Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“I will offer this to the magic,” he says.
“Thank you.” I breathe, suddenly overwhelmed by the emotion of being allowed even this small chance at contact with my father. I take a few moments to steady myself. “Will you walk with me?” I ask.
The beast does not answer, and when I move again, his footsteps do not follow. He is gone again.
THE PRINCE AND THE BEAST
Elle does not know how she looks when she is standing in the sunlight. I am certain of this, because she stood before me in the terrarium, blushing, with her heart beating quickly as if I was the interesting creature there. I was not. She was ethereal and as I watched her, I had to hold myself very straight and still so that I could concentrate on controlling the beast. He loved the look of her among the flowers, which were blooming in a colorful show, and wanted to lay her down in the garden beds.
It took a great deal of effort to stay in place while she wrote, and I couldn't help staring at the light shining in her hair and the curve of her neck beneath where she had tied her curls back with a ribbon that matched her dress. The dress itself was difficult to look away from, as the pink shade highlighted the color in her cheeks. She looked like one of the blooms had come to life, far more beautiful than it had been when it was a flower.
I’m enraptured by the memory of her thoughtful expression as she wrote to her father and how she moved her pen carefully across the page, every word graceful. Fuck, she’s gorgeous in all that she does. Tempting and naive. She has hope where I do not.
After our encounter in the terrarium, it’s torture to wait for the sun to set. It is well within my power to seek Elle out during the day as she has asked me to. She proved yet again in the terrarium that she is capable of obedience even when she is not blindfolded.
But if I went to her, I would not be able to stop myself from touching her. I want my fingers in her hair and my hands underneath her clothes. I want her back in the light of the terrarium where I can see every inch of her skin exposed to the sun. If I did not blindfold Elle, I would truly be able to see all of her, uninterrupted by the line of black silk.
I want that too much to trust myself with the risk. All it would take is one flutter of her eyelids in the throes of passion and she would look upon me.
Several times, I stand still in my rooms and allow myself to sense her presence in the castle. It is always here, as Elle is forbidden to leave, but she moves around the halls, peeking into different rooms and always avoiding the tower…as she should. I wonder if she feels differently about her obedience today, now that I’ve allowed her to write to her father.
I cannot guarantee that he will read it. I cannot guarantee that the magic will take it to where it’s bidden. That is outside my power.
But she was able to write it, at least, and that must feel like a reward for her beautiful obedience. A gift from me to her. Often in the day, she speaks to the magic, discussing her father. I know she loves him, and I have hurt her by taking her from him. The note is an offering of peace between us. A reward to her even.
It felt like a reward for me as well, though I know I am the least deserving of any kind of reward. Compared to Elle, I am nothing but a beast who has done beastly things to her and if I am honest, I have not regretted it. I do not know if I would be capable of regretting her presence in the castle. If I did, I think the beast might take over entirely and remind me of how sweet the victory is when the prize is a woman like Elle. Her sweet scent…and her moans of pleasure.
I shake my head and imagine, as my cock hardens, what I might be interrupting if I went to her now. She might be seated in a chair before the fire in the library, a book in her lap and a cup of tea on the table by her side. She might be in the kitchen, watching a recipe being prepared before her eyes by magic.
She is not bent over a chair with her hand between her legs, thinking of me biting into her soft flesh, hiding soft moans because she is so desperate for me.
Is she?