“Elbows on the marble. On your knees.” The tub has a wide marble lip on all sides and I indicate where she’s to position herself.
Her eyes flash back up to mine uncertainly and I narrow mine at hers. This isn’t a democracy. “Now,” I order.
She nods and gets into position, knees in the water so that just her rear end peeks out of the water, arms on the wet marble. I frown. The marble might be uncomfortable on her elbows so I reach for a towel and place it underneath them. Her breath hitches—at my nearness or because she’s thankful for the towel, I’m not sure.
Without thinking, I lay a hand on her spine and run it up and down—a gesture of comfort? No. I wouldn’t know how. I just want contact with her. Every second I go without touching her feels wrong somehow.
All I know is my own body relaxes as soon as contact is reestablished. “That’s a good girl,” I murmur. “Such a good girl.”
I grab a soft washcloth from the ledge and dip it into the soapy water. “I’m going to make you dirty, over and over. I’m going to make you such a filthy girl.”
I run the hot, dripping cloth down her perfect, peach-plump ass and her back arches ever so slightly. Always so responsive.
“And then I’ll clean you up so good.”
I drag the cloth up the inside of her thigh beneath the water, emerging right at her sex. “I’ll clean this sweet little pussy after you cum and squirt your filthy juices down your leg.”
A shudder runs down her spine and my own cock lengthens. But this isn’t about me. Not yet. I’ll take this so slow, so achingly slowly, that she’ll be begging me. And then I still won’t give it to her.
A smile curves my lips. Oh, how I’m going to torture her. And not out of revenge. No, I’m going to torture her so that I become her only Master.
I’m going to initiate her into every pleasure she never imagined even existed. I’m going to introduce her to her own body, to her own desires, and finally, finally…maybe I’ll even introduce her to me?
No. I immediately back away from the thought. It’s enough to master her desires and her body. To deny them—those who have betrayed me—and keep her for myself.
Even if she never knows who I am.
Eleven
Daphne
I wake up and I’m so warm. Gods, I’d swear I’d been cold for years and to finally be warm, snuggled in the most comfortable bed with piles of blankets on me and my face warmed by— I frown and open my eyes slowly.
It is a fire!
I snap to attention and sit up, blankets falling off me as I do. There are no fireplaces in my extremely functional city apartment.
But no, of course, I’m not in the city anymore, am I? I’ve fallen through the looking glass. I look slowly around. It’s far from the cold stone of the monastic room the Beast first thrust me into.
There’s a huge, thick Persian rug on the floor, and on the window-sill, I shit you not, there’s a legit bird just hanging out and tweet-tweet-tweeting. Um, when did I step into a fairytale movie? Then I giggle, my face flushing as I remember back to all the things that happened last night—definitely not PG.
I cover my face with my hands. Am I really at the stage where I can giggle about all this? What the hell is happening and can Dr. Daphne Laurel, PhD please return to the building?
Then I drag my hands back through my hair—hair that’s extra soft from whatever girlie shampoo he used on it. I never think about stuff like that and just buy whatever’s cheap and functional.
Let go. I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to do a thing.
I wrap myself in a blanket and slide off the bed, padding to the window. The bird flies away when I press my forehead to the glass, staring down several stories of sheer grey-green stone. My chest cinches tight. I can’t just do that. Let go. He doesn’t know what he’s asking. What seemed so natural in the moment feels impossible now. I clench. I’ve clenched all my life.
When Mom got sick. When Dad said it was up to us to save her. I clenched, got down to it and studied my ass off. Mom died and I clenched even harder, hold it all in, don’t let anyone see, Dad needs you, be strong for him, for all the people still struggling with Battleman’s disease.
Gods, I literally have to take medication for constipation I’m so damned clenched all the time. I know, sexy. It’s just my normal.
Until him. Until last night.
I mean, the medical exam was one thing, but then there was the bath. He stayed clothed both times, but his hands on my body were as intimate as anything I’ve ever… My eyes drop closed at the memory of his caresses.
He did exactly what he said. Dirtied me, making me come over and over and then washing me only to flip me to another position in the tub and make me come another way. Until his touch felt like the most natural thing in the world. Until I was pruned and so exhausted, I barely remember him tucking me into bed like a sleepy, compliant kitten.
I step away from the window. My hand shakes as I brush my hair behind my ear. Then I look around for my hair tie. I always wear my hair in a bun. A tight bun.
Clench.
My hair tie is nowhere to be found. Neither is my purse where I always carry plenty of extras.
Instead my hair fluffs around me in an unruly mess. Not a complete mess. It’s brushed. …He brushed it last night before tucking me into bed.
The wave of relaxation that washes over me even at the memory of his touch calms some of the panic that’s been creeping in…until that itself freaks me out. What the hell? Nothing relaxes me! Nothing and no one! I’ve tried everything. Meditation, wine, hot baths… but shit, thinking about baths just reminds me of last night, again.
I’ve got to get the hell out of here or I’m just gonna go nuts battling with my own thoughts. I’m exhausted and I just woke up. I’ll go stir-crazy if I sit here much longer.
I pull on a soft sweater and another pair of thick leggings and socks and head for the door.
I pause when I reach out to touch it, sure it will be locked. Even after last night? Then I scoff at myself. You think that changed anything? Really?
But when I grab the knob, it turns easily.
Not locked.
I push through and then step out into the forbidding castle, squinting to see in the dimly lit corridor.
At the far end of the corner, light beams in diagonally from a high window, making dust motes dance in the air. But even as I walk towards it, the light falters and I hear thunder rumble overhead.
I shiver and think about calling out hello? But no, I’m not ready to see the Beast again so soon. Besides, how hard can it be to find the kitchen and get myself something to eat? My stomach rumbles, urging me on. This place might be big, but the kitchen will always be down, right? On the first floor or maybe the basement? That’s how old places like this were built? Upstairs/Downstairs kinds of arrangements?
I wrap my arms around myself and when I come to the end of the corridor and open a heavy door to a stairwell that heads up and down, I hurry down the stairs.
Damn, my feet are freezing. I wish I had something more than socks. It just makes me hurry faster. I pass one landing and keep going down. I was on the second or third floor, right? I think so, judging from when I looked out the window earlier.
When I come to the landing for what I think is the first floor, I keep going down. This has to be a servant’s stairwell, for as little frills as it has—I run my hand along down the railing as I go and then grimace—and as much dust has gathered. I take it the Beast doesn’t have a cleaning staff or call in a service. I wipe my hands on my leggings as I get to the bottom of the stairs and the dust smears on the soft black fabric.
Finally I push through the door at the bottom of the stairwell and—
It’s pitch black.
I gasp and stumble back, making sure the door doesn’t close behind me. The last thing I need is for the door to shut and lock behind me and leave me down here lost in the dark.
But I catch the door and when I fum
ble along the wall, I easily find a light switch. Oh thank goodness.
My thumping heart slows down but then I step forward, curious.
It’s a…gym.
Okay, not what I was expecting. But it helps explain the hulking muscles of my captor. Captor? Really? Can you still call him that after last night? You were the one begging.
Heat flares in my cheeks. Nope. Not thinking about that right now. Maybe not ever.
I walk closer to the weight bench and run my hand along the smooth, worn leather and then the stand of neatly stacked weights. There’s also a treadmill, a stationary bike, and a rowing machine. Well, good to know I can still keep up my cardio if the Beast will let me borrow his toys.
I cross the stone floor to the door at the other end of the room. The lights from the gym spill into a dark hallway. I flip another switch and a light flickers lazily on overhead, just one for the entire hallway. It’s the basement, so there aren’t any windows here to help relieve the unrelenting darkness.
I should turn back. I’m not seeing any kitchen. And it’s damp and cold down here. I can’t feel my toes anymore. I should’ve just waited in my room. It’s not like the Beast is going to starve me. He was probably about to bring me breakfast.
Then I scoff at my thoughts. Since when do I wait around for people to take care of me? I’m Dr. Daphne Laurel. I see problems and I fix them. My litany of failed experiments flash through my mind. Well, I try to fix them anyway. I will fix them, in the end. Starting with finding myself some freaking breakfast.
I straighten my shoulders and start down the hall. I stop at the first door I come to, doubting it’s the kitchen but determined to check every one anyway. Learning more about my surroundings can only be a good thing.
I flip on the light and laugh. Seriously?
A bowling alley?
Okay, it’s just one lane, but still, it looks regulation length, and there are pins set up in formation at the end and everything. I look around. Like, surely, this has gotta be some sort of joke.
But nope. The Beast loves…bowling? Or maybe it came with the place? Unlike the stairwell, though, there’s no layer of dust here, and I walk over the smooth, polished wood floor to the stand of bowling balls. There are various weights on the balls, but all of them have huge finger holes. I slip my slim fingers inside them and they’re engulfed. I yank my hands back. These are definitely the Beast’s balls. Of course they’re twice the average size. Snicker.
I step back and turn off the light, closing the door as quietly as I can behind me. I don’t know why it feels like peeking in these two rooms; it seems like I’m seeing into an intimate part of the Beast’s life. Parts he doesn’t share with anyone else. Things maybe no one else in the world knows about him.
I back away from the door. But I don’t turn and go back upstairs to my room. I head further down the hallway. I’m hungry for more. All I have are such incomplete pieces to the puzzle that is the man that’s suddenly taken over my life. It’s just a survival instinct. That’s all.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
I bite my lip and glance into the next few rooms. Nothing but storage. Okay, so maybe there’s nothing else to find anyway. It’s just a basement after all. I’m surprised by a flash of disappointment.
When I come to the end of the hallway, I flip another light and gasp. It opens to an arched stone vestibule that’s frankly fucking stunning. I step in, my eyes on the intricate corbels and vaulted ceiling so that it takes me a moment to take in what the room is being used for.
But finally my eyes drop back down to the huge open room…and all the very familiar equipment carefully set out on a neat array of lab tables.
Computers hum at several stations. There’s a lab-grade DNA sequencer off to the left, set up incongruously beside a gothic stone column. My feet take me towards one of several electron microscopes and my inner lab geek takes over. I pull on lab gloves from a box underneath the table and then sit down at the little stool in front of one of the machines. I grab a slide from a set labeled ‘specimens’ and put it underneath the microscope.
It’s a blood sample and when I turn on the microscope light and put my eyes to the eyepiece, the sight through the viewfinder is so familiar I gasp.
Battleman’s? He’s studying Battleman’s disease?
I jerk back, bewildered. I don’t understand. If he’s interested in finding a cure for Battleman’s—Belladonna’s research is the best hope for a cure. Why would he interrupt my research like this? Potentially derail all our efforts and shut down our company? None of it makes any sen—
“What the hell are you doing here?” A roar comes from behind me.
I swing around on my stool. The Beast is towering behind me, the same way I entered the room.
I stand up. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you tell me you’re studying Battleman’s? Why would you endanger my research? If you care about a cure, then you have to let me continue my—”
“Silence!” he shouts, the part of his face not covered by the mask red with rage. It’s only then I start to realize the depth of my misstep and back away from him. Which is also apparently the wrong move because he only glowers at me and starts in my direction.
“You think you can run from me? You violate my privacy, take what’s not yours as if it’s your right? You’re just like the rest of them after all!”
“That— That’s not fair!” I sputter. “This disease killed my mother—”
“And you own the patent on suffering,” he sneers. “I forgot.”
“You’re twisting everything I say!” I shout back. It’s not fair. I was— I was just—
His eyes burn with dark fire and when his chest heaves up and down, it reminds me of a mountain—no, a volcano—and he looks like he’s about to blow. “I think it’s time for another lesson reminding you exactly where your place is.”
And shit, as soon as his words sink in—
I run.
I just run. There’s no thinking involved. It’s fight or flight and all I apparently have the capacity for at the moment is flight.
I run the opposite direction out of the huge room. I don’t know where I’m going. Obviously there’s no thinking involved. Do I really think I can outrun the Beast? In his own fucking house? What the hell? What the hell what the hell what the hell? I manage to slam a light switch as I head into another corridor.
I careen down the long hallway, vaguely registering that the corridors correspond to the two wings of the castle above. Or am I just hoping that they’re mirrors of each other and that there will be a stairwell at the end of this corridor, too? Yes, yes, I’m definitely hoping that.
“Don’t you dare run!” the Beast roars from behind me. “It’ll only be worse once I catch you!”
Oh fuck. I sprint faster, going all out, balls to the wall for the door at the end of the long hallway. I make the fatal mistake of looking over my shoulder. Oh fuck!
He’s halfway down the corridor and gaining. I yank on the door, sure it’s going to be locked. And sure enough, it doesn’t open.
“No,” I cry, and yank again. This time the door budges with a squeal of old hinges. Not locked! Just really old and probably warped in its frame. I wrench the door with my whole body and it opens. Just in time, too, because though I don’t look behind me again, I can hear the Beast’s footsteps and he’s almost on top of me.
I don’t bother searching for a light switch this time, I just flee up the stairs. There’s no window in this stairwell so I’m running in the pitch dark but I don’t care. I run faster than I’ve ever run before, taking the steps two at a time. But he has much longer legs than me and I know he’ll catch up with me any second.
When I reach the first landing, I yank open the door and throw myself through. He’s right behind me and, in for a penny in for a pound, I grab the closest thing I can find, a wing-backed chair, and shove it in front of the door.
The Beast immediately slams into the door right behind me and I scree
ch. Should I try to put something else in front of the door or just keep running. He slams the door again and the chair topples.
I take off through the sitting room, chancing one glance back over my shoulder, sure he’ll be right on top of me.
But when he toppled the chair, it landed on its side and wedged itself in the corner and blocked the door! He can’t get the door open more than a few inches, no matter how many times he rams it with his huge body.
At least that’s what I think…until the chair splinters and he bursts through. Shit, he’s strong.
What the hell was I doing yesterday, letting myself cuddle up to such a violent man? He’s blackmailing my father. He tied me down yesterday. This is not normal or sane.
I keep running. I have to get the hell out of this place. Screw everything I thought was keeping me here. This guy’s a madman. He’s fucking chasing me down like an animal. He’s been lying to me. He wants things I don’t understand, can’t comprehend. I can’t do this, any of this—
I see an exit, two double doors made of colorful panes of glass. Now that I’m back above ground, I can hear that the thunderstorm I suspected earlier is now in full swing. Lightning flashes through the windows. Good. Maybe it’ll distract the Beast and I’ll be able to get away. I need all the camouflage I can get.
I grab the long-handled knob and push through the door and out into the storm. It’s mid-morning but the dark clouds overhead make it look like forbidding twilight. Rain lashes my face but I don’t stop. I run down the stone steps and into a vast garden.
At least I think it’s a garden… Until I stumble and slip on the mud as I enter through an iron lattice archway and find myself in…another fucking labyrinth.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I shout into the rain right as thunder booms overhead. But maybe I can hide inside, wait out the storm, and then escape? That’s totally a possibility, right? Right?
In the heat of the moment, it makes sense to my frenzied mind, and besides, I’m already running and stumbling through the maze of bushes.
Beauty’s Beast Page 7