I was cold. The wind wormed through the shutters. I was lonely. In all this estate there was no one like me. But I had never felt so beautiful.
I sat in my satin-walled room, before the gold mirror. I looked deep into the pool of my face, and tried to imagine what the beast looked like. The more hideous my imaginings, the more my own face seemed to glow. Because I thought the beast must be everything I was not: dark to my light, rough to my smooth, hoarse to my sweet. When I walked on the battlements under the waning moon, the beast was the grotesque shadow I threw behind me.
One night at dinner the beast said, You have never seen my face. Do you still picture me as a monster?
I did. The beast knew it.
By day I sat by the fire in my white-satin room reading tales of wonder. There were so many books on so many shelves, I knew I could live to be old without coming to the end of them. The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.
One night at dinner the beast said, You have never felt my touch. Do you still shrink from it?
I did. The beast knew it.
At sunset I liked to wrap up in furs and walk in the rose garden. The days were stretching, the light was lingering a few minutes longer each evening. The rosebushes held up their spiked fingers against the yellow sky, caging me in.
One night at dinner the beast asked, What if I let you go? Would you stay of your own free will?
I would not. The beast knew it.
And when I looked in the great gold mirror that night, I thought I could make out the shape of my father, lying with his feverish face turned to the ceiling. The book did say I was to ask for whatever I wanted.
I set off in the morning. I promised to return on the eighth day, and I meant it when I said it.
Taking leave on the steps, the beast said, I must tell you before you go: I am not a man.
I knew it. Every tale I had ever heard of trolls, ogres, goblins, rose to my lips.
The beast said, You do not understand.
But I was riding away.
The journey was long, but my blood was jangling bells. It was dark when I reached home. My sisters were whispering over the broth. My father turned his face to me and tears carved their way across it. The rose, stiff against the mirror, was still red.
By the third day he could sit up in my arms. By the fifth day he was eating at table and patting my knee. On the seventh day my sisters told me in whispers that it would surely kill him if I went back to the castle. Now I had paid my ransom, they said, what could possess me to return to a monster? My father’s eyes followed me round the cottage.
The days trickled by and it was spring. I pounded shirts on black rocks down by the river. I felt young again, as if nothing had happened, as if there had never been a door with my name on it.
But one night I woke to find myself sitting in front of my mirror. In its dark pool I thought I could see the castle garden, a late frost on the trees, a black shape on the grass. I found the old papery rose clenched in my fist, flaking into nothing.
This time I asked no permission of anyone. I kissed my dozing father and whispered in his ear. I couldn’t tell if he heard me. I saddled my horse, and was gone before first light.
It was sunset when I reached the castle, and the doors were swinging wide. I ran through the grounds, searching behind every tree. At last I came to the rose garden, where the first buds were hunched against the night air. There I found the beast, a crumpled bundle eaten by frost.
I pulled and pulled until the padded mask lay uppermost. I breathed my heat on it, and kissed the spot I had warmed. I pulled off the veils one by one. Surely it couldn’t matter what I saw now?
I saw hair black as rocks under water. I saw a face white as old linen. I saw lips red as a rose just opening.
I saw that the beast was a woman. And that she was breathing, which seemed to matter more.
This was a strange story, one I would have to learn a new language to read, a language I could not learn except by trying to read the story.
I was a slow learner but a stubborn one. It took me days to learn that there was nothing monstrous about this woman who had lived alone in a castle, setting all her suitors riddles they could make no sense of, refusing to do the things queens are supposed to do, until the day when, knowing no one who could see her true face, she made a mask and from then on showed her face to no one. It took me weeks to understand why the faceless mask and the name of a beast might be chosen over all the great world had to offer. After months of looking, I saw that beauty was infinitely various, and found it behind her white face.
I struggled to guess these riddles and make sense of our story, and before I knew it summer was come again, and the red roses just opening.
And as the years flowed by, some villagers told travelers of a beast and a beauty who lived in the castle and could be seen walking on the battlements, and others told of two beauties, and others, of two beasts.
From THIS MAN
Jodi Ellen Malpas
Jodi Ellen Malpas was born and raised in the Midlands town of Northampton, where she lives with her two boys and a beagle. She is a self-professed daydreamer, a Converse and mojito addict, and has a terrible weak spot for Alpha Males. Writing powerful love stories and creating addictive characters has become her passion – a passion she now shares with her devoted readers. Jodi is a proud New York Times bestselling author – all six of her published novels having hit the New York Times bestsellers list – as well as a Sunday Times and international bestseller. Her work is published in over twenty languages across the world.
He kicks the door shut behind him and places me between the sinks on the marble vanity unit before returning to lock the door. My dress is still bunched around my waist, my legs and knickers completely exposed.
I gaze around the vast room that I’m so familiar with, my eyes falling on the gigantic cream marble bath dominating the centre of the room. I smile, remembering the trauma of having to organise a crane to lift it in through the windows. It was a nightmare, but it does look spectacular. The double, open-ended shower on the back wall is made up of floor-to-ceiling sheeted glass and beige Travertine tiles, and the vanity unit that I’ve been placed on is cream Italian marble, with two sunken sinks and large waterfall taps. A thick, gold-framed, intricately carved mirror spans the entire width of the unit, and a chaise lounge sits at an angle in the window. It really is luxury embodied.
I hear the lock click into place, snapping me from admiring my work and pulling my eyes to the door, where Jesse is watching me closely. As he saunters toward me, he slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt. Anticipation has my stomach churning and my thighs clenching shut. This man is absolutely stunning.
With his final button unfastened, he stands before me with his shirt draped open, and I can’t resist reaching up and running my finger down the centre of his hard, tanned chest. He looks down to follow my trail, placing his hands on either side of my hips, nudging his way between my thighs. As he looks back up to me, his lips tip at the edges and his eyes sparkle, the slight creases at the corners softening the usual intensity in them.
“You can’t escape now,” he teases.
“I don’t want to.”
“Good,” he mouths, dragging my eyes to his lovely lips.
I trail my finger back up his chest, working my way past his throat until my finger rests on his bottom lip. He opens his mouth, biting my finger playfully, and I smile, continuing upward and running my hand through his hair.
“I like your dress.” He drags his eyes down my front.
I follow his stare to the bunched-up material around my waist. “Thank you.”
“It’s a bit restrictive.” He tugs at a piece of material.
“It is,” I agree. The anticipation is killing me. Rip off the dress!
“Shall we remove it?” He cocks a brow at me, the corners of his mouth twitching.
I smile. “If you like.�
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“Or maybe, we leave it on?” He breaks into a full-on smile as he holds his hands up.
I melt all over the vanity unit.
His hands are quickly on me again, sliding around my back. “But then again, I have firsthand knowledge of what’s under this lovely dress.” He reaches up, grasping the zipper, breathing into my ear as he does. “And it’s far superior to the dress,” he whispers, pulling it down slowly, teasingly. I’m panting hard and desperate. “I think we’ll get rid of it.” He lifts me off the counter, placing me on my feet before pulling my dress away from my body and letting it drop to the floor. He kicks it to the side without taking his eyes off me.
I frown at him. “I like that dress.” I couldn’t give a toss about the dress. He could have ripped it off and cleaned the windows with it, for all I care.
“I’ll buy you a new one.” He shrugs as he places me back on the counter, resuming his position between my thighs. He presses his body up against me and grabs my bum, pulling me in toward him so we’re locked tight together. He grinds his hips while staring at me.
The throb at my core is bordering on painful, and I’m at serious risk of falling apart if he continues with that alone. I want to tell him to hurry up; I’m struggling to control myself here.
Reaching up, he unclasps my bra, pulling the straps down my arms and flinging it behind him. I lean back on my hands, exposing my breasts to him, and looking into my eyes he lifts his hand and places it, palm down, under my throat. “I can feel your heart hammering,” he says quietly. He glides his palm down between my breasts until it rests on my stomach, as he looks at me – all smouldering and delicious. “You’re too fucking beautiful, lady.” He grinds firmly. “I think I’ll keep you.”
I arch my back, thrusting my chest forward, and he smiles before lowering his mouth and taking my nipple deep, sucking hard. When he brings his hand up to massage my other breast, I moan, letting my head fall back against the mirror. Oh, good God. The man is a genius. His arousal is as hard as lead, pressing between my thighs, causing me to roll my hips to ease the throb on a long, drawn-out moan. I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to soak up the pleasure because it’s so good, but the need to have him is getting the better of me, the pressure in my groin near exploding point. As if reading my mind, he skates his hand up the inside of my thigh, finding the edge of my knickers, and one finger breaches the barrier, lightly brushing the tip of my clit.
“Shit!” I cry, throwing myself up to grab his shoulders, digging my nails into his strained muscles.
“Language, lady,” he scorns, then slams his lips against mine, plunging two fingers into me.
My muscles grab onto him as he works them in and out. I might literally die of pleasure. I feel the fast buildup of an impending orgasm, and I know it’s going to blow me apart. Holding on to his shoulders for dear life, I moan into his mouth as he continues his assault on me.
Oh, here it is.
“Come,” he commands, applying more pressure to the top of my clit.
I fall apart in an explosion of stars, releasing his mouth and tossing my head back in a complete frenzy. I cry out and he grabs my head, yanking it forward to tackle my mouth, catching the tail end of my cries. I’m in pieces. I’m panting, shaking and boneless as I disintegrate all over him, completely uninhibited and unashamed of what he does to me. I’m delirious with pleasure.
His kiss softens and his thrusts slow, easing me gradually down as he scatters tender kisses all over my damp, warm face. Too good, just too, too good.
I feel him brush a stray tendril of hair from my face and I open my eyes, meeting a dark, satisfied stare. He plants a soft kiss on my lips, and I sigh. I feel like a lifetime of pent-up pressure has been extinguished, just like that. I’m relaxed and sated.
“Better?” he asks, sliding his fingers out of me.
“Hmmm,” I hum. I have no energy for speech.
His fingers drag across my bottom lip and he leans into me, watching me closely as he runs his tongue across my mouth, licking the remnants of my orgasm away. His eyes burn straight through me as we gaze at each other in silence and my hands instinctively reach up to cup his face, smoothing down his freshly shaven skin. This man is beautiful, intense and passionate. And he could break my heart.
He smiles lightly, turning his face to kiss my palm before returning his eyes to mine. Oh Lord, I’m in trouble.
We’re both cruelly snatched from the intensity of the moment when the door handle of the bathroom is jiggled from the other side. I gasp and Jesse slaps his palm over my mouth, looking at me in amusement. He finds this funny?
“I can’t hear anything,” a strange voice says, as the door handle rattles. My eyes bulge in horror.
Jesse removes his hand, replacing it with his lips. “Shhhhhh,” he mumbles against my mouth.
“Oh God, I feel cheap,” I whine, leaving his lips and dropping my head to his shoulder. How am I going to walk out of this place without burning bright red and looking as guilty as sin?
“You’re not cheap. Talk crap like that, I’ll be forced to kick your delicious backside all over my bathroom.”
I snap my head up from his shoulder, looking at him in confusion. “Your bathroom?”
“Yes, my bathroom.” He smirks at me. “I wish they would stop letting strangers roam around my home.”
“You live here?” I’m puzzled. He can’t live here. No one lives here.
“Well, I will as of tomorrow. Tell me, is all this Italian shit worth the outrageously expensive price tag they attached to this place?” He looks at me expectantly.
“Italian shit?” I splutter, completely insulted. He laughs, and I think I might slap him. “You shouldn’t have bought the place if you don’t like the shit that’s in it,” I fire at him, completely outraged.
“I can get rid of the shit,” he quips.
My eyebrows shoot up in a you-didn’t-just-say-that expression. I’ve spent months breaking my back sourcing all of this Italian shit and this unappreciative swine is just going to get rid of it? I’ve never been so insulted, or pissed off. I try to wriggle my hands from under his, but he tightens his grip. I shoot him a scowl.
“Unravel your knickers, lady. I wouldn’t get rid of anything in this apartment.” He kisses me hard. “And you’re in this apartment.” He’s taking my mouth again, possessively, greedily.
I won’t read into that statement too much. My libido has just jumped to attention and I’m happy to comply. I attack him with equal force, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, circling his with mine as he lifts his grip from my hands. They impulsively fly to those taut, rippling shoulders that I love so much.
Wrapping his arm around my middle, he releases my lips and lifts me up from the counter, leaving me hovering above the surface as his other hand finds my knickers and yanks them down my legs. He rests me back down and removes my shoes, letting them tumble to the tiled floor on a loud clatter. I’m impatient, so I join him in his stripping party, reaching up and pushing his shirt down his broad shoulders, revealing his bare chest in all of its glory. He’s cut to complete perfection. I want to lick every square inch of him.
As I trace my eyes down, I recoil slightly at a nasty scar that’s running across his stomach and rounding onto his left hip. I never noticed it before. The light at The Manor was dim, but that is one hefty scar. It’s slightly faded but bloody big. How did he get that? I elect to not enquire. It could be a sensitive issue, and I don’t want anything to upset this moment. I could just sit here and gawp at him forever. Even with the scar that looks so sinister, he’s still beautiful.
I scrunch his shirt up between my hands and chuck it on top of my dress, and he raises his eyebrows at me.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” I shrug.
He smirks and leans forward, bracing himself on the counter and capturing my lips – all brooding and careful. Reaching for his trousers, I begin unfastening his belt, whipping it out of his loop holes in one swift pull, instiga
ting a snapping sound to erupt around us.
He pulls back on an arched brow. “Are you going to whip me?”
“No,” I answer uncertainly, throwing his belt to the floor and sliding my hand between his tight, narrow hips and the waist-band of his trousers. I wrench him forward so we’re nose to nose. “Of course, if you want me to...” Did I just say that?
“I’ll bear that in mind,” he says on a half-smile.
Keeping my eyes firmly on his, I start to undo the button on his trousers, my knuckles brushing over his solid erection, causing him to jerk. He squeezes his eyes shut as I slowly undo his fly, sliding my flat hand into his boxers, grazing across the mass of dark blond hair. He shudders, looking up to the ceiling, the muscles on his chest rolling and undulating. I can’t resist leaning forward and flicking my tongue up the centre of his chest bone.
“Ava, you should know that once I’ve had you, you’re mine.”
I’m too drunk on lust to take any notice of that statement. “Hmmm,” I mumble against his skin, circling his nipple with my tongue and withdrawing my hand from his boxers. I grasp the waistband and ease them down over his tidy, narrow hips until his cock springs free.
My God, it’s huge! The involuntary gasp that escapes my mouth is an indication of my shock, and flicking my eyes to his, I find a small smile tickling the corner of his mouth. It’s all the mortifying evidence I need to tell me that he’s picked up on my reaction.
He steps back, kicking his shoes and socks off before removing his trousers and boxers. I’m instantly drawn to his powerfully lean thighs, and gathering some of my shattered confidence, I reach forward slowly and gently circle my thumb over his tip, watching him as he watches my hand explore him. When I tentatively wrap my hand around the base, I see him struggle with the contact.
“Shit, Ava,” he gasps, resting his hands on my hips. I jerk, and he smiles. “Ticklish?”
“Just there,” I gasp. Oh, it drives me mad!
“I’ll remember that,” he says, taking my lips and working my mouth urgently as I begin slow, even strokes of his hardness, increasing the pace when I feel his mouth getting firmer against mine. His hand disappears between my legs, and with one skim of his thumb over my beating clitoris, I’m suddenly catapulted to Central Jesse Cloud Nine. I gasp into his mouth. He bites my lip.
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