by Sophie Starr
I took one of his dirty hands in mine and strolled to the door, pulling him in silence down the hallway. When we got to the washroom, I led him inside and closed the door, trapping him in there with me.
I turned the handle on the remarkable system they had and filled the tub with water from the boiler and then from the cold cistern. I added salts and scents and bubbles, just the way Mrs. Potts did and then turned to face him again.
He looked hard and cruel and confused. But I went to him anyway, undoing the buttons on his shirt and dragging it back across his wide chest and shoulders. The heat radiating from his skin made me shiver.
With trembling hands and a doubting heart, I lifted my hands again to his chest and touched him the way he had me, only I was gentle.
I ran my fingers along his chest and stomach, amazed at the hardness of his body. His thick arms and wide frame were intimidating but it didn't stop me. Neither did the look on his face. Because no matter the scowl he wore or the way he stood rigidly like he might strike me, there was always a softness in his blue eyes. I lifted my hands and brushed the shaggy dark hair from his eyes, smiling at his face.
“I think you scare me for the wrong reasons, not the ones you intend,” I whispered.
The look on his face worsened for a second and then was lost completely. I watched as he melted for me. His body lost its tension and his sneer was replaced with something akin to defeat.
I dragged my hands down him, undoing his pants the way Babette had, but when I dropped them to the floor I ignored the erect cock between his thick thighs. Instead, I took his hand and led him to the bath. I untied my dress and let it fall to the floor. I stepped into the water and pulled him with me.
He winced when he touched it and even gasped as he sat and all of him was in the water.
Grabbing a cloth, I sat back on my heels facing him and started to wash him the way Mrs. Potts had washed me. He leaned back and closed his eyes. For the first time, he was calm and I soothed the beast.
Dragging the cloth up and down him gently, I wondered where the beast lived inside him. His muscled arms and legs held no scars, and yet I knew from his flesh the monster would leap out. I wondered if it hurt when he changed. And I wondered if his anger was that of the animal inside him and not his at all.
His body relaxed and after a few moments his breathing deepened. He drifted off, falling asleep. Instead of leaving him to sleep I curled myself into his arms and closed my eyes, listening to the beat of his heart and wondering if it was broken.
10
I set the table with Mrs. Potts, laughing at her joking about Lumier’s little ponytail and how he had likely been born with it; he had worn it so long.
His cheeks flushed as he shook his head. “I assure you, ma’am, I was not born with it.”
She chuckled and tossed a roll at him from the plate of them she had just put out. He caught it and winked, leaving us there.
I cocked an eyebrow and asked the question I had been wondering since I had left the master sleeping in the tub, “Where has Babette gone?”
The question stole the laugh from Mrs. Potts’ lips. “That woman!” She shook her head, busying herself with rolling out dough for a pie. “I have no idea where she has run off to. Chip and I searched for her yesterday, but she is nowhere to be found. She has been shirking her duties for a long time and her hold over the master with her kinky ways has always bought her leniency with him. She is lazy and desperate.”
“The apparatus in the study—the swing—it’s hers?”
Her cheeks reddened but she nodded, not meeting my gaze at all. “She was once a very lovely girl, I suppose. We didn't know her but she seemed that way. When her fiancé died in the war she came here, in the dead of night. Since then she has spent all her free time seducing the prin—master. She put all of her efforts into him, I think hoping he would marry her one day.” She grew flustered. “I don't really know. Do ya know where Chip is? I sent him to fetch the eggs but he isn’t back yet.”
“I will go find him.” I glanced out the window, still stuck in the story of Babette and her loss and her manipulations. I left the room, hurrying for the henhouse.
Chip was there, carrying a basket much too large for a young boy. “The hens have been laying double time. I don't know what to do with it all.” He struggled until I grabbed it. The basket was nearly overflowing.
“The fruit trees too.” He nodded at the orchards behind the castle. “I think they have never seen this much sun before. It’s been sunny almost every day since ya came.” He grinned and walked toward the castle door to the kitchen.
I paused, contemplating the fact it had been sunny. “How long have I been here?” I asked, suddenly confused.
He shrugged. “I don't know. Ya came and it got sunny and the farms are doing well as a result of it all.” He opened the door for me. Mrs. Potts’ jaw dropped when she saw the basket.
“Ye gods, what am I going to do with all those flaming eggs?”
Chip chuckled and stole a roll as his mom was distracted by the basket. He ran off again quickly, no doubt hoping to avoid any more chores. I couldn't blame him. He was a boy.
“What does Babette usually do? I can do her share.”
“Not much.” Mrs. Potts stared at the eggs and shook her head. “If I’m lucky, I can get her to dust a bit in the great hall and the master’s study.”
I smiled and nodded. “I’ll do it now.” I walked out of the kitchen a bit amused by the face of Mrs. Potts.
The work went quickly as my brain roamed about, contemplating the things that were new.
I hadn’t thought of my father often enough. That bothered me. It was easier to stay here hidden, than it was to go to him. Even the shame of my betrayal of my father couldn't get me to leave. I told myself it was fear of Gaston, but I was starting to see it was something else.
Babette’s hold on the master seemed to be slipping away. I suspected it was because of me and I liked that idea. I liked that he had fallen asleep with me and hadn’t tensed once. He hadn’t even tried to hurt me.
Granted, I hadn’t seen him since the bath, but I assumed things I maybe shouldn't have. I couldn't fight it.
I liked that it was sunny and the farms were doing well. I liked that I didn't feel out of place anymore.
I strolled into his study, not thinking about knocking. Not until I looked up to see him glaring at me. My feet stopped abruptly and my cheeks reddened. “Forgive me. I didn't know you were here.” I backed up quickly, hoping he wouldn't scream at me. I had stopped seeing him as something horrid because of the spark or whatever it was that was between us that I couldn't deny. Even if in that moment when he was glaring at me, I wished I could.
I was closing the door to the study when he finally spoke, “Wait!”
Taking a breath before opening it, I peeked back in. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
He looked confused. “Why?”
“Mrs. Potts needs help. She can’t do it all and Babette does nearly nothing.” My gaze narrowed. “You let her wrap you around her finger and she hasn't worked or helped out around the castle in years.”
He leaned back in his massive chair. I knew I had overstepped my bounds, but I didn't care. I hated Babette and the hold she had over him, even if it was fading.
“So I am helping.” My eyes drew to the ceiling where I noticed that the ropes were still attached. They had been dragged to the drapes and tucked behind them. His gaze followed mine and when I looked back at him he was still looking up.
“Come in here.” He spoke with the tone I didn't think I should disobey, but I did.
“Forgive me for intruding.” I closed the door, wincing when he shouted from behind it. The swing made me nervous, and the thought that Babette had been in it made me queasy, but it was his shouting that made me flee.
I left the mop and ran for the hall, at first uncertain of where to hide, until an idea hit me.
There was one place.
It was unlikely he would come and find me in the library, especially after he had shouted at me so harshly there the last time. I guessed that it literally was the last place he would have imagined me to be.
As I entered the large room and closed the door softly, I sighed in relief. My heart desperately wanted to see my father and visit the birdbath, but I knew the master might have thought it was the most likely place I would go.
The vast room, now somehow very clean and smelling of wood polish and books instead of dust, made me feel better. The room was far tidier than when I had been here last. It was pleasant to see it in its rightful state, with books on shelves and everything gleaming. The smell in the air suggested that the fire had been lit since then.
I sighed and walked to the stairs, hurrying up them to the second floor where I would hide until I didn't think he was seeking me any longer.
Deep inside myself there was a fear of him that was matched by a fear of my responses to him. His beauty was remarkable and deceptive. Behind that frowning brow and hateful glare, there was a man I longed to see smile. If I was being honest with myself, I wanted to be the cure for what made him seem so lost and damaged.
I stood in the corner and ran my fingers over the spines of the old books, each one so very different from the next. Deep in thought and completely lost in my imaginations, I didn't hear the door open and close again.
I didn't hear anything.
But suddenly, standing and staring at the wall of bindings, I felt something. I felt eyes—a gaze upon me. I turned and jumped, seeing his angry brow and clenched jaw. Swallowing hard, I pressed my lips together and shook my head in protest of whatever he was about to say.
His anger melted, somehow defeated in something he saw in my eyes. “I am sor—” he paused and took a breath, not ever finishing that sentence but starting a new one instead. “Did you notice we finished cleaning the room?” he asked and looked around him uncomfortably.
I nodded.
He took a step forward, but I stepped back, unable to resist the fear lingering in me. Not all of it was of him, most of it was of my deep desire to let my fingers linger at his cheek or let him stand too near me.
“I wanted to say that I am sorry,” he offered quickly.
My lips stayed firmly pressed together.
“I didn't mean to lose my temper. You just came in here uninvited, as you have every other room in the house, and I didn't want you meddling. It still smells the way it did when she used to come here all the time, and I didn't want you to change that.” He swallowed hard, clearly struggling with the fact he was sharing something with me.
Granted, I didn't understand what he meant. I assumed he meant his mother.
He took a step forward and I remained there, letting him get closer to me. “I truly am sorry for grabbing your arm that way. I haven’t been able to shake the way you looked at me.” His eyes bore down on me, invading all of my personal space.
My neck craned to return his intense stare. “I should have asked you if it was all right. I didn't mean to be rude or assume.”
His upper lip twitched, threatening a smile—an earnest smile. “Do you like it in here?”
There was no way to avoid the beaming look on my face when I answered. “Indeed. I do. I love it. There are so many books. Have you read them all?”
“No.” He chuckled, his beautiful smile owning his face. I tried not to trust the happy man in front of me, knowing the angry one lurking below the surface could pop out at any given second for no reason at all.
But it was difficult.
I wanted to fight the feelings I had for him. The feelings I had been having for him for far too long. They made no sense and might as well have come over me like magic.
He continued staring, making me even more uncomfortable. “I have a favorite if you want to see it.”
I nodded but I had a suspicion I could guess his favorite book. It was going to be the one with the people making love.
But he turned and walked the other way, looking back at me as if to wait. “My mother made me pick a favorite when I was boy, and she would read it to me every night after I was dressed and readied for bed.”
I cocked an eyebrow, realizing we might have actually had the same childhood. I too had a book I loved more than any of the others and it was for that very same reason.
I walked next to him, letting my arm almost brush against his as we walked along the shelves. I shuddered when the heat of him permeated my dress in waves.
He stopped after a moment and glanced at me. His hand lifted and I flinched, perhaps for no reason at all, but I couldn't fight it—the fear of him. I realized too late he was reaching for a book next to my face.
His eyes drew together and his lips pressed tight. He reached for me instead of the book, grabbing my arms, not harshly just suddenly. He looked down at me like he might scream at me but he didn't. His lips trembled and he breathed heavily as he released me, stepping back. He was fighting his rage, or something.
I turned and ran down the stairs, lifting my skirts so I didn't trip, and hurried outside, desperate to see my father. I sucked the fresh air in, relishing in it and the strong desire I had to be free of the castle and all the confusion I felt.
When I reached it, the master was already there.
His chest rose and fell like he had run there. His head was lowered, but I noticed the shadow didn't follow him around anymore. His blue eyes were intense as was the look on his lips. “What are you doing?”
“I wanted to see my father. It’s been too long.” I gulped.
“To me.” He spoke in an odd manner. “What are you doing to me?” He seemed desperate, not angry. The sky filled with clouds and from nowhere came a crack of lightning. And as if the crack was the signal to start it all, the rain began. I winced as the first cold droplets landed on me.
We were soaked in the second we spent staring at each other.
Finally, I broke the spell he had me under and answered him as I shook my head, “I don't know what you mean. I’m sorry.”
He stepped forward, towering over me. “What are you doing to me?” His question was breathy as his eyes focused on my lips.
I was stuck. My feet refused to run any longer.
“What do you want, Belle?” he asked softly.
“You.” The answer was so simple and yet so very complex. But he went with the simple version of my answer and pulled me into his arms. His rain-soaked face slid against mine as his lips finally did the very thing I think I had wanted them to do from the moment I had seen his face.
He kissed me.
His tongue brushed against my lips, prying them open and invading my mouth. It wasn't aggressive; it was passionate. My arms were already around his neck and my feet no longer touched the ground. It felt like we both floated, but I knew it was just me.
He pulled me into the shelter where the birdbath was, and sat me on an old table in the corner. My knickers were gone and my dress was lifted before I realized I was undoing his pants. We savagely ripped at each other’s clothing, but the moment we were naked together, we both paused.
The tension and angst had come to a head.
He stepped forward, cupping my chin and cheeks. “You are so beautiful.” He spoke delicately and lovingly, but I could see the massive “but” at the end of it all. “I can’t do this to you.”
I dragged him to me, hopping off the table and pushing him onto it. “Then let me do it to you.” I shoved him back hard. I knew from the picture in the book I could ride him like I might a horse, except for the difference in the saddle.
He sputtered, wanting to stop it all, but I crawled atop him, sitting on his cock that was rigid as a pole.
I took a deep breath, looked into his piercing blue eyes, and reached back and lifted the cockhead, nestling it between my wet lips. They had parted in anticipation.
His hands remained at his sides as he shook his head, but I ignored his protests
and sat back in one painful movement. I cried out as something—my maidenhead no doubt—broke inside me. Pain seared through my body but it lasted only a second.
His body filled mine to the maximum and I dared not move as everything inside me adjusted for the beast that had been unleashed within my loins.
Sweat broke on my forehead as I started to move a little, not understanding the feelings or sensations I had firing off inside me.
His hands lifted to my hips, moving me slowly as he sat up, cradling me in his lap. “You were pure.” There was deep regret in his voice.
I shook my head, ashamed and alive all at once. “I don't think I was ever pure.” I wished I could tell him of the wicked thoughts I had.
His breath against the side of my face roughened as his hands started to lift me off his cock and pull me back down on it. Whimpering breaths slipped from my lips as his pressed against mine. We kissed and rocked and caressed with every inch of ourselves. The motion grew to be something intense and wonderful.
His hands slid over me, releasing my breasts so he might suckle and flick my nipples. His fingers were unstoppable as he cupped my ass, squeezing and jerking into me. He lasted with me atop him maybe ten minutes before he stood, still inside me, and laid me gently on the old table. My feet rested against his shoulders and he was very still, looking down on me intently. “May I fuck you, Belle?”
I nodded, desperate to feel what I knew I would.
He drove himself into me, impaling me with the beast I realized I hadn’t felt all of. He had been keeping some back, protecting me from the sheer size of it.
I cried out, half in pain and half in pleasure.
His jerks and thrusts tore into me, creating space and bliss. My back arched and the very thing I imagined would happen, did. I tensed everywhere, whimpering and moaning with every bit of the contact we made. His hands gripped to my hips and ass, lifting me to meet his thrusting cock.
I cried out when the tension released like a floodgate might have. I breathed a long and ecstatic wail out into the rain and lightning. It was like listening to a symphony. His pounding body slamming into mine, our mutual sounds, both in desperate pleasure and release, and the rain hitting everything around us, only to be followed by cracking lightning and pounding thunder.
