Page 65 of The Beast's Broken Beauty

Isabella

Thishasneverfeltso good, so right. Antonio's still inside me, stretching me in the most delicious way. The cream he used has made everything feel even better. His care, his unbridled need for me burns through my veins like the best kind of medicine.

And I’m so close.

Could it be even more addictive than being on stage? I don't want to think. I can't think.

Luckily, his lips on mine make me forget everything else. Just for a moment, the fairytales in my mind almost make me believe that this is real, that we have a chance.

Unlike dancing, this isn't for an audience. No judges scoring my technique with cold eyes, no critics analyzing my form with pens poised to tear me apart. Just Antonio and me, stripped of pretense. Here in this moment, there's no Beast, no cancer survivor, no pawns in someone else's game. Just us breathing,moving, feeling. In this fortress built on lies and manipulation, these moments when no one is watching feel like the only truth I have left.

I let myself get lost in the sensations. The firm press of his body against mine. The heat of his breath on my skin. The intoxicating scent that is uniquely him fills my lungs until I'm drunk on it. The world falls away until all that exists is us, moving together as one.

Maybe it's the adrenaline from this evening. Maybe it's just him. I don't care right now. The future can wait. It has to wait.

A moan slips past my lips as he hits a particularly sensitive spot deep inside me. I feel his smile against my neck, his stubble grazing my flushed skin. "That's it, love," he rasps, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear you."

Spurred on by his words, I arch into him, my nails digging into the flexing muscles of his back. I want him closer, deeper. I want to chase this feeling until I combust. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my core, winding me up like a spring about to snap. I'm drowning in him, in this moment, clinging to it like a lifeline.

This is mine. Ours. No politics, no manipulation, no roles to play. Just us. The way my body responds to him, opens for him, craves him even after everything he's done. My muscles remember him even when my mind screams to forget.

Foolish hope flickers in my chest. Those fairytales in my mind now sing that we too could have a happily-ever-after, but the scars we bear inside and out haven't healed.

I focus on this moment. On my husband.

Antonio's thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding, and I meet him with equal fervor. Our bodies move in sync, perfectly attuned, racing towards the peak that shimmers just out of reach. I'm teetering on the precipice, my every nerve raw and exposed, ready to shatter at any moment.

But then I catch a flicker of movement that shouldn't be there. A shifting shadow jolts me back to cruel reality like a blast of icy water. Muscles tensing, I turn my head slowly towards the half-open door.

And there he is. Alexandros, imposing frame filling the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest. He's lost his vest and rolled up his sleeves, looking every bit the ruthless businessman he pretends to be.

His eyes widen and darken all at once like he wasn't expecting to find us here. A shiver skitters down my spine despite the heat still pulsing through my veins.

My first instinct is to shield my body from his gaze, but something deeper, more primal flares within me. For one twisted moment, I want him to see. To know that Antonio is mine and I'm his. That whatever game Alexandros thinks he's playing, he'll never have what Antonio and I share in these stolen moments.

But the thought vanishes as quickly as it formed. This thing between Antonio and me, fragile, complicated, yet undeniably real, doesn't belong to anyone's eyes but ours. It's too vulnerable, too honest for the manipulative world we inhabit. I don't want our private truth to become another weapon in their arsenal, another move in this endless chess game we're forced to play.

Antonio must feel the change in my body, the sudden tension. My breathing changes, goes shallow and quick.

Above me, my husband goes rigid, muscles coiling with lethal intent. I can practically feel the war raging inside him. The primal need to finish claiming me warring with the feral instinct to protect what's his.

"Don't move," he murmurs.

Everything goes so quickly.

In a heartbeat, Antonio's reaching for something, a knife, because of course he has one within reach. He pulls up his pantsand turns to face Alexandros fully, the sudden loss of him inside me leaving me aching, empty. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Antonio snarls, the knife glinting in the low light. "I won't be repeating myself."

The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken threats and simmering violence. I'm caught between them, still trembling from Antonio's touch, my body humming with conflicting sensations. Every breath I take feels charged, electric. I push down my dress, push myself fully back up.

"Stop," I finally manage to choke out. Both men turn to look at me, their eyes burning with different kinds of hunger.

I hate how exposed I feel, not just physically but emotionally. What Antonio and I share behind closed doors is ours alone. Messy, complicated, sometimes brutal, but always real. Out there, under others' eyes, we become characters in someone else's story: the Beast and his captive, the crime lord and his wife, pawns to be moved across a bloody chessboard.

Alexandros slowly raises his hands, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker, more primal. "Easy there, Antonio. I didn't mean to interrupt." His voice is a low rumble, like distant thunder. "The door was open. I only just arrived."

Despite his placating words, there's no mistaking the heated glint in his eyes as they rove over my disheveled form. I feel vulnerable under his gaze, but not in the way I do with Antonio. With my husband, vulnerability feels like strength, a mutual disarmament. With Alexandros, it feels like a weakness to be exploited.

A part of me, the dancer who performed for audiences, the woman who endured the auction where men bid on her like property, recognizes the power and danger in being desired. But that power is hollow compared to what Antonio and I share when we're alone. I don't want to be a prize to be fought over.I want to be a person, his person, complicated and scarred and real.

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