PETALS AND THORNS (5 page)
Her fingers scratched restlessly at her gown. Amarantha looked about empty gardens.
“Amarantha…”
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She heard the warning in his voice and inched up her skirts, just high enough to slip her hand under. He knew she wore no underthings, and she blushed at it.
Amarantha dipped a hesitant finger into her private area, finding it slick and swollen. She nearly hummed at the sensation.
“Now show me.”
If possible, she flushed more deeply, that he might have thought she lingered.
She held out a trembling hand for him. It gleamed slick in the sun. The Beast bent over. She felt his hot breath
whuffing
over her hand.
“You move me, Amarantha,” he finally murmured, his voice rough.
She shifted, reddening further.
“You may replace your gown. I might be clumsy with the bow.” He watched her. Not knowing what else do to, Amarantha dried her fingers on her hem and pulled up the silk over her bosom with trembling fingers, then retied the ribbon that held it up.
The Beast held out his arm, and they resumed their walk. As if he hadn't asked her to strip in the garden and stand there half-naked while he scrutinized the marks he'd left on her flesh. As if he hadn't made her touch herself and show him the result.
She tried to think of something to break the silence.
“Why wear your gloves? I've already seen your hands.”
“You are not the only one who finds me horrifying to look upon.”
“But there is no one else here.”
“I refer to myself.”
“Are you not accustomed to…the way you are?”
He was silent long enough she thought he might not answer. He'd turned them back toward the manse. It stood at the top of a rise, graceful, stately, the pinnacle of the gardens.
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“I have not always been thus,” the Beast said, his rough voice quiet. “As much as you hate my appearance, I am more monstrous to myself.”
“I might find you less a monster if you did not…do these things to me.”
“You think you wouldn't? I am a monster, Amarantha. Never doubt it. These things are baby steps and nowhere near where I plan to take you. In time you will understand. Whine to me if you like, though I might choose to punish you for it, so take care. And do not pretend that our games do not arouse you, or I shall go to greater lengths to demonstrate what your body yearns for.” With that, he released her arm. “It's time for you to prepare for our evening. I have special plans.”
Her mind awhirl, Amarantha turned to walk up to the house. She didn't think she could bear any more of this.
“Amarantha, my love,” the Beast growled after her. She stopped but did not look back. “You may touch yourself if you wish, but only a little bit. Save plenty for me. I shall be…hungry.”
Though she didn't quite know what he meant, Amarantha fled, his deep laughter chasing her up the steps.
* * *
The corset came down over her hips as well, with stays that attached to opaque white stockings that rose nearly to her crotch. The nest of her nether hair looked startlingly black in contrast. White leather, lace-up boots awaited her. By the time Amarantha had finished with all the hooks and ties necessary, they rose to knee height and undoubtedly would take some time to remove.
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Why this made her uneasy, she didn't know.
Except that she felt precariously off balance. Her body seemed no longer her own. As if the Beast somehow commanded how it felt and she lived in it only as a helpless occupant. Simmering in her own juices indeed. She felt like a stew, slowing heating over the fire.
“
I shall be quite hungry
,” he'd said.
Would he kill and eat her after all? If she refused him again, would that be her fate? The place between her legs had begun to ache. Amarantha had heard her sisters' coy remarks about a man quenching a woman's fire there. If she agreed, would the Beast assuage that longing? Moisture pulsed from her sex, as if it wept in answer.
Amarantha hadn't before, but now she slipped one finger into her sex to feel it.
Hot and slick. She quivered at the sensation, rubbed a little, and caught her breath.
Too much. And not at all natural. Quickly she washed her hands and took up her hairbrush. The invisible hands slipped it from her grasp, however. With a sigh, Amarantha sat at the vanity again. Though mostly covered, her breasts plumped high over the white satin, the red scratches in symmetrical stark relief.
His mark on her.
Tonight the ghosts braided her hair in elaborate coils, piling it well off her shoulders. The sleeveless gown and the square neckline framed her branded bosom.
The belled skirt of the gown swept full to the ground, though her heels added height. White satin ribbons fell from the waist in long sweeps. To tie her hands with? But no, white kid gloves that rose over her elbows and tied with ribbons also.
Amarantha would be hard-pressed to remove them herself. The wrists had little silver rings sewn in. Though she'd known to look for them tonight, the sight still flustered her.
One by one, the candles began winking out. Her cue to move along.
She wondered what would happen when she simply couldn't bear any more of what the Beast did to her. Last night she'd thought she might break apart. Perhaps
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the Beast wanted just that, to scratch and torment her until she came apart and he could feast on her remains.
He had set her in place of his dinner plate.
“
I shall be quite hungry
.”
When the fairy light bobbed in front of her, Amarantha took a deep breath, her still-tender breasts pressing against the dress's restraint. She turned her back on the light and sipped her wine.
The light whipped around in front of her, bouncing like a mad thing.
“Just give me a minute!” she snapped at it. “Besides, I can find my own way.”
Mercifully, the light went away. Amarantha refused to look at the clock. Then she couldn't, because only a few candles lit the room. On impulse, she stepped to the washroom doors, closed them, and turned the ornate brass key in the lock. The last of the candles went out, leaving her in the dark room, lit only by the silver moonlight pouring in the window.
“Amarantha? Are you well?” The Beast's deep voice echoed through the doors.
“No,” she answered, making her voice weak and pitiful. “I'm afraid I'm most unwell, Lord Beast. I must beg off the evening with you. Please forgive me.”
She held her breath and listened to the ominous silence.
“Amarantha.”
Nothing more.
Amarantha gulped the last of the crimson wine. The sudden bite added a convincing croak, she thought.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Open this door for me.”
Amarantha froze.
And the doors crashed open with a scream of splintering wood, and all the candles blazed into light. The Beast stood in the doorway. Roaring bounced off the porcelain tile.
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“
Never deny me
!”
Amarantha cowered back against the wall. The Beast strode in, towering over her, black boots crunching on the shattered remains of her wineglass, bits of wood clinging to his formal cloak. His cowled hood had slipped back, and a golden muzzle with a slavering jaw thrust into her face. Weakness sapped her limbs. She imagined the white tiles spattered with her blood.
He stood over her. He said nothing for a long time as Amarantha quailed.
“A lesson, then,” he said, the words so distorted Amarantha almost couldn't understand.
“Sit.” The Beast pointed at her vanity chair. When Amarantha couldn't move, weak with terror, he stepped back and offered her a gallant gloved hand. “Allow me, Lady Amarantha.”
Years of social training took over, and she accepted his hand and rose from the floor. The Beast led her to her vanity and settled her at it, ever the gracious gentleman. Amarantha smoothed the white skirt, now marred with a trail of red wine. The Beast stood patiently behind her, waiting.
At last Amarantha laid her hands on the armrests and looked up. He hadn't adjusted his cowl, so she could still see glimpses of that feline snout through a black mask.
Without speaking, the Beast took her right wrist in his gloved hand and drew her arm behind her. He clicked the circlet in her glove to a hook on the back of the chair. He did the same with her other hand. With her arms pulled tight and her shoulders pressed against the high back, her breasts thrust forward, straining, Amarantha sobbed a little.
“I won't allow you to resist me, Amarantha. You may choose whether I fuck you, yes. But only that. You will find that this is less difficult for you if you stop trying to fight it. Give over to it.”
The Beast took two of the ribbons dangling from her dress and tied them around the back of the chair, so that her waist fit snug against the chair.
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Amarantha watched him in the mirror. He reached over the side and turned up her hem near her right ankle, finding the end of a ribbon beneath. She hadn't realized the ribbons went down the inside also. He tugged it up, and Amarantha's skirt rose with it, exposing her white leather boot and her slim thigh. Black gloved hands tied the snowy ribbon to another at her waist, the fabric collapsing between so her skirt rose to above her hip on that side.
Amarantha whimpered when the Beast did the same on the other side. Only a small apron of material and a few dangling ribbons guarded her modesty. The Beast laid his gloved hands on her shoulders, then slid them over her tightly encased breasts, kneading them in his hands. She watched him handle her and thought she might be some other girl, if her blood weren't pounding, rising to the surface with his rough touch.
The Beast slid his hands down her waist to her exposed thighs. Amarantha pressed them together, but he only took one of the ribbons.
“Watch, Amarantha.” A soft growl in her ear. She could see the feral gleam of his eyes inside the cowl, reflecting the blazing candlelight. With excruciating patience, the Beast drew the ribbon up. Amarantha pulled at the ties on her arms but couldn't budge. A breath sighed out of the Beast as her black thatch came into view. She moved her legs restlessly but could do nothing to cover herself.
He tied that ribbon too, securely to another at her waist. Cascades of white silk framed Amarantha's delicately curved hips. The Beast adjusted the folds of her dress so they swept back and over the arms of the vanity chair. She could see all of herself in the mirror, from the pointed tips of her boots to the menacing black figure in the mirror.
“Now, Amarantha, you have earned a number of punishments this evening, as I'm sure you're aware.”
Fat tears welled in the pretty violet eyes of the girl in the mirror and spilled down her cheeks, but the Beast paid no attention.
“How many transgressions do you think there were?”
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“I did not come down for dinner,” she whispered.
“That's one.”
“I locked the door.”
“Two.”
“I, um, lied about being ill and then didn't open the door when you told me to.”
“Three and four.”
“And I didn't get in the chair right away when you told me to.”
The Beast chuckled and stroked the upper curve of her breast. “I will allow you that one as you were frightened by my horrible appearance. And I am gratified that you understand the rules so well. Now tell me why you disobeyed.”
Amarantha swallowed.
“I was afraid.” She said it so quietly she could barely hear herself.
“Of me?”
“Yes. Of this. Of what will happen to me when you push me and I-I break.” Her voice broke with it.
“I want you to give something to me, Amarantha.”
“I've given you everything.”
“No, so far I've demanded and taken. Which I enjoy. I intend to take more. But I will make you an exchange. You have four punishments awaiting you tonight.”
Amarantha shuddered at that. “I will cut them in half if you will do one thing for me.”
She eyed him doubtfully. “What is it?”
“You must agree first.”
“I don't want to agree unless I know what it is.” Amarantha knew that much about negotiating.
“Very well. Then we shall move on directly to your four punishments.”
“Wait!”
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“My patience grows short, my bride.”
“I will.” Amarantha sighed and dropped her head. “Tell me, and let's get it done.”
“Your legs are free. On either side of you are armrests. I'd like you to lift your knees and hook them over the armrests.”
“But then I… You…”
“Oh yes.” The Beast's voice came out as a purr.
Amarantha stared in horror at herself in the mirror. She would be splayed open to them both, the glass reflecting her most private tissues in ruthless scrutiny.
“The offer expires in a moment, Amarantha.”
She steeled herself. She lifted one knee and raised it up over the arm of the chair. The curve of the armrest held it there, the arc of it perfectly suited to the purpose. Was everything in this house designed to bind and display her?
The answer seemed to be yes.
Amarantha took a deep breath. So far her other thigh still shielded what little modesty she had left. She thought the Beast might urge her along, but when she glanced in the mirror, she could see he only waited with catlike stillness.
Anticipation.
She focused on her leg. Moving it into place. This side posed more difficulty, and she had to scoot her bottom a bit to adjust. After some wriggling, Amarantha managed to hook her knee around the outward curve of the armrest. The chair held her in place, and she relaxed.
“Most delightful,” the Beast said on a breath. “You are beyond beautiful, my bride.”
He moved around the bathing room, collecting candles and setting them on the vanity, all the better to light her most intimate self. Amarantha tried not to look, but the pink and crimson folds of her sex drew her eye, so starkly did they throb against the pristine backdrop of her thighs, stockings, and skirts. The folds and 38
