AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Or is it something else?
THE PRINCE AND THE BEAST
It feels dangerous. The rush of adrenaline heats my entire being. This time, the beast does not go back to his resting state. Not with her so close, so obedient, and so fucking beautiful. The beast stretches himself out, his power filling my chest and making my lust more palpable by far. The light caresses her cheek and I find myself obsessed with this moment. For years I have wanted nothing as much as I want her right now.
The sight of the moon spurs me to action. Its pull is as undeniable as it was when I took Elle from her father’s house.
With clear sight of the moon and with everything I have done with Elle, from watching her take in the ballroom by moonlight to feeling the vibration of her moans around my fingers as I fed her, the beast has far more demands and I find myself more and more willing to allow the primal needs power over me.
And the scent of her is even stronger. Telling her I would require her obedience has made her heart thud and the slightest sheen of sweat appear on her skin. I did not know that one woman could be both salty and sweet and desirous and nervous all at the same time.
There are many things that affect how I feel about the woman who sits close enough for me to grasp her throat in my hand without leaning in to reach it. The moon has just begun to wane from the full, so its influence is still incredibly strong. The castle has been a magical place for many years, and the magic of the curse interacts with it. Include the moon, which tugs at my spirit, and all make the beast powerful and hungry.
But maybe it is just Elle.
Maybe it is just her that gives me this swelling sense of need and possession. Maybe I would have felt the same about her if I’d come across her at a ball with all the townspeople in attendance. Maybe I’d have felt the same if I rode through the village and met her eyes outside the bakery where she worked.
I reach for my goblet of wine and bring it to my lips. I serve Elle nothing but the finest wine and feed her nothing but the finest foods, and so the wine has a deep, rich flavor that bursts with sweetness and tannins on my tongue. The taste reminds me of long-ago glasses of wine in crowded dining rooms, the high energy of couples whirling across the dance floor saturating the space, and the air thick with laughter and flirtatious murmurs and greetings between friends. It warms me as it goes down.
The longing is nothing compared to my longing for her.
I take her chin in my hand the way I fantasized about only minutes ago and stroke her cheek with the pad of my thumb.
Elle opens her mouth with a sudden gasp, her lips and tongue glistening in the firelight. It may be my imagination, but a beam of moonlight falls across her mouth as well, bending my attention toward it. The same beam of moonlight winks on the goblet in my hand.
I raise it to her lips with meticulous care. Elle breathes shallowly as the goblet nears her lips as if she can sense it. Perhaps the scent or even the faintest of sound warns her.
I guide the goblet to her bottom lip. She closes her mouth over the rim, lifting her chin slightly but waiting for a word from me. My cock strains achingly against my breeches.
“Drink,” I order her in a low voice.
Elle drinks with tentative sips, but a droplet of wine slips out from between her lips and dribbles down her chin. She pulls back slightly from the goblet, offering me a view of her face. The drop of wine drips off the elegant point of her chin and lands on her chest, trailing into her cleavage.
With a roar that I manage to subdue into a growl when it tears through my throat, the beast lunges, pushing me out of his way in a frenzy of lust.
Eager to lick the wine from her chin and continue to devour her bit by bit.
To my surprise, a small moan escapes Elle. She leans closer to me, and I wrestle for space with the beast, both of us reaching for her.
She’s as turned on as I am. My beauty is in need. The lust and desire are thick between us, and I cave like the mere mortal I am.
I pull her out of her chair and between my legs, sitting up straight so I can lick the wine from between her breasts. I hardly notice the dishes from the meal and the platters of food flying from the room in an orderly row, granting us space to consume one another.
It is only one drop of wine, but it tastes as heavenly as the longer sip I drank before, made better by the sweetness of her skin. I follow the trail up to Elle’s chin and lick the evidence there, too, finally capturing her mouth. She whimpers into the kiss, but it is not a plea to stop. On the contrary, she presses herself between my legs with more force.
Fuck. She makes it both harder for me to fight the beast and harder to discern between the two of us.
I take her by the hips and guide her over my thigh. I do not know whether it is me or the beast who pushes her blue dress up to her hips. And I don’t give a fuck so long as she’s bared to me. She wears nothing underneath, and I press one of my hands into each of her thighs, my mind swallowed up by the heat of her pussy against me. Elle arches, rolling her hips, trying to get contact. I suckle at her neck, tasting her pulse and the magic and moonlight in a thick haze around us.
I had a mind to wait, to perhaps coax her into accepting me into her body, but a demanding growl vibrates through my chest. My memories crowd into my mind, both as I remember them and as the beast remembers them, which is tinged with strong scents and stronger feelings untainted by the rules and morals I was raised with. The beast is a creature of the wild, a dark, magical forest where the choice is between eating and being eaten, claiming or having the object of one’s desires claimed by a stronger predator.
There is no stronger predator, and the beast has run out of patience.
Or perhaps it is me who has run out of patience, and the line between us is too blurred for me to feel who is to blame.
In one smooth movement, I push her off my thigh and turn her, bending her over the table. Her small hands slap the wood as she finds her position. I take her waist in one hand and again push her dress higher to her waist. A man in possession of himself would likely pull it over her head, protecting the fine fabric, but I do not care to protect such luxuries.
And the man I have become enjoys the sight of crumpled silk in uneven lines over her slim waist. Elle arches her back, her palms flat against the table, the blindfold falling down her skin in a line of black silk that stands out against the blue.
