“Thank you,” she muttered, stunned.
The manservant didn’t remark, instead, bowed and exited quietly. She stared after the man.
“That is Witherby,” her captor supplied, pulling the cover off his dish.
A delicious smell wafted over to her. “Is he your only servant?”
A curious look crossed his face and then he laughed, “Of course not. You met your ladies’ maid before dinner and then there’s the cook and—”
“I had no ladies’ maid,” she said with a shake of her head. A cook as well?
His dark eyebrows pulled together. “I’ll have Witherby look into the matter. That was inexcusable on her part to not show up.”
Belle shrugged. “Why would it matter? I’m your prisoner, not a house guest.”
His golden eyes blazed intently in the low lighting. “Like I said, I’ve decided to make amends for before.”
“What do you mean by that?” she asked skeptically, yet she was undoubtedly curious.
He gestured to her dish with a graceful motion. “Eat first. We will discuss that later.”
She wanted to argue, but she knew there would be little point. Instead, her stomach growled hungrily and she uncovered her dish to a vision of stuffed pheasant. Mouth watering, she tried to eat without appearing to enjoy it too much. It was delicious and the best meal she had had in some time. His cook was to be congratulated.
She finished her meal and finally, reached for her red wine. She had been so enraptured by the meal that she hadn’t touched it yet. Her fingertips had just touched the glass when…
“Before you drink, may I make a proposition?” her captor asked, twirling his glass in his hand.
“And what is your proposition?” she returned, her fingers falling away from the glass.
“I no longer wish to turn you into the authorities. In exchange for your exoneration, I have one simple request.” His eyes bore into hers, holding her captivated. “I wish for you to stay with me.”
Her pulse fluttered at the implication. Stay with him? As his prisoner? As something more? For how long? Her lips fell open, uncertain if she’d even have the courage to ask. When did she become so meek?
“Forever,” he added in a whisper.
Yes, was her first thought. Her mind was suddenly hazy as if she had drank too much wine. She looked thoughtfully at her glass to see if she had indeed drank some of it earlier and hadn’t noticed. It was still full. Her eyes darted back to his, straying from them for too long proved difficult.
His hand slipped to his pocket and produced a case. She recognized it immediately. Her captivation ebbed away like the breaking of a spell. This wasn’t some romantic proposition—this was blackmail. Somewhere in the vicinity of her heart, she felt a small ache much like disillusion. The Grast had found her stolen things and now had actual proof of her guilt. She had no choice now but to leave, which of course, she was already planning on doing. But if she were to disagree now… would he call of the authorities tonight? Would he lock her back up in the dungeon? No, she had to agree… for now at least. Though, there was no way she was staying another night here, she resolved.
How differently I would have felt if he hadn’t shown me that case, her mind whispered.
She lowered her lashes with a demureness she didn’t feel and picked up her glass. “Very well. To forever.”
He smiled sinisterly and inclined his glass as well. “To forever.”
They both drank to the toast. By the time Belle put her glass down though, she felt as if a film had been placed over her eyes. She tried to blink but her eyelids were sluggish. Her mouth opened but it too was not cooperating. Her eyes landed on her captor, who had already risen and was walking over to her.
“I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t want to take any chances you were planning something,” he whispered, “It is only a sleeping draught. You’ll sleep well tonight and wake with no lasting…”
***
Belle could feel herself waking up but her eyes still refused to open. Her limbs were heavy as if laden with lead but she could move them little by little. It took a moment before she realized what was going on. The Grast had drugged her. Her first emotion was anger, but she also felt betrayal and hurt somewhere in the remotest corners of her heart.
She had foolishly thought for a moment that the Grast wanted her to stay and be with him, not as a prisoner or a friend, but as a companion. A lover. A tear slipped through her closed eyelid and she found she could open them now. Her breaths were shallow and she moved a limp arm to her chest, clawing at the bodice that felt too tight.
Summoning all her strength, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and waited until they returned to normal. Sitting, at least, relieved some of the pressure, the panic that had been building in her chest.
Her chamber was still dark and the gap in her window curtain told her the hour was still late. His draught hadn’t lasted as long as he’d thought it would. There was still time for her to escape.
In her hurry to undress and redress in her gypsy clothes, she tore the lovely evening gown, but she cared naught. It had been a foolish whim, it meant nothing to her. As soon as the silk undergarments left her skin, she threw them as far from her as she could. With expediency, she pulled her long skirt on, wrapping her hip scarf tightly, then pulled on her peasant blouse and quickly knotted her head scarf.
She went immediately to the mirror and pushed on the catch. The trick door swung inward. Luckily, her anger was still strong for it fired her blood and made her brave. She stepped into the dark passageway and closed the mirror shut behind her.
It was tall enough so she didn’t have to stoop and if she held her arms out away from her body, she could feel the cool surface of wood on either side of her. She took bold steps until she felt the end. By now, her bravado had partially worn off and with shaky hands she blindly searched for the catch. She felt smooth metal and pulled, the mirror swung toward her.
Soft silver light flooded the passageway, filling her with relief. She peered around the mirror and scanned the room for movement, for the Grast. It was a masculine bed chamber from what she could guess. Though, there were no signs of use and certainly no one sleeping in the neatly made bed. She slipped into the empty room.
Her bare feet made little noise as she hurried to the door. Her fingers had just touched the brass handle when a dark shadow cast over her. Her spine straightened as she sensed him. She only had a split second to form a plan and act. She twirled around, arms flailing but he caught them easily and slammed them against the wood of the door, pinning them on either side of her head. She winced but made no noise apart from a small breathless gasp. He was looming over her, only wearing his usual frayed black breeches. Gone was the refined gentleman from dinner.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he growled, pressing his body into hers, cementing her against the door.
“Is it?” she growled back, trying to move her body even though she knew it was futile.
“You promised!” he hissed, his breath hitting her cheek.
Her head snapped to the side, her eyes closing.
“Look at me!” When she refused, he squeezed her arms harder and repeated his order.
She finally obeyed but her eyes were alight with their familiar gypsy fire.“You blackmailed me. Then you drugged me. Of course, I wasn’t going to stay here another moment!” she seethed, angry tears brimming in her chocolate eyes.
The stunned, innocently confused look on his scarred face made her even angrier. How could he stand there and pretend he didn’t see what was wrong in that? Did he really think that was okay because she was some common thief? Had he not even once seen past that? Apparently not.
Belle returned to her struggling. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, trying to make space between them while her hips tried to buck him off her. The effect was the opposite of her intention, if anything it only made her more acutely aware of the ridiculous attraction she had for him. She couldn’t help the shameful
way her body alighted as she moved against his hard, masculine body. Her body was growing hotter and she felt the telltale sign of moisture gathering between her legs.
“Stop thrashing about,” he ground out, rigidly.
“Never,” she answered fiercely, though she no longer knew if she was trying to get away from him or relieve the building pleasure growing low in her groin.
“Stop now or I cannot be held accountable for my reactions,” he rasped, his mouth ghosting over her cheek and as if to cement his threat, he thrust his hardening arousal against her belly.
Belle stilled as a sharp ache forced a breathless sigh from her lips. His mouth hovered close to hers, his body tense but no longer holding her entirely prisoner. Was he offering her the chance to have him? Impulsively, she decided she had to find out. She pushed her chest against him, hooking a leg around the back of his.
“I warned you,” he growled, placing his forehead to hers.
She moved against him half-heartedly, panting softly, waiting for him to make his move. She could feel his hands trembling slightly at her wrists, his body one tight wound up string. Just let go, she prayed.
His lips savagely claimed hers.
Relief flooded over her and she strained into his kiss. Desperately, he released her wrists and clung to her, a hand in her hair and one at her bottom. Her hands found the naked skin of his shoulders and clawed their way down his back, smooth bumps sliding under her touch. His scars.
They were wrapped around each other so tightly but she didn’t care. Belle wanted no space between them. She pulled her mouth away only so she could drag in a much needed breath. The Grast, however, moved his mouth readily to her throat, kissing and licking a trail to her ear. She sighed, arching her body into him. Wishing there were less clothes between them, but so numb with pleasure, she almost felt she couldn’t move.
Almost.
She slid her hands from his back to his chest, running her fingers through the small patch of hair to tease his nipples. He groaned, grabbing her ass with both hands and grinding it against the bulge in his breeches. She wasted no more time, reaching down she untied his breeches with shaking fingers, pushing them off his hips so they fell to the rug. He stepped out of them, at the same time, lifting her up. Her legs went around his hips instinctively.
Moving with passionate expediency, he carried her to the bed and set her down on the edge of it. For a long moment he stared down at her; the light pouring in from the single window illuminated his scars. The effect of it made him look as if he was shimmering, an immortal prince too handsome for this realm.
He pulled the scarf from her hair and tossed it behind her onto the bed. Next, as she sat there panting lightly, his hands pulled her shirt from her skirt. She arched her back as his fingers just barely grazed her skin as he took it off. She wasted no time in removing her hip scarf and skirt. It fell to the rug in a soft rustle of fabric.
His eyes fed on her body in all its naked glory. Never in her life had she felt more accepted than now as this glorious man feasted upon her. She believed there was more in his glinting golden eyes than lust, there was a camaraderie of like souls, of outcasts. Her heart yearned for him.
He towered over her, hoisting her further into the middle of the bed and crawling over her. Her arms came up and encircled his neck; she smiled in a lusty way before her lips sought out his. The Grast could kiss, it made her tremble so. And when he thrust his tongue against her lips, she opened for him.
Belle’s legs came up once more and he groaned, feeling the heat of her cunt perfectly lined up with his penis. She wanted him to take her, to make her his but he stalled. He leaned back a little and smiled devilishly down at her.
“There is no need to rush this. When I come into your body I want you ready to explode,” he husked, brazenly staring into her eyes.
His words excited her so much her body spasmed deliciously.
The Grast leaned on one elbow, holding some of his weight off her and ran a finger from her neck to her navel, leaving her shivering in its wake. It skimmed lower, tracing languidly just above her quivering bundle of nerves. Please! she silently prayed. His finger continued down the other side, to the outside her hip. She squirmed, sighing and aching. He chuckled at her frustration.
“Patience, Belle,” he murmured, kissing her beneath her jaw and then at her collarbone.
His finger ran down her thigh to the outside of her knee and then trailed to the inside and made a backward path, coming higher and higher, closer and closer to her pulsing heat. Until finally, his finger slid into her aching cunt. Belle let out a long, gasping sigh and he added another finger, stretching her even wider.
Her head thrashed from side to side as she tried to accommodate the mounting friction. She didn’t think her body could take anymore. And then his actions stopped altogether. Her heavy laden eyes sought his in the dark; he was watching her closely.
“Grast,” she gasped, pleadingly, “I need your touch there.” Her body writhed closer to his, seeking his pleasure.
“Where, Belle?” His nose ran lingeringly down her neck and his mouth placed open kisses to her breasts. “Tell me where.”
Her spine tingled from the anticipation of his mouth on her swollen breasts and the taboo of speaking so descriptively. “My ming. I need your touch on my ming.”
“What is ‘ming’ Romani for?” he asked, then added, grabbing her hand, “Show me.”
His hand held hers as she led the way down to her vagina. She paused, uncertain but his fingers tightened on her wrist, forcing her fingers to graze her moist nether lips.
She sighed, shaking her head. “How about I touch you?”
The Grast kissed her lightly on the lips then rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. “Okay, teach me another gypsy word.”
This was her chance to feast upon his body and she wouldn’t waste it. In the dim light, she took him in from handsome face to erect penis. Her hands itched to touch him, especially there. This was the first time she had seen a naked male cock. It was large and jutted nearly to his navel.
“Kori,” she whispered, moving her hand to grasp the length of him.
“Kori,” he gasped in return when her hand pumped him once from tip to base and then again.
She enjoyed the way the muscles of his stomach clenched and unclenched with each stroke. She moved her hand faster, snuggled her body closer.
“Enough,” he groaned, grabbing her pumping hand, “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”
Belle tried not to smile triumphantly, but it was a heady feeling to make someone lose control.
He reached around her and grabbed something: her head scarf. Before she could ask what he was meaning to do, he was binding her wrists together in front of her. Panic quickly subsided when he slipped her tied arms around his neck and towered over her aching body.
His large, calloused hands cupped the backs of her thighs, hoisting them up on his hips. The warmth of his groin nestled close to hers made her arch her back, seeking his stiff cock. He didn’t make her wait long before he thrust solidly into her, filling her in the most exquisite way.
She couldn’t have moved her arms if they weren’t tied, the pleasure mounting into her was so intense, so mind-numbing that her limbs lost their feeling. He thrust into her again, his balls slapping into her. Again, he groaned, twisting his hips slightly to go even deeper. Again, and she lost her grip on reality and fell headlong into the infinite chasm of bliss.
When she could breathe again, she became aware that he was still atop her and his cock still within her. Her heart ached to think this moment was going to end. Though, suddenly she felt exhausted, all the way to her bones.
The Grast kissed her lingeringly on the lips before rolling off her. In the next instant, he pulled her into his embrace.
“Sleep, Belle,” he whispered, a hand ghosting over her shoulder.
She smiled into his chest and fell asleep to the comforting smell of woodsy musk and the steady strumm
ing of his heart.
***
Belle woke gently, a warm contentedness settling deep inside her bones. Her eyes fluttered open and for a moment she was disoriented. Morning light was escaping between the gap of the bed curtains, illuminating her surroundings in a soft glow. The room was large and very masculine looking. Everything was wood and golds, hardly any decorations save a large carved mirror. She scrunched her nose and buried her face beneath the covers. She was in his room.
The Beast of Belladora Page 3
