Beauty, a Hate Story the End

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed but didn’t say anything else. Frankie watched in silence as he cooked, head in her hand. In only his t-shirt, her eyes were wide and a waterfall of curls fell down her arm, a small smile lifting her cheek. She looked at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world when he poured the wine into the pan. He’d never had anyone watch him like that, with total, unabashed affection. It made him uncomfortable, but he never wanted her to stop, and Anteros had to fight the urge to stop cooking and take her on the kitchen island.

  Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you thinking?” His voice was rougher than he’d expected. Through the smoke and heat of cooking, her face was blurry. The aroma of the wine reduction wafted into the air, muggy and delicious.

  She sat up straight, face red, and put her hair behind her ear. “I, um…” She pointed to the wine. “Can I have a glass?” That wasn’t what she’d been thinking, but she hadn’t pressed him and he wasn’t going to give her a reason to.

  “This is cooking wine,” he explained, turning to the cabinet. Below he had a small wine cellar, but there was at least one bottle of good cabernet in the kitchen. “This is for drinking,” he said, pulling out the bottle. Placing the lid on the pan and the meat on simmer, Anteros poured a glass and brought it to her.

  “I wouldn’t know the difference,” she said.

  A small smile broke his lips. “You will. I’ll teach you.” Frankie put the glass to her lips, ready to drink it quickly, when he covered her hands. “It would be such a waste to drink it without savoring the flavor. Take a minute, let it come to you.” He spun her around, pushing her against the counter until her back arched. Her eyes grew wide when he bent down and spread her legs.

  Fuck.

  She was fucking perfect. Wet. Open. He would always be stunned by her. There wasn’t a better position to be in than between her thighs. His hands roamed up and down her still bare legs, gripping the flesh. When he bit inside her thigh she gasped, but she still hadn’t taken a drink. Her hand shook, red liquid wobbling in the glass.

  “Taste how ripe it is on your tongue,” he said, taking a long lick from the inside of her knee to the crease of her groin. She tasted so goddamn amazing. Skin, sweat—uniquely and tauntingly Frankie. With a low sound in his throat, he pulled her outer lips into his mouth one at a time, sucking deeply. In his periphery, he could see her free hand clench the granite.

  “Note how bold the flavor is when it first hits you,” he said, voice hoarse. “How when it finally slides down your throat, the sensation is intense.” He pushed her thighs wider and slid his tongue along the inside of her wet cunt. The hissing food and her sharp inhale was an intoxicating melody.

  He devoured her, lost himself in her flavor. She was so fucking good. Frankie watched him with half-mast eyes, bottom lip tugged so tight between her teeth it was practically bloody. Wine half drunk, lips wet with juice, she was hypnotic.

  “It’s sweet,” he growled, going back in. “Creamy, stunningly…” A groan stuttered his words when she arched up to meet his tongue. “Stunningly eager.” He stroked down her folds until he reached her entrance, dipping deep inside her, tasting her from the source. At the same time, a droplet of wine fell on his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, he saw the glass at her lips shaking.

  Frankie was on the edge, Anteros just had to tip her over. Letting go of one thigh, he replaced his tongue with a finger and thrust deep inside. At the same time, he pulled her clit between his lips and sucked. Almost instantly she pulsed, thigh shaking and vibrating underneath his palm as his name left her lips on a prayer.

  When the final throb had settled, Anteros licked her clean. He drew his tongue along the inside of her thighs, sucking Frankie’s taste off her skin. Then he went back to her pussy and flattened his tongue on the folds, soaking up the flavor. She trembled and he looked up, catching her hooded stare. He tightened his grip on her thighs, about to go for round two, when the timer went off.

  Anteros stood to his feet. Frankie’s chest echoed her orgasm in heavy, shaky breaths. The glass was empty, only a few beads of red on her lips. He stepped between her legs, pressing deep into her, needing her to feel him, needing to feel her. Eyes locked, he placed two fingers to her core. Her mouth parted, a small sound escaped, but she didn’t break their stare. He kept his touch between her thighs longer than necessary, loving how she trembled and the way her eyes betrayed her need. Then slowly, he pulled his fingers away and painted the taste of her on her lips. He dipped his head down, devouring her and the wine off them.

  “Wow,” she gasped when he was done. “I really like wine.” He laughed, gave her one more furious kiss, then adjusted her shirt and walked back to the meat. He could still feel her wet in his beard, just another fucking perk to having the thing.

  “I’m…” Her voice was breathless in the way he loved, and he looked up, cheek quirking when he found her flushed. “I’m kind of a lightweight. I never really drank before—obviously.” She raised the drink for emphasis. “That night I was drunk with you was the first time ever.”

  Anteros paused with the herb he was about to throw in, the night she was talking about coming back to him in a rush. He wasn’t very proud of how he’d acted that night. Quickly he threw the mint into the pan and continued cooking.

  “There were a lot of firsts with me.” He said it as a statement, though he wanted to know the response.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “There will be a lot more.” His eyes were still down, focusing on the bubbles in the simmer.

  “Yes.” He looked up. Frankie was staring intently at him. Two breaths passed, and then he went back to cooking. They said nothing else as he finished, but it wasn’t a cramped silence. It was easy and comfortable.

  “Are you warm enough?” Anteros asked, setting dinner in front of her.

  “Will you tell me about yourself?” she responded. Slowly he sat beside her, a crease forming between his brows.

  “Please,” she continued, not touching her dinner. “I want to know what no one else knows.”

  After a moment, he said, “I’ll give you three questions, on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You answer all of mine.”

  “That’s the worst deal ever!” she scoffed, leaning back. “It’s not even remotely fair. I’ve already told you so much about myself, I just want to even the scales.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not a fair man. There, that was a freebie.”

  “I already knew that,” she grumbled, poking at her dinner like a sullen child. When she finally put the food to her lips and a small moan fell from her lips involuntarily, Anteros smirked.

  “Fine,” she sighed. “Deal. Hmm…if I only get three questions, they have to be good ones.” She held her fork up, waving it around in thought. “Okay. How did you get these scars?” She reached out and touched his bare chest, tracing the delicate lines on his chest before resting on the F she’d given him.

  “Some were given to me as a slave, others I got under interrogation, some my parents gave to me. There are too many incidences to give you just one.”

  “Your parents?” She sounded horrified. “That’s—how could they?” Anteros had never been ashamed of his scars. A scar was simply a battle wound, and in his life, the more battles you survived, the more feared you became. Anteros—the Beast—had survived more battles than anyone, yet for some reason the way Frankie stared made him want to erase his scars so he could erase the look of pity.

  “That’s another question,” Anteros said with black humor, and she made a face. “Are you telling me your papa was the picture of parental affection?”

  She pulled her hand back. “When you put it like that.” Silence fell between them. It wasn’t easy like before, now sticky and cramped. Anteros pushed his food away and ran a hand through his hair, looking at Frankie, who wasn’t touching her food either.

  It was such a stupid fucking idea to answer questions.


  “Just so you know, I think they’re beautiful.” Frankie pushed her food around, eyes on the plate. “I was just startled.” Another few seconds passed and Anteros focused on Frankie. How could someone like her find someone like him beautiful? He reached for her fork, taking it from her hands.

  “Eat before it gets cold.” He lifted the fork and put it to her lips. “My turn. Have you had sex with anyone else? Since you’ve been gone?” Her eyes widened and she swallowed the bite he’d just given her, almost choking.

  “No,” she said, laughing. “Just, no.”

  He glared, setting the fork down. “It’s a valid question.”

  “Who was I going to have sex with? Nikolai?” She shuddered.

  “You’re surrounded by soldiers. You’re young, beautiful.” He dropped his fork, carding his fingers through her hair, both hands gripping her skull. “You’re the most spectacular thing any of those men will ever see.” Her lids drooped, heavy lashes shadowing her eyes.

  “Just you,” she murmured, licking her lips. His gaze dropped to them, plump, ready to be sucked and bitten. Knowing it was just him, knowing only his hands had been on her and only he inside her, drove him mad. She utterly belonged to him.

  “Wait, have you?” she asked, snapping out of her lusty trance.

  “No,” he said easily. He pushed her hair behind her ear, stroking it down her back, and placed his lips at the nape of her neck. “Just you.”

  “That doesn’t count as a question,” she added quickly. “I was piggybacking off yours.”

  He chuckled, brushing his lips from her neck to her shoulder. “Noted.”

  “Do you remember what happened to the letter I gave you at the church?” He slowly sat up, looking Frankie in the eyes. The question caught him off guard, but years of training and multiple interrogations kept his face stoic. Of course she would be curious about what happened to the letter, and he’d been expecting her to ask about it when shit died down, but he’d thought he’d have a few more days to figure out how to continue lying to her.

  “I think I lost it in all the commotion,” he said. “It may still be back there.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He had almost lost the letter in the furor at the docks. It had been sopping wet and smudged when he’d realized it was still in his pocket. He’d locked it in the desk in his bedroom upstairs the minute he got the chance. “Was it important to you?” Anteros asked, if only to get the abject sorrow off her face.

  “No.” She looked at her lap and worked the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know. Lucia hasn’t told me anything about my family, about where I came from, about who I am. I was hoping it might tell me something. It was all I had, really.”

  Anteros felt…guilty. That was the feeling. It was an odd resonance in his gut, one he’d never felt before. An urge to tell her everything overcame him.

  “Did you get a chance to read it?” she asked, face turning to his, hopeful. Half her face caught the light, a soft glow painting her honey skin as her blue eyes glimmered like sun shining on a clear lake, and he cupped her cheek.

  “Is that a question?” His tone was joking, but upon seeing her face fall, he switched. “No, mio cuore, I didn’t.” Unlike his previous answer, that one was a complete lie.

  “Oh well,” she sighed. “I love it when you call me mio cuore,” she said, switching the subject and nuzzling against his palm. He tried to ignore the odd feeling of remorse in his gut. “It’s not very fair, I don’t have any nicknames for you.” Her forehead wrinkled in thought.

  He didn’t want a nickname. Not from her. He’d grown up in a life where people disguised themselves behind their nicknames. The greatest pleasure was hearing her scream his name—his real name. He told her as much.

  “Who were you before the Beast?” she asked.

  “Anteros.” He smirked. “What a waste of a question.”

  “That is not an answer,” she scoffed, pushing at his chest. Anteros slid the hand at her cheek to the back of her neck, keeping her still. “Who were your parents? Where did you live? I already know a little. You said you were an orphan, but not always. I’ve heard rumors, but I want to know the truth. From you.” The hand at her neck stiffened, his eyes hardened. Frankie must have picked up on the walls being erected because a second later she insisted, “Anteros, please.”

  He brought his other hand to her neck, gripping her with both, forcing her to meet his eyes while he stared into her searching depths. No one knew the truth of his parents, the shameful secrets of his past. He’d come close to spilling that time with his Wolves, but not even Lucio had known. The man had tried, but he’d only been able to glean bits and pieces. Anteros had purposefully kept it that way.

  “Please, Anteros,” Frankie whispered, cutting into his thoughts. “I just want to know you.” Her eyes danced back and forth, beseeching. Honest.

  God fucking dammit.

  “You first,” he growled, dropping his grip.

  “What?”

  “Tell me about Frankie.”

  She blinked as if surprised, but took a deep breath. “I was a sick girl.” She looked down. “Nothing much interesting happened to me…until you.”

  “I don’t believe that.” Another silence settled between them. Anteros was beginning to recognize the silence as unique to them. It meant they were putting up walls. Keeping each other out. He couldn’t be the one to tear them down, not on this. Frankie fiddled with her pinky.

  “God,” she exhaled, exasperated. “Fine. I was diagnosed when I was in junior high and Papa couldn’t handle that since I was the one taking care of him. I was already kind of weird for reading books all the time so the illness just made me weirder.” She looked away, lost in thought.

  “Go on,” he probed.

  “I don’t want to tell you this,” she snapped.

  “You don’t have to.” But I really fucking want you to, he added in his head.

  “But you won’t tell me anything if I don’t.” He nodded, and she peeled herself off the chair and walked to the other side of the room, placing her hand on the big horizontal window that cut through the kitchen. With the lights on now, it was just black, impossible to see anything outside.

  “Look, I don’t know how to tell my story without it sounding like a sob one, okay? It’s just my life, though. I don’t think it’s sad and I’m not telling it for pity. I was sick. Papa hit me. Kids didn’t understand me. That was my life.” Franke turned around but didn’t meet his eyes. Her lip was pulled between her teeth, her hand rubbing furiously up and down her arm. Anteros got up and walked to her, brought her against his chest. She let him, falling into his embrace, gripping his forearms. The hand that had been against the window was ice cold.

  “I was so alone,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I always thought I would be alone. I had one friend, Jenny, but she left, and she wasn’t even really a friend. She didn’t know who I was on the inside. I often found myself talking to her and she would just stare at me like I was an alien. It’s not really a surprise the friendship ended when she changed schools. I just clung to her because I didn’t want to be alone. Pathetic, huh?”

  Anteros spun her around and tucked her head under his chin. He let her bleed the words into him. Anything he said to her would be moot. Words couldn’t combat the loneliness echoing in her soul.

  “I cried so much,” she said against his chest. “I hated myself for it, hated how weak I was. I wished I could shut off my tears or emotions or something, but I felt everything. I hated the kids who had the luxury of caring about things like homework or boyfriends. I resented my conversations with them, resented having to put a mask on and pretend I was like them.” She paused. “I hated everything they loved, hated how meaningless it was, and resented how they couldn’t see it. I put the mask on so much that the real Frankie screaming underneath it became deaf to my ears. Until…” She trailed off, nails digging into the muscles at his waist.

  “Until?” he probed when she’d been quiet for some time.


  She looked up for the first time since she’d started talking. “Now.”

  Eyes locked, Anteros threaded a hand through the silky strands of her hair, holding the base of her skull. He wanted her to know that he didn’t just understand, but he would take her words and guard them with his life. One beat of sizzling charged silence passed then he pulled her to him, crushing their lips together. Anteros took Frankie’s tongue, licking the taste from her. Wine was still on her lips, thick and rich. He growled, tugging at the bottom one with his teeth. Anteros wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, but a question burned too bright. Reaching the depths of his willpower, he pulled back. Frankie moaned, nails going from his sides, up his back, and around his shoulders, trying to bring him back.

  “And you’re better?” he asked, voice hoarse. She was breathless, swaying toward him, lips swollen and wet. Her nails scythed his shoulder, eyelids fluttering. A sense of satisfaction twisted inside him and the urge to throw her on the counter and fuck her nearly overwhelmed him again, but he focused. Gently pushing her hair from her face, he said her name.

  “What?” She blinked as if waking up. He repeated his question, searching her eyes.

  “Uh, yeah.” She briefly looked away before meeting his stare. “I, uh, I was going to school again by high school.”

  “What made you sick?”

  “Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.”

  His brows furrowed. “I’ve never heard of that.”

  She laughed. “Most people haven’t.” Then she added, “Quick, say it three times fast.” Relief flooded him and Anteros pressed her against the wall, assaulting her with kisses from her lips, to her chin, to her neck, needing the reassurance of her flesh.

  “Wait!” she pushed him off. “You owe me. Tell me about your family. About you.” Dammit. He’d almost gotten away.

  Anteros trailed his pointer finger from her cheek, along her neck, across her collarbone. Frankie closed her eyes, short breaths betraying her desire. He knew the way to get her to bend, saw she was on edge herself. He could tip the scales and push the conversation off, but he’d promised her three questions. With an exhale that sounded suspiciously like a growl, Anteros untangled himself and walked the short distance to the kitchen island.