I had to at least try.
I heard shifting and then suddenly my bottom lip was being tugged on. I opened my eyes, surprised to see Beast on his knees, tugging at my lip. “I believe you,” he murmured. My shoulders dropped and I released an exhale I should have kept inside. I should have stayed coiled, should have steeled, but I thought he was releasing me of my punishment. I thought he wasn’t going to do anything more and I was so relieved.
Then as soon as the breath left my body, the
Beast lifted me up. He threw me on the kitchen counter. I gripped the cold granite, eyes widening as he placed his arms on either side of my body, bracketing me.
He moved closer, his erection pressing against my slit. The fabric separating us was so thin, like butterfly wings. It could tear effortlessly and it would be easy for him to enter me. His erection was steel hard against me. My eyes were locked with his, watching for any flicker of emotion. I was waiting for the tornado to burst through or the night to finally clear.
His eyes flickered, but before I could decipher the emotion, thoughts flew out the window. His cock pushed aside the fabric of my panties and just the satin of his pants separated us.
It was so unlike last time.
It was torture, but of a different kind.
I gripped the marble countertop and threw my head back. This time the Beast didn’t force me to look at him. I could feel myself clenching as he teased me. Rubbing against me, parting me slightly, but never entering me, not even letting me feel him. I knew it was on purpose that he stayed clothed. He was going so slowly. It was cruel. He was cruel, but not for the obvious reasons, the reasons that had robbed my sleep all the previous nights. All I could think about was the tip of him teasing me.
And that it wasn’t enough.
That I needed to feel more.
Feel skin.
In that single moment, a moment so small you could hardly measure it, the tables turned. The water had been leaking through, but because I was so busy trying to damn the flood, I hadn’t worried about the leak. I hadn’t noticed the trickle of excitement. Of passion. Of electricity. Throbbing and shocking my core and body with pleasure. By the time I noticed, I was like a frog in water left to boil.
I hated myself so much. A hate that would eventually drown me.
“I hate you,” I whispered, pulling myself up so I could see into his eyes, but all I saw were my own looking back at me.
“That’s not what your cunt says.” The Beast laughed. I screamed, but I wasn’t sure if it was at what was happening or because he hadn’t entered me.
“My cunt and I…” I panted. “We’re not on speaking terms.” I raked my fingernails across his cheek, drawing three thin lines of blood. His eyes darkened to pools of liquid black and I feared the consequences of what I’d done with my entire being—until he smiled. It was a cruel and wicked smile, but it was also amused. Whatever my punishment was, it at least would be playful.
He pushed a little more inside me, not enough to actually be inside of me, just enough to spread me and torture me with the almost and barely-there feeling of his fabric-covered flesh. It was like I wasn’t in control of my body anymore. My arms reached out but they didn’t seek to harm him or to push him away. I watched as if through a window as I clung to his shoulders, gripping the clenched muscles. At the same time I gripped him, he pulled out.
Instead of rejoicing the emptiness, I mourned it. He left me panting and angry and…dejected. He walked away with such an easy gait, as if what just happened was nothing to him. I watched him disappear down the hallway, feeling a scream stuck in my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to get off the countertop. My gaze flickered to the knife on the ground, and I imagined stabbing it into my own heart.
I was lost. If this terrible man could make me lose myself so completely, what did that mean? The only reason I hadn’t disappeared entirely was because he’d left. If he’d kept going, however, I don’t know what would have happened. If he’d kept going, I wasn’t just going to come, I was going to fade away.
Six
Anteros stood up off the bed, facing the brisk New York morning. Frankie sighed sleepily behind him, rolling into the spot he’d just left. Folding his arms, he thought of the night before. It had taken Frankie nearly an hour to return to the room. Even so, he hadn’t been concerned. After he’d finished with her, he knew she wouldn’t pick up the knife again, and after a life in the mafia, he slept with one eye open. The minute she’d left the bed, he’d felt the movement.
Instead of retrieving her right away, he’d gone to his room and watched her on the spare video monitor. Anteros was unsurprised that she’d headed for the kitchen—grabbing weapons was what he would have done. He was surprised, however, when she headed for the library. When it was clear she wasn’t going to come back on her own, he’d gone for her.
Anteros narrowed his eyes at the memory. Outside the sky was white and frozen, but no snow was falling. His reflection was a ghost on the glass. In the few short days Frankie had been with him, she’d wreaked havoc on his life. There was something about her that threw his perfect control into chaos. Even his own mind was unpredictable. He could plan to do or say something, but if Frankie was a factor, all bets were off.
It was clear what he had to do: break her. Make her the slave she would have been had she gone to The Institute. He understood now, though, that Frankie was not someone you could break with force. She was unique. To get her to break, he first had to get inside, to understand what made her tick. To make her submit, he had to do it from within. Like ice cracking sidewalks, he would creep inside, turning her into crumbles of what she used to be.
He turned around, glancing at the clock on her nightstand.
Late.
He honestly didn’t give a fuck if he was late to meet The Council. Real business was one thing, but The Council could wait for hours. It was getting harder and harder to dance for them, especially with everything Anteros had planned. With a groan he turned back around and stared out at the frigid city. Frankie was proving to be more than just a distraction; she was a hazard. He was so close to the goal he’d been working toward for nearly a decade, and the girl sleeping in his bed was fogging up his windshield.
Running a hand through his hair, he realized the simple solution: remove Frankie from his life. He could give her to one of the Wolves—
“May I ask you something?” Frankie's voice startled him in more than one way. He had been certain she was asleep. He turned around to see she’d pulled the quilted duvet up to her chin. The soft white made her golden skin glow that much brighter.