Page 26 of Beauty's Beast

She stared at him, horrified by the realization that he was drunk.

“I promised my father an heir.” He closed the door and shot the bolt home. “Get into bed.”

“Now?” Her voice emerged as little more than a frightened squeak.

“Now.”

She stood up, knocking the chair over in the sudden panic that engulfed her. Her gaze darted around the room, her heart beating frantically. She had never refused him, never truly been afraid of him, until this moment. Behind the mask, his eyes burned like glowing coals.

He took a step toward her, and she retreated.

A low growl rose in his throat as he reached for her.

With a shriek, she tried to slip past him, but his hand closed over her arm, holding her fast.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t. Not like this.”

“I must, my sweet Kristine. It is the only way to end this torment.”

She turned away as his whiskey-soured breath filled her nostrils.

A low groan rumbled in his throat as he drew her up hard against him, one arm holding her close. His right hand clasped her chin, holding her head still while he bent down to cover her mouth with his.

“Sweet,” he murmured. “Sweet.”

She tried to turn her face away, to free herself from his grasp, but it was impossible. He held her firmly, easily. She could feel every taut line of his body pressed against hers from shoulder to thigh. His tongue plundered her mouth and she tasted the whiskey he had been drinking.

She gasped when he swung her into his arms and carried her to bed. Depositing her none too gently on the mattress, he began to undress her. Clumsy in his haste, he ripped her gown and then, with a cry of frustration, he tore off her undergarments, flinging them across the room, until she lay on the bed, fully exposed to his rapacious gaze.

“Don’t.” She whispered the word, knowing, in her heart, that it would do no good. “Please, don’t.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his gaze sweeping over her body like a flame, bringing a hot flush of embarrassment to her cheeks.

He moved away from the bed to extinguish the lamp and close the drapes, plunging the room into utter darkness. She felt the bed sag under his weight as his body covered hers, pressing her down into the mattress. His gloved hand imprisoned both of hers while his other hand caressed her.

She had expected him to be rough, to take her quickly and be gone, but his hand was infinitely gentle as it glided over her body, arousing her against her will. She heard him curse under his breath, and then he was kissing her again. There was no violence in him now, nothing but tenderness as he rained kisses over her face and neck.

She tried to remain impassive, but her body betrayed her. Had he been cruel, she might have resisted, but he made love to her with infinite care, whispering to her all the while, praising her beauty, the softness of her skin, the sweetness of her lips, and she found herself responding, found herself wishing her hands were free so that she might stroke his back and shoulders, that she might run her fingers through his hair. She tried to draw her hands from his, but he tightened his hold.

“No,” he whispered. His voice was deep and husky, but there was no anger in it.

He kissed her shoulders, the curve of her neck—long, lingering kisses that excited her, until she writhed beneath him.

“Now,” she begged, and lifted her hips in silent invitation.

“Now,” he agreed. Reaching down, he unfastened his breeches.

A moment later, his body merged with hers. She thought she heard him whisper, “Please don’t hate me, Kristine,” but she couldn’t be sure, and then there was no time to wonder, there was only the exquisite pleasure of his body melding with hers as he moved deep within her.

She moaned softly as heat rippled through her, warm, sweet heat that touched every nerve, filled every hollow. She cried his name as pleasure burst within her, felt him shudder as he found his own release. Needing to touch him, she tried again to free her hands.

“No, Kristine.”

“Why?” she asked petulantly. “Why can’t I touch you?”

She tried to see his face in the darkness, but he was only a dark shadow rising above her, a phantom lover who came to her in the night and disappeared with the dawn.

He rested his forehead against hers, his hair brushing her cheeks. “Don’t ask.”

---