PETALS AND THORNS (11 page)
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“Look! Look at me.”
He didn't move. One of the candles sputtered and winked out. Amarantha fell to his feet, weeping in wild despair. She clung to his knees, begging him to awake, promising him that she'd do anything, say anything that he needed, if only he'd return.
The clock struck midnight, and she felt him stir. Felt his hand move to stroke her hair. Amarantha looked up and sobbed in relief to find him looking at her.
“Amarantha, I must ask you a question.”
“Yes!” she said. “Yes, I'll do it. I'd rather be alive with you than living like a dead woman in a world without you in it.”
“Amarantha, my bride, will you beg me to collar you, chain you to my bed, and fuck you?”
She could feel the power of the ritual question now. It charged the air between them. Amarantha took a deep breath. She could do this. “Yes.”
With a growl, the Beast roared to life. He seized her by the wrists and flung her over his shoulder, ignoring her startled shriek. He carried her upstairs, the manse flaring to blazing life as they moved through it. Amarantha's face pounded with blood. Would he really make her beg for this?
Yes. He had to, she thought.
He bypassed her chambers and continued down the hallway. Ah yes. Chained to
his
bed. The massive doors flung open, and he strode through a sitting room piled high with books and into the bedroom, where a giant four-poster bed dominated the room.
The Beast dropped her onto the bed. Amarantha trembled to see him. He seemed completely overcome. His green eyes flashed fire, and his claws were unsheathed. The animal had taken over as he'd predicted. None of the man she knew remained.
“Beg,” he growled.
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Amarantha looked around in desperation. A heavy silver collar lay open on the ruby coverlet, attached by a chain to the headboard. Each post of the bed offered another chain of silver links, finished by an open manacle. She would be completely helpless.
“Beg!” the Beast roared.
Shivers of terror rocking her, she studied the Beast for signs of humanity. And found them in her heart. She trusted that he wouldn't truly hurt her. Even when he'd said he lost control, the slight scratches he'd given her hadn't been deep. They had already nearly healed.
She had said yes because she loved him. Nothing had changed.
“Please,” she said, “I beg you to collar me.”
“Put it on, then.”
With shaking hands, Amarantha picked up the silver collar and locked it around her slender throat. The click sounded through the silent room. She looked up and found the Beast watching her with unbearable intensity.
“I beg you, my Lord Beast, please chain me to your bed.”
“Lie back and place your hands in the manacles.”
Shuddering, she obeyed. She laid her wrists inside the open manacles, having to drag the chains a bit closer. The Beast stripped off his gloves and locked the cuffs around her little wrists. Then he tightened the chains so her arms stretched out tightly.
“Spread your legs.”
Her eyes fixed on the canopy, Amarantha opened herself to the Beast. He chained her feet, pulling her wider, so she lay in a naked X in the center of the great bed. The Beast stood at the foot of the bed. Waiting.
“Please make me your wife in truth, my husband. I beg you to take my virginity.”
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The Beast climbed up onto the bed, crawling over her. He dragged himself against her naked skin, and she realized he'd stripped. His face loomed over her, and Amarantha saw he'd finally pulled off his mask too. The features of the beast warred with the man, distorting his face.
“The words, Amarantha. Give me the words. I must have them.”
She could feel him, hot and heavy on her thigh, poised before her virgin passage. The fear rocketed through her. But no shame, she realized.
“Please fuck me,” she whispered.
A fierce wind billowed through the house, shattering the silence. The Beast threw back his head and roared. Amarantha braced herself for the thrust that would rend her. And felt human lips on her own. A man's skin against hers.
“My Amarantha, my bride,” he said, his voice clear and deep. “I fear I cannot wait, but I will make this good for you.”
Amarantha stared in wonder at the man braced above her. The man inside the distortion of the Beast. The green eyes were exactly the same.
He shifted himself between her spread thighs, pressing against her entrance.
“You're wet for me.”
“Always.”
He pushed in, and Amarantha stilled.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Yes. Oh yes.”
And he pushed into her, widening, stretching, and filling her. Amarantha moaned at the sensation, feeling the tight tissues give way to him. He pulled back a bit, then pushed hard and deep, filling her to the hilt. Amarantha cried out her pain and pleasure.
The desire spiraled through her as he rocked inside of her, withdrawing and stroking. She convulsed with each deep thrust, feeling the tension build. Hot blood filled her, and Amarantha pulled at her chains, begging in earnest.
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He drove them both hard, his pounding rhythm accelerating to the relentless peak. Amarantha screamed when she shattered, and he followed her down, clinging to her as the last of the enchantment released him.
Amarantha stirred when he withdrew from her. Her husband unlocked the collar from her throat and tossed it back over the pillows. He moved around the bed, removing the manacles. Amarantha stretched her limbs and curled up in grateful relaxation. He returned with a towel and slid her thighs apart, cleaning her with tenderness. Humor glinted in his green eyes when he glanced up to find her watching him.
“Love lies bleeding,” he said. “Though not too much.” He tossed the towel aside and gathered her against him. He stroked her dark hair back from her forehead. “I can't believe you did this,” he said in wonder.
“My Lord Beast—”
“Roland,” he interrupted. “I'm myself again, so I have my name again.”
“Roland.” She smiled and ran her fingers over his broad chest, feeling him shiver. “I was willing to take the Beast.”
“I know, my love,” he answered, kissing her softly. “And make no mistake, I'm still that man.” He reached up to roll a nipple between his fingers, then pinched it, grinning when she gasped. “That's how I came to this, and you should know the story.
“I have always been a man driven by my desires. As you have experienced.”
Amarantha shivered.
“Yes. You, my sweet innocent, have been the best of partners. So responsive to all of it.” He trailed his fingers through the damp hair of her sex and smiled at her quivering answer. “I thought I saw it in your eyes when I found that portrait. I hardly dared hope.
“Not all of my partners were equally excited by my games. And I confess, in my recklessness and arrogance, I didn't always take my lover's wishes into
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consideration. If I hired a courtesan, then I thought I owned her for the night and could do as I pleased.”
Amarantha stared at him.
“I warned you I am a beast inside. I warned them too. But one courtesan—she thought to tame me. She was a witch and practiced tricks on me. We fought for dominance, and I, well, I won.” Roland's sensuous lips twisted in self-deprecation. “I chained her to this bed, collared her, and tormented her until she begged me to fuck her. Then I refused and left her there for the day.”
“You didn't.”
“I did. When I returned and freed her, she cursed me. Never to enjoy the day.
Never to enjoy another woman unless she chose this. And chose it out of love. She turned my servants into ghosts and declared that I would wear the corrupt face of the beast that had tormented her.
“Every night since, I've wandered this manse, driven by desire I couldn't relieve. Every day I've slept and wondered what kind of woman would ever choose that way.”
“I don't know what kind of woman that makes me.” Amarantha sighed as Roland stroked her sex and nuzzled her throat. She dug her nails into his chest, and he hissed in pleasure. He rolled her onto her back and slid inside her. They groaned together as they joined, the desire shimmering around them.
“Amarantha,” Roland said with a hint of a growl, “it makes you mine.”
Her eyes widened as he stroked deep inside her.
“Just as you are mine,” she gasped.
“Yes. Forever after.”
is the pen name of Jeffe Kennedy, an essayist and fiction-writer.
Her work has appeared in diverse magazines such as
Redbook
,
Puerto del Sol
,
Wyoming Wildlife
, and
Under the Sun
. She has been a Ucross Foundation Fellow, a Wyoming Arts Council roster artist, and winner of their Poetry Fellowship. Her essay collection,
Wyoming Trucks, True Love and the Weather Channel
was published by University of New Mexico Press in 2004. Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, with two Maine coon cats, a border collie, numerous free-range lizards, and frequently serves as a guinea pig for an acupuncturist-in-training. Learn more about Jeffe at
