Beauty's Beast (8 page)

A soft gasp escaped my mouth as I bit my lip and circled the thing at the top of my pussy that stuck out a little. It was the greatest feeling I had ever had.

The shadows of the people making the strangest love I had ever seen or heard of, created a play for me. I could fill in the blanks, making me the girl on the swing. I wanted the master to fill me up the way he did her. I could see Babette arching her back and crying out in pleasure as he bounced their bodies off one another.

I rubbed the fabric over my nipple faster, hitching my own breath with pleasure and shock as my finger worked faster. A rush of energy swept over me as I tensed and released all at once. A soft moan escaped my lips as my breathing turned ragged and my heart pounded.

I dropped to my knees, closing the door quietly and breathing heavily into the frame, clutching to it and myself.

There was no excuse I could muster to forgive myself for the great evil I had just committed. I had pleasured myself while acting like a voyeur.

It was disgraceful.

I got up and hurried to my room, desperate to forget what I had done and grateful no one knew.

When I woke my pussy was wet again. My finger was between the lips and coated in my own juices.

I pulled my hand from the blankets, stunned that I had pulled my dress up and touched myself in my sleep.

There was no explaining it except that perhaps I had been so traumatized by the events of the evening I had experienced a nightmare about it all.

It was still dark outside. I had woken in the middle of the night.

Lying there, I relived the whole scene: the firelight and the dancing bodies upon the wall, and the way his thrust was met by the way she moaned.

It was fabulous and appalling all at once.

I breathed deeply, stirring in my sheets.

I wanted more than I could offer myself. I wanted to feel what Babette had been feeling. She had moaned and writhed in what appeared to be agony, but I knew it was pleasure. Which was contrary to what I had ever been led to believe about sexual intercourse.

I had been told it was for the man and not the woman at all.

But the way the master had run his face across me, teasing and humiliating me, had me in knots with desire.

Pulling back the covers, I got up to sneak to the door. I cracked it, peeking through the small space between the door and the frame.

There was nothing in the hall, apart from the few candles Lumier left lit.

I shrugged on a cloak that Mrs. Potts had left me and slipped from the room. Hurrying to the stairs, I tiptoed down them. My instincts begged me not to go to the room, but my curiosity and depravity won over.

I stood outside the door with my fingers placed against it, wondering if they were there still. Praying they were.

I turned the knob. My stomach lit up with butterflies and anxiety. When I opened it I saw the fire was out and nothing moved inside the disgusting space.

There was no doubt my mind wished I would close the door, but my thighs squeezed together, pressing hard against my sex and my fingers clutched to the wood of the door, arguing I needed to see inside. Silently, I opened it farther and crept inside, closing it behind me.

The room smelled of mahogany and the dying embers in the fireplace but there was something else.

It was
him
.

I could smell him in the air the way I had when I had been pressed against his firm chest. I hadn’t noticed the scent before but now I did. It was musk and manliness and it made my mouth water.

Creeping across the rugs to the fire, I scanned the large space. Moonlight shone in the wall of windows, lighting the way for my intrusion.

When I got to the fire the contraption that had hung from the ceiling was gone. No ropes and no buckles. The large chests glinted from the corner of the space, calling out to me.

I walked to them, half in a trance of desire and desperation. I dropped to my knees, lifting the lid and peering inside the first chest. The moon at my back cast a shadow over the chest so I couldn't see what I was revealing by lifting it open.

I turned, jumping when I saw him there, again nothing but a massive shadow.

“What are you doing in here?”

I parted my lips to speak but how could I? What would I reveal in my truths? I closed my mouth and shook my head, hoping he would assume I was being nosey.

But he bent and grabbed me from the floor, lifting me into the air and plopping me onto my feet. “What are you doing in here?” He repeated himself a lot. It was unnerving because I always suspected he knew the answer.

I shook my head again. “I don't know.” It was the truth. What was I looking for? I was already on borrowed time with my virtue, or rather the scrap of it that was hanging on.

“Do you want this, Belle?” He cocked his head to the side. But with the moonlight behind him I couldn't see clearly. I pressed my lips together, not certain of the answer I wanted to say the most.

He pulled me into him, his breath whispering over my skin. “What do you want?”

“You.” The word was a whisper I never expected to say. I shoved him on the chest recalling the way he had tormented me and that it had only been hours since his hands and cock had been all over Babette. I turned and ran from the room, haunted by the sound of his chuckle behind me.

I didn't run back to my room. I ran for the birdbath. I was desperate to see my father.

“I wish to see my father.” I hovered over it, shaking and sobbing. His face came into view, but what I saw didn't make me feel better. He was speaking to a man, not Gaston, a different man. He looked wild-eyed and confused. He blew his nose and shook his head, staring off in different directions.

The man nodded and wrote something on a paper, slipping it into his pocket.

I stepped back, confused by what I had seen.

My father was clearly worried about me.

He wasn't the only one. I was desperately worried about the sordid creature I had become here.

Sighing, I dropped to my knees and leaned against the old birdbath. There was no escaping the castle, and I feared there was also no escaping my desires. My sex throbbed, wishing someone was touching or licking it.

On the other end of the spectrum, my father was worried and clearly not doing well.

What had become of us?

Defeated, I closed my eyes and sighed again, feeling the pull of sleep and sadness.

I didn't know I had fully fallen asleep until I woke in my room. I was tucked away in my bed, but I was not alone. In the chair across the room slept the master. His legs were sliding from the chair and his neck was at an odd angle. He looked painfully uncomfortable, whereas I was tucked into my bed and fully covered and warm.

I got up to bring him a blanket but the moment I moved his eye popped open.

For the first time I saw the actual color of them, bright blue. In the light of the luminous bedroom he was more beautiful than I had imagined he might be. The brilliant blue eyes, dark hair, and morning scruff upon his face made him look normal—like any man might have. Even the shaggy
set of his dark hair made me fight
my grin.

But the eyes watching me were unnerving.

He got up in one fluid movement, looking around the room before speaking as if he were in pain. “You are the most confusing young woman I have ever met.” He turned and left the room—left me standing there in the middle of it with a blanket in my hands.

I hated him—at least I wanted to—and yet found myself wondering why he was the way he was. He had clearly been made this way.

What was this curse none of them spoke of but we all knew was there?

Instead of focusing on it, I got dressed and headed downstairs where breakfast was the same, lonely and ready for me.

I glanced about, wondering about the filth in a room that at one time
was obviously meant to be enjoyed
in a relaxing way.

Curious and bored, if I was being completely honest, I got up and started looking about the empty space. In the far corner of the room there was a set of double doors. I opened them against my better judgment, coughing as dust and staleness filled the air around me.

It was a dark storage room filled with very fine furnishings. I dragged one of the chairs from the closet-type room and whacked it until the dust lifted and I could see there were more of the roses. They were everywhere. I traced the beautiful petals and design with my finger until I was interrupted.

“Madam, are you lost?”

I turned to see Lumier and smiled, shaking my head. “I want to make this room pretty again. Do you think you could help me?” He opened his mouth and I could plainly see the answer was not what I wanted. I smiled wider. “I just think the master is very unpleasant because the house is so dreadful. He needs someone to cheer things up around here. I find a dreary house makes me dreary as well.”

Lumier wrinkled his nose. I sighed and shook my head. “Don't worry about it. I will do it myself.”

He drew his dark brow together and I realized I couldn't place his age. It was the same as everyone else here. I couldn't quite tell what age they were. I imagined Lumier was in his fortieth year, but then there was a youthfulness to his slim face that whispered I might be wrong. It was the same with his personality, and everyone else’s in the house. While he had a tidy and simple look to him with his long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a butler’s uniform over his skinny body, there seemed to be a glint of something more in his eyes.

It was the same with Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth.

But I didn't want to pry. I had done enough of that.

I turned back to pull another chair from the storage room when he walked to me and helped me with it. We didn't speak at first, just dragged furniture out and placed it strategically about the room, dusting and sweeping each piece.

He assembled several small round tables while I set out to clean the windows with a bucket of water and rags. I stood on a table and wiped as high as I could go.

“You are a very hard worker for a gentleman’s daughter, if you don't mind my observing you.”

I smiled and nodded. “My father was a gentleman until he gave up his fortune and living for the work he does now. He is an inventor. So there were moments in my childhood that we had excess of everything and then there were lean moments. Most of my younger years were spent being very wealthy and spoiled.”

He chuckled. “Doesn't sound so bad.”

“It wasn't.” I turned and sighed. “Until my mother grew ill. Then we were forced to stay in one place and my father grew very distant. He focused on his work but created nothing new.” I lowered myself carefully, sitting on the table and swinging my legs. “I think deep down he wanted to be able to save her. And when he couldn't he stopped being able to create anything at all.”

Lumier’s brow pinched. “I am very sorry. You are far too young to lose a mother.”

It was the exact reaction I had had at the moment she died. I had felt too young.

“However did you end up here?” He knelt and screwed a table leg on.

“My father took a commission in the neighboring town. But he isn’t well so it hasn't gone as successfully as he had hoped—as we both had hoped.”

His cheeks flushed as he winced and turned the leg forcefully until it was too tight to move. “But the washing machine works wonders. Mrs. Potts was just singing me its praises last night.”

“It is the first thing he has made in years that has worked.”

“Surely, he can sell it and build back his fortune? Then you can live here with us, with your father.”

“I could never live here.” I shook my head, wondering if those words were a lie. They didn't feel true at all. “He is not well and the town where we live is not a good place for him. I fear for him there.”

“The people are not nice?” he asked as he turned the table onto its feet and dragged it to another sitting area.

“No. They are standoffish and there is one man in particular—” I shuddered. “He is a very evil man. He would do anything to hurt my father and me. He has already hurt me.” I trailed off, recalling it all. I knew the scars of Gaston would live deep inside me forever.

Lumier looked affronted. “The master would never stand for that.”

That made me laugh. “The master doesn't care about me. Or my father.”

“That is where you are wrong.” He muttered it but I still heard it. Changing the subject quickly he stepped back and admired our work. “This is the room I once loved. The conservatory is my favorite room. The light in here radiates off the glass when the sun is setting and rising. The room is built at the end of the castle so it catches both events.”

I glanced about and grinned with him. The room sparkled. There were sitting areas set up like conversation pits with chairs, couches, and tables. It was comfortable and clean. The windows and floors seemed different without all the dirt and debris.

“We should do the library next.”

My ears perked up. “What?”

He nodded and looked about the room. “It’s a mess.”

“There’s a library?”

His gaze turned
to me and his lip lifted a little
. “You like libraries?”

I hopped off the table and hurried to him, grabbing his hand. “Lead the way.”

I don't know why I said it; I led the way with him shouting directions and laughing like a crazy person. When I burst through the doors of the grand room I gasped. It was huge, ten times the size of any library I had ever seen.

I lifted my hands to my lips, still gasping and shaking.

It was a mess but behind the mess was a glorious space. There were no words for it so I dropped to my knees and stared at the beauty.

Thousands of books—no, countless numbers of books filled dozens upon dozens of shelves. There were two floors with a glorious set of circular stairs joining them.

“Do you like it?”

My words and my breath were stuck in my throat as I managed a squeak for a response.

“I will see if the others want to help, if you want to start dusting the top floor and reorganizing the space.” He turned and left me there, at the altar at which I prayed.