PETALS AND THORNS (4 page)

“This, my love, tells me more truly how you feel than the silly things you say.

For this next bit, I must remove my gloves. The sight of my hands may disturb you.

Would you prefer to be blindfolded?”

“Oh, please…”

“Please, you would like to be blindfolded?”

“Please… Isn't this enough punishment?”

“Only I can decide that, Amarantha. Now, blindfold or no?”

She imagined not knowing what he did to her. Trapped and without sight. She shivered.

“No blindfold, please.”

22

“I can see the idea arouses you. But we shall save that particular spice for another night.”

The Beast stepped to the side, out of her peripheral vision. Amarantha heard the slide of leather and tried to steel herself. Her skirts still rode high on her thighs.

Her breasts throbbed, painfully swollen, echoing each hard
thump
of her heart, her nipples contracting in sparking counterpoint. The music built again, the minor strains moaning beneath the surface chords.

When the Beast's cloaked form stepped in front of her, Amarantha closed her eyes. He chuckled at her. Hot hands clasped her breasts, and she moaned. Her sensitized skin throbbed in pleasure-pain as he massaged them. Now digging deeply, now moving in lighter caresses. Amarantha found herself leaning into the touch, the heat, and strength of his fingers.

His movements changed. The Beast spread his fingers to encompass the full globes of her breasts, holding them fully in his hands. Then he drew back, squeezing her breasts between the points of his fingertips until they reached the nipples, then popping off with a last pinch. Amarantha cried and writhed with each squeezing.

Then she felt the claws.

Amarantha's eyes flew open. The hands on her throbbing breasts were covered in light golden fur. Though she could feel the finger pads of a man underneath, catlike claws curved out from the tops and lightly scored her tender flesh.

Amarantha choked on her breath.

“Sorry you looked?” the Beast asked, his voice gravelly with self-mockery. He finished the stroke with a pinch and a prick of his claws. Then settled his hands—

paws
?—over her breasts again, squeezing deeply, the claws falling in a delicate arc to trace a new set of lines.

Amarantha moaned.

“Horrifying, isn't it? You wondered about the creature under this hood.

Perhaps now your curiosity will be stilled.”

23

Once more he drew his claws across her furiously red breasts, leaving fine crimson lines. The Beast stood, watching her sag inside the boning of her corset, completely undone. He reached behind her and pulled on his gloves.

“Lie back, my sweet.” Holding her shoulders, the Beast laid Amarantha on the table, tenderly arranging her hair behind her head. Unable to think past her fiery breasts, she stared blindly at the vaulted ceiling, wrapped with images of the claws and the arrows of lightning in her groin.

“Love lies bleeding,” the Beast observed, and she whimpered. He brushed a gloved finger across her cheek. “Ah, I shouldn't tease you. You can see I took utmost care with you. There is no blood. We can't allow any scarring of your beautiful flesh.

And now I shall soothe you.”

Straddling her legs, the Beast bent over Amarantha. The draping satin hood brushed against her, cool against the fire. She groaned when his tongue touched her, soothing and laving the tormented flesh. He kissed and quieted her. The gentle rasp of his tongue stroked the sparking pain away.

Amarantha felt like the melted wax of the dying candles. The music had subsided into soft, weeping strings.

The Beast seemed finally satisfied, as he gently drew her up and unfastened the silver chains from her wrists. With a last tender kiss to each trembling nipple, he again lifted her by the waist as if she weighed nothing and set her on her feet.

When she swayed, he swept her up into his arms and cradled her against his broad chest.

The Beast carried Amarantha up the stairs. Looking up into the deep cowl surrounding his shadowed face, Amarantha thought she could see a flash of white.

Something that indeed looked like the fang she had thought she glimpsed at the wedding

“No,” he whispered and turned her in his arms so that she pressed more against his chest, “don't look for what you can't unsee.”

24

He brought her to her chambers, brilliantly lit with candles, though the dawn pinkened the sky outside. Setting her by the great bed, the Beast wrapped her hands around one post to steady her. He loosened her gown, then helped her out of the sleeves and slid it all to her feet. She drew a grateful breath when he sliced the laces of her corset. He led her by the hand to the bedside, the covers turned down in invitation.

Once again she stood before him in only her stockings, ribbon garters, and the red shoes.

The Beast lifted her to sit on the bed, slipped the shoes off her feet. He pulled at the crimson ribbons and placed kisses on her thighs where they had dented her flesh, then rolled the stockings down. Each kiss seemed to travel to the place he'd touched her between her legs.

She wondered if he would touch her there next and if it would occur to her to resist.

Amarantha watched through a blur. He eased her down on the silken sheets.

Taking her wrists, he drew them above her head and tied them gently with the wide, powder blue satin ribbons streaming from the wooden headboard.

The ribbons didn't pull too tight. She could bring her hands down a bit, but not to cover herself. When the Beast drew up the covers, Amarantha sighed in relief.

The Beast chuckled.

“Just so that you can continue to stew in your juices. We have many nights ahead of us. That was enough for this one. We can explore further delights tonight.

Good night, my love. You have pleased me beyond expectation.”

One by one the candles winked out, and he moved to the door.

“My lord?”

The Beast turned back to her.

“Which part was play and which part my punishment?”

25

“Why, Amarantha, darling”—she could hear the broad smile in his voice—“if you don't know, how can I?”

With that he closed the door, and Amarantha fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

Amarantha woke in the afternoon. She judged by the slant of the light. She lay there for a moment, taking in the dramatic sweep of the room, the golden puddles of sunshine, and the bruised ache of her body. The night had left her drained yet somehow brewing with anticipation. She felt every inch of her body in a way she never had before. As if she'd somehow come alive.

The way the Beast had tormented her, his relentless attention and reverent stimulation of just one part of her. Even as Amarantha flinched at the brush of the sheets against her tender skin, she found herself wondering what the night would bring.

She couldn't possibly look forward to it.

To put an end to her thoughts, Amarantha dragged herself out of the delicious bed, just realizing the ribbons had fallen away from her wrists. The short robe waited for her, and the invisible servants had whisked away her scattered clothes.

On a table under the window sat a platter with tea and sandwiches, pastries, fruit, and cheese. Suddenly ravenous, Amarantha grabbed a sandwich square—which proved to be a savory cress with cream cheese—and wolfed it down as she poured a cup of tea.

Curling one leg under her, Amarantha sat in the cozy armchair, soaking up the sunlight and trying each pastry and sandwich. Her mind drifted back to how the Beast had fed her dinner the night before, bite by bite, for hours on end. She opened the window, and sweet, fresh air—unseasonably warm—flowed in like a blessing.

It helped to clear her mind of the frightening, sensual cobwebs.

26

Brushing crumbs off her hands, Amarantha went to clean up and dress for a walk in the garden. Not much of the day remained, and if the Beast intended to spend the entire night playing his games again, she'd best get her head as clear as possible.

Shucking the robe, Amarantha took a deep breath and faced herself in the mirror. Her invisible friends had cleaned her face during the night. She could only imagine how the cosmetics had smeared and blurred with her thrashings and tears.

Her breasts…didn't seem all that bad. They no longer looked so red, though the nipples stood out in crimson irritation. Her skin was pale and smooth except for the long scratches curving out from the bases of her breasts and converging on her nipples, as if pointing them out.

Which Amarantha suspected the Beast had intended all along.

A jar of cream sat prominently next to the washbasin. Amarantha took the hint and smoothed it into her breasts. It felt lovely and wonderfully cooling. And smelled of roses.

A lavender gown that seemed reasonably modest hung on a hook in the bathroom. No underthings, but at this point, she wouldn't quibble. As long as she didn't have to walk in the garden naked, pretty much anything else seemed just fine in comparison.

She drew on the gown. No invisible help presented itself, and she didn't need it. The skirt flowed long and clean, clinging to her hips. The sleeves and bodice drew up softly around her shoulders, the soft silk soothing to her sensitive skin. She brushed out the snarls from her hair and finding no pins to put it up, left it hanging loose. Soft kid slippers appeared, and she gratefully slipped them on.

Amarantha made her way through the manse, which loomed dark and quiet.

She hadn't noticed its glory when they first arrived because the place clearly slept by day. It, and everything in it, really only lit up at night.

Including her.

27

Could she bear it? Amarantha supposed she would have to. Her father deserved that much from her. Every vase of roses, redolent and tempting, accused her.

She wandered awhile, passing room after quiet room, feeling like a ghost. A parlor followed a library. She supposed a ballroom and kitchen lay in other wings somewhere. At the end of one wing she found a cozy reading room with a sunny patio accessible through French doors. Steps from the patio led down into the gardens.

The formal garden paths led her past quiescent rose beds and quietly flowering herb clocks. Spring would take hold before long. Amarantha hadn't thought to bring a wrap, but she hadn't seen one. The sun shone warm enough, and the gardens slept sheltered and still.

Amarantha allowed herself to mull over the events of the day before. Even Angelica had never hinted that men and women did such monstrous things. The Beast had promised not to harm her but instead devoured her just as her father had feared. Only in a different way.

At least she understood why he couldn't have wedded normally, besides his appearance. Any girl not bound by a dreadful bargain would have run screaming for home just from what happened in the atrium, much less the rest. Who knew what would happen tonight?

Amarantha shivered.
Anticipation
. She heard the Beast's gravelly voice in her mind.And then he stood before her.

The Beast's large, black-cloaked form filled the pathway, odd amid the weeping-willow grove, their fairy-thin, leafless limbs dusting his shoulders.

“Good morning, my bride,” the Beast said with a bow.

Amarantha raised her eyebrows at the slanting sun. “More like afternoon, isn't it?”

“As you wish, my love. When one is forced to keep to the night, the partitions of the day mean little.”

28

“You don't appear to be confined to the night.”

“I roused early so I could spend time with my lady.” He extended a courteous arm. “Shall we walk?”

Bemused, she took his arm and listened while he pointed out the delights of the hibernating garden. He could have been any young man courting her favor, but for the obscenities of what had passed between them. Amarantha flushed at the memory.

“And how do you feel today, my sweet?”

As if he'd read her mind.

“Fine. Thank you for inquiring.”

“Your bindings—they did not chafe your skin?”

“No.”

“Your breasts? How do they feel?”

“Um, a bit sore.”

“The scratches—none too deep?”

“No… They… I am not really comfortable discussing this.” Amarantha blushed furiously.

“Are you not?” The Beast thought for a moment. “Then you shall have to show me.”

“Yes, my lord.” Amarantha imagined he'd take plenty of opportunity in the coming night, if the last night provided any indication.

He chuckled. “Now, Amarantha.”

She stopped, aghast.

“Here? Outside?”

The Beast gestured to the empty garden. “There is no one here to see but me.

Put your arms straight by your sides.”

Amarantha sighed and obeyed, feeling her sense of helplessness spiral.

29

“Ah, she's learning.” The Beast sounded smug, and Amarantha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She wished she could find a way to resist him, but she seemed doomed not to. She held herself still and stared steadfastly at the Beast's wide chest as he stepped in front of her and tugged at the ribbon holding the gown around her shoulders. The silk whispered down, not quite falling off her bosom. Amarantha could hear the Beast's deep breath as he hooked a gloved finger into the crevice between her breasts and pulled the fabric down to her waist.

Her skin tightened in the chilly air, and her nipples puckered further.

Amarantha didn't look down. She knew what he saw. And from his stillness, the Beast appeared completely transfixed.

“Tell me, Amarantha. Did you succumb to the desire to touch yourself?”

“My lord?”

“Your sex, my sweet, between your legs, which was so deliciously wet for me last night. Did you pleasure yourself…when you awoke or dressed, perhaps?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Not even a little bit?”

Unable to answer, she shook her head, her hair sliding over her naked shoulders.

“And are you wet now?”

“Oh please, Sir Beast…”

“Very well, you may show me instead.” When Amarantha's eyes flew wide in horror, he laughed. “No, I shall not ask you to strip here. Though when the weather warms, we might do that. I might stretch you out amid the flowers, flushed and naked. Simply reach under your skirts and touch yourself. Then show me if your finger is wet or dry.”