That Beast knew how to spank.
She took her time washing herself, washing her hair, and combing it out. When she was done, she slipped on a white nightgown. It fit perfectly.
“Thank you, fairies,” she said. She paused. “May I have more wine, please?”
A single glass of red wine appeared. No bottle. Oh well, that would have to do. Hopefully it would put her to sleep and keep her from dreaming about all the terrible, sinful,
wonderful, intoxicating
things that Beast had done to her. And what more might be in store…
3: Frederick
In his room down the hall, Beast collapsed onto his bed. The mattress sank in under his massive weight. Had he done the right thing, agreeing to keep Belle only six months? Surely that wasn’t enough time to get her to see past his appearance, forgive him for taking her captive, and fall in love with him.
There was too much to accomplish, in too short a time.
Also, the cut on his chest burned like fire.
“I need a washrag and ointment,” he said, not bothering to lift his heavy head from the pillow.
The items appeared, and he tended to his wound. But it still hurt like hell.
“Laudanum, please,” he said. The opium tincture appeared, and he sipped a bit of the bitter medicine. He took care not to abuse the potent drug, but with a fresh wound, he knew he’d be tossing and turning without it.
His sleep was quiet, dark, and deep. In his dreams, he was no longer a Beast. He was himself. He was Frederick.
And he still had a captive to attend to.
***
Belle woke gently, or perhaps she didn’t wake at all. A light caress ran along her arm.
Beast?
She opened her eyes. It was a man—a man in her room. “Who are you?” she gasped. “What are doing here?”
She bit down on her first instinct—to scream for the Beast to come to her rescue. Doing so wouldn’t make much sense, since the last thing she wanted was the Beast in her suite.
The intruder—the man—said nothing, he just looked at her until she recognized him…from the portrait. The beautiful young man with the amazing green eyes.
Just a dream, then. That was good. To dream and know she was dreaming meant she could do whatever she wished, and awake unscathed.
“Hello, beauty,” the Prince said, settling next to her on the bed. “I saw you looking at my portrait.”
“I did,” she whispered, the way she often did in the dark.
Normally, she would be absolutely shocked for a stranger to sit on her bed—but this was only a dream, and so she welcomed it. Welcomed him.
“Do you find me handsome?” He kissed her neck, igniting a spark of desire.
Just a dream…none of mattered if it wasn’t real.
“Yes.” Boldly, she reached out and touched his clean-shaven face, and stared into his eyes. Familiar eyes.
“Is that very important to you?” he asked.
What a strange question! “I don’t know,” she murmured. “I am glad you’re here. It’s nice to see another person, if only while I sleep.”
“My name is Frederick.”
“Frederick… Am I being haunted?” she asked.
Because while he was touching her, running his hands over her body, ahh…it didn’t feel so much like a dream. It felt real. It felt… incredible. Did ghosts feel real?
“In a way, perhaps I am haunting you,” Frederick said. “Don’t be afraid. The Beast is good. He didn’t eat me, Belle, if that’s what you think.”
“Are you imprisoned here, in the castle?” she asked. “Like me?”
Frederick smiled. “I am.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew the handsome Prince onto her, relishing the weight of his body on hers. Surprising that she could feel the weight of a ghost, or a dream, or whatever Frederick was.
“One moment,” she gasped, sitting up. “Are you actually a prisoner in this castle, and did you find me, and are you about to ravish me? Or am I dreaming?”
“Yes.” Frederick smiled, beautiful straight white teeth that didn’t frighten her exactly—not the way Beast’s fangs did.
“Y-yes?”
“Yes, to all of it.” Frederick kissed her long and deep, his tongue dancing with hers.
Belle moaned with passion as his kisses left her lips, traveling down her neck, to her breasts. She tore at her nightgown to give him better access.
She only prayed this was really a dream.
Who cares?
She was a captive—none of it would be her fault, surely. When she got back home she’d just pretend none of it happened. As long as she was enjoying the experience, why deny herself?
And oh my goodness, she was enjoying herself.
“Belle,” Frederick whispered, his breath hot against her nipple. “You must try to love the Beast. Don’t be so afraid of him.”