’s that glimmer of a smile. I’m addicted to it.

  “I brought breakfast.” There’s a cart with a tray just outside the door. I wrinkle my nose at the shiny silver dome covering the plate. It’s probably more broth.

  But no, when he whips off the cover with a flourish, a steaming omelet with a side rasher of—

  “Bacon!” I reach with both hands, already drooling.

  “Ah ah,” he holds the plate aloft. “Not until you eat your porridge.” He hands me a bowl and spoon. Topped with fresh berries and cream, it’s hardly gruel, but it’s not bacon.

  “You’re heartless,” I tell him, but dutifully dig in.

  “So I’ve been told.” Another glimmer of a smile.

  “Careful,” I mutter to the bowl. “I’ll one star you on Yelp.”

  “Too late. I’ve already been voted best Evil Captor three years running.” As my mouth drops open—he made a joke!—he adds, “Having a castle helped.”

  “I bet. How did you get a castle just outside New Olympus anyway? Did you build it?”

  “Inherited it. My predecessor brought it over from the old country, stone by stone.”

  My mouth is hanging open now. The Beast isn’t just making jokes, he’s sharing information? Before I get too excited, he raises his chin and orders, “Eat, Daphne.”

  I lift my spoon and plunge it dramatically in the bowl. He watches me take a few bites before kneeling to build up the fire. I can’t help but admire the taut line of his backside, set off perfectly by exquisitely tailored pants.

  “Remind me to thank your stylist,” I murmur.

  “What?” he rises, dusting off his hands. Today he’s in a chunky off-white knit sweater. His black hair is tousled. Mmmmm.

  “Nothing.” Daphne! Stop perving on your captor! My spoon clinks in the bowl as I shovel away at the oatmeal.

  “Careful. Don’t make yourself sick.”

  “I want bacon,” I say with my mouthful.

  He makes a frustrated noise and kneels beside me, commandeering my spoon. “Slowly,” he says, feeding me a smaller bite.

  “Fine.” I let him feed me as he’s done before, exaggerating my movements. “Mmm,” I hum and lick cream from my lips. His gaze hones onto my mouth. I nibble on a strawberry and he looks away, jaw clenching. Is that a flush on his swarthy skin?

  I sit back, satisfied. I’m not the only one affected.

  “Are you finished?” he asks.

  To my disappointment, I am. “I’m full,” I sigh.

  He sets the bowl down and picks up the plate. “Because I’m hungry.”

  “That was my bacon!” I cry.

  “Mine now,” he grins outright now, his teeth white and even under his mask. Without the tension in his jaw he looks…handsome?

  I flop back in my chair. “One star.” I wave a hand at the grand furnishings, beautiful enough to adorn a modern palace. “Decor is great but the service leaves much to be desired.”

  “Be nice, now,” he admonishes, dragging a second armchair closer before seating himself. “Otherwise I won’t share.” He holds up a slice of bacon. Gaw, it smells heavenly.

  I hold out my hand and he shakes his head. Now I’m flushing. But it’s not the first time he’s fed me, so I lean in and get my reward. Is there an amused glint in his eyes as he feeds me? Fuck, I don’t care. Bacon is the best.

  He feeds me all the breakfast meat like that. I wave away a forkful of the omelet, but gleefully accept the tiny cup of thick hot chocolate he serves from a china teapot. With the fire crackling and good food in my belly, I’m as spoiled as a princess from my mother’s stories.

  When was the last time I had a leisurely breakfast? Without lab reports or quarterly filings to go over? Rachel would be slack-jawed. And not just because I’m enjoying a meal with my evil captor.

  By the end of breakfast, it’s stopped sleeting. The day is brighter even though the clouds are grey.

  “I want to go outside,” I tell the Beast.

  “It’s too cold.”

  “I can bundle up. Come on, the storm’s long over. I want you to show me the gardens.” The labyrinth. If I don’t dare ask him about Battleman’s or my company’s patents, maybe I can learn more about him.

  A ploy, I tell myself. A way to guard myself against my captor. Not because I want to know him as a person. A friend or, gods forbid, a lover.

  I mean…sometimes I might have had a few stray fantasies over the past few days, but those don’t count, right? I was half-delirious with fever most of the time. I blink away the confusing thoughts when the Beast starts talking again.

  “It’s winter. They’re not at their best.” He twists to look out the window. My breath catches at his profile. It’s somehow familiar. A memory tickles me…

  He turns back, his dark brown eyes catching mine, and the memory is gone.

  “We’ll have to agree to disagree,” I say as he plumps my pillows. “The roses look amazing. My mother would love them.”

  “Yes, she did love her roses, didn’t she?” he murmurs.

  How do you know? What do you know about my mother? About m
e? I bite back the questions.

  He puts the plate aside. “It’s time for your punishment.”

  Sixteen

  Beast

  “My punishment? What for?” She sits up straighter, pushing back a lock of hair that’s fallen over her cheek. Her skin is newly flushed—her healthy glow returned. She doesn’t look upset, but curious.

  “For running from me.”

  “Running…” Her forehead creases as if she doesn’t remember. Just days ago we were at odds. “Oh, into the labyrinth. I thought you were going to hurt me.” She sounds matter-of-fact, unafraid.

  “And now?”

  She tilts her head to the side, studying me. I hold my breath, waiting for her to recognize me. But she never does. I was too thorough with the details of my disguise. But she murmurs, “I don’t think you will. Hurt me, I mean. Not more than I can take.” Her lashes lower, fanning across her bright pink cheeks.

  Once again I am staggered by her strength. Her willingness to trust. And the way her body responds to me.

  Only me.

  “Go to the bathroom. Refresh yourself and return to me,” I order in a hoarse voice.

  Her brow wrinkles for a moment, but she obeys. Just before she disappears into the bathroom I call out. “Oh, and Daphne?”

  She turns back, responding instantly to my command. A good start. I rise, savoring the moment.

  “When you return to me, you need to be naked.”

  She bites her lip but nods. The bathroom door closes. A few seconds later, the shower turns on.

  Ignoring my painfully hard erection, I spin into action. Normally I’d follow and enjoy washing my little captive, but she’s going to submit to me. Willingly. And I want to be ready.

  This is a new step for us. After the labyrinth, things changed. Taking care of her…it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever experienced before in my life.

  I’ve been alone as long as I can remember. It’s just been me vs. the world. Alone all growing up, fighting for my place in the group homes and then a series of brutal disappointments as an adult.

  I hadn’t left the castle for a year before her. I thought it was better that way.

  But fuck was I was wrong.

  Because when she reached for me in her feverish delirium? When she begged me not to leave her? Her little hands grasping desperately onto whatever part of me she could reach?

  I— I just— Fuck. I can’t even think straight when she’s around.

  Beyond one clear thought: I need to make her mine.

  Right then the bathroom door opens and my heartbeat ratchets up a notch. The lights are dimmed. A few candles and the fireplace add an ambient glow. I’ve stripped the bed and changed the sheets, leaving off the pillows and blankets.

  She’s delightfully, deliciously naked. The light from the bathroom limns her smooth curves. Damp tendrils of her hair frame her face. She hesitates in the door, her hands fluttering around her hips as if she wants to cover herself. She doesn’t know her own perfection. But then after a moment, her stance firms, her hands fisting at her sides. My good, brave girl.

  “Come to me.” I wait by the bed as she slowly crosses the room. As my shadow stretches over her, her pulse jumps in her throat. She has said she trusts me, but some part of her, the primal instinct, recognizes me as a threat. A predator. A Beast.

  And I am. I tower over her, big enough to break her in two.

  That’s why I’ve waited so long and prepared so much. In my earlier rages, I’ve risked breaking her which is why I haven’t let myself touch her until I was absolutely in control of myself. I need to be gentle as I master her completely. She can never crave any touch but mine.

  Her lashes lift, her incredible eyes meeting mine. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to teach you, sweetness. How to submit to my commands. How to give yourself fully to me.”

  Her chest rises and falls rapidly. But her gaze doesn’t leave mine. I’ve never had a creature look at me with such trust even as she says, “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  Oh sweetness, you can. “You don’t have to do a thing.” I can’t stop myself from reaching out and touching her hair. My hand is huge next to her face. I grip one of her damp locks, swallowing it in my fist. “Just let go and be mine.”

  Seventeen

  Daphne

  The Beast looms over me, half in shadow. In the dark, the scarred skin around his mask disappears. When he turns his head I get a sense of deja vu, like I know him from somewhere—

  “Go to the bed and lie down, face up.”

  I swallow. My hands come up automatically to cover my breasts.

  “Ah ah,” he catches my wrists and moves them apart, baring my chest to his gaze. My heart is pounding, overwhelmed. I’m so vulnerable right now.

  Still holding my wrists, he backs me to the bed. When he lets go, I scramble up and lay back. Maybe if I obey him, I won’t have to worry. I won’t have to think. Let go and be mine.

  He bends to grab something at the base of the bed. When he rises and I see what he holds, I scuttle to the headboard and plant myself there, my knees drawn up to my chest.

  “You want to tie me up?” I squeak. “Again?”

  He tosses the chain onto the bed. The silver length has a leather cuff on the end. I clutch my wrist.

  His gaze never leaving mine, he heads to the foot of the bed, leans down, and reveals a second restraint. There’s one at each corner of the bed. He ends up beside me again, unbuckling the leather cuff for my left wrist.

  “Submit, Daphne.”

  After a deep breath, I do. I could tell myself I have no choice, but it’s not true. I could’ve protested when he announced it was time for my punishment, and he would’ve backed down, tucked me into bed and coddled me like an invalid. It was my curiosity as much as his depravity spurring us forward. I don’t want to stop. I’m in too deep.

  I scoot down and lie back. After a pause, I slowly spread my arms and legs. The ultimate submission. That fact that the position makes my pussy throb has nothing to do with it.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs, taking my left arm and securing the cuff around my wrist. “Flex your fingers for me?” I do and he strokes the tips. His dark eyes bore into mine and my core clenches. He only has to touch my fingertips to turn me on.

  “Too tight?” he asks. I shake my head. His cheek curls—another smile!—and he heads down to cuff my feet.

  “You’re being so good, Daphne. You know what that means?”

  “What?” My voice is husky. The sound of it surprises me—I’ve turned into a sexpot. I’ve never felt like this before, but this moment is one of many firsts. He’s still dressed like always, but this time, I’m unafraid as he strips me bare. Lying down and letting him restrain me with an excited willingness.

  I’ve never been more turned on. My nipples are crinkled peaks, begging for attention.

  “It means you get a reward.” He turns and walks away, leaving me helpless and bound. My arms are stretched over my head, my legs able to bend a little but not move much more than that. What is he going to do to me?

  When he returns, I’m almost panting, my heart fluttering in the cage of my chest like a captured bird. But my nipples are harder than ever. And my pussy aches…

  “Shhhh.” He lays a large hand on my chest, splayed over my breastbone. “Calm, Daphne. I won’t hurt you.” A quirk of his lips, a crooked smile. “At least, not more than you like. Because you like some pain, don’t you?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  He reaches behind his back and I cringe, expecting an implement of torture. When he shows me what he’s holding, I almost laugh.

  “A rose?” The petals are dark red, just beginning to unfurl.

  I crane my neck and he brings the bloom to my face. I inhale the scent. This time memory brings me back to the first time I found the rose—on my pillow in my room at Thornhill. It was a week after my mother died. I was eighteen, almost nineteen. My childhood room felt
like it belonged to a stranger, the walls, the bed no longer familiar. Everything had changed. I’d stepped over the threshold from girl to woman, and I would never be the same again.

  Deja vu. I’m standing at another threshold now.

  The Beast uses the rose to trace the contours of my face. Up one cheek, down the other. Over my lips and down my sternum. He trails the rose between my breasts. The petals tease my already peaked nipples.

  “I thought this was punishment?” I manage breathily.

  “It is. I’m going to teach you not to be so reckless with what belongs to me.” The rose brushes lower, teasing the taut plane below my belly button. When did my skin get so sensitive?

  I hold my breath as the rose dips lower.

  “One day, Daphne, I will call and you will run to me.” It’s a promise, a threat, a vow.

  I shiver and get that sense of deja vu again. Or maybe a premonition.

  He grabs a pillow and slides it under my bottom, propping up my hips. Gods, I’m fully on display now, my labia slick and plump.

  “You poor thing. So very needy.” He tickles my folds with a forefinger. “Shall your Master make you feel better? Here?”

  I whimper.

  “Or maybe you want me here.” He probes my entrance gently. I clench my thighs, drawing them together as far as they can go. Which isn’t very far. The Beast smirks at me, teasing my slick hole as my knees tremble, trying to close to keep him out.

  A petal breaks from the rosebud. He rubs the bloom over my folds, tickling my labia. Another petal breaks off, and another. The Beast crouches low and blows over my skin, and I clench my core. The petals scatter.

  He spends time with his head angled this way and that, his mouth hovering over me, his lips pursed so each breath sends petals dancing over the bare canvas of my flesh. He sends the petals this way and that until goosebumps rise on my bare midriff and my pussy aches.