She leaned up, going in for a kiss, but he didn’t me
et her. Anteros made her go the entire distance. He made her pull his lips in, and though the minute Frankie’s soft lips made contact he wanted to push her into the mattress, Anteros waited for her to suck his lips, to trace her tongue against his, waited until he felt her heated pants against his mouth.
Then he devoured her. He tore her panties aside, stretching the material until it was useless. Thrusting two fingers up inside of her, his thumb rubbed against her folds, lightly against her clit. And, fuck, she was so hot and wet. Just perfect. He sucked her bottom lip until the sensation was so much that she had to pull away and catch her breath.
He moved his mouth down and over the thin tank, pulling an erect nipple into his mouth. The cotton was a barrier, blunting his assault on the sensitive peak. His attack was savage, he couldn’t hold back in that moment. His need had overcome him. Anteros sucked so hard the cotton became wet. He opened his mouth wide, devouring most of her breast in his hungry mouth.
She panted, gripping his hair, urging him to suck harder. With a frustrated growl, he sat up slightly, pulling her with him, and ripped her shirt up over her head. Then it was back to the mattress. Frankie immediately reached her arms up for him and Anteros was going down to her when he paused.
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her naked, not nearly, but she’d never been like this—reaching for him. Brown locks all around the pillow in disarray, strands of hair tangled and mussed with passion. Her cheeks red, lips swollen from kisses.
Her eyes…
They were stuck on him, begging, pleading, so ferocious in their desire. The crystal depths drowned his insides. Anteros realized then he was the slave, and always had been.
A slave in his desire.
A slave in his need.
A slave in his love.
He closed the distance, flesh meeting flesh. He slid his hand beneath her neck, twining it into her locks. Tugging at her, he arched her neck up so he could see her face when he entered her. Anteros plunged his cock deep inside her with one, forceful, meaningful thrust. Frankie’s breath hitched, her eyes grew wide then went to half-mast, and her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. She gripped his shoulders, nails digging into the muscle as he pulled out and thrust deep again. He loosened his grip on her skull and her head fell back in a gasp.
“Look at my cock inside you,” Anteros demanded. “See how deep I am.” She opened her eyes dreamily, following his gaze to see where they were like one person, his cock so deep inside her.
“Do you like that, Frankie?” he asked. She nodded furiously. He went back to the action, pulling out and entering with slow, careful, forceful movement. His hands traveled the length of her, feeling the way she flowed with him, the way her body took him inside of her and the way she craved him. She kissed his shoulder, holding on tight, her sigh turning into a groan.
But it wasn’t enough. He wanted her screaming his name.
“Say my name, mio cuore, say it.” Anteros pushed her sweaty hair from her forehead, looking into her piercing cornflower eyes.
“Beast,” she whispered.
“No,” he corrected. “Anteros.” If only she would just say his name, give him a reason for the hell he was about to rain down upon himself.
“What?” Her brow furrowed. “What is that?”
“It’s my name,” Anteros pressed. “Say it.”
Frankie looked surprised, but she smiled a second later. “Anteros.”
Twenty-Five
Anteros.
I splashed cold water on my face. Stick to the fucking plan.
Anteros.
I touched my lips, could still feel his name on them, feel him on them. He trusted me. It was one thing to have me sleep in his bed—I’d been doing that on and off since I arrived—but he’d told me his freaking name. The Beast had a name. I didn’t know why it shocked me so much; of course he had a name. He wasn’t born Baby Beast with weird monogrammed onesies. It must have been so shocking because I’d been looking for any chink in his armor since I’d arrived, and his name was such a vulnerability.
Anteros.
The night before, I’d tried to kill him. It was stupid and reckless but sleeping next to him I just couldn’t fucking do it anymore. The plan was stupid and fucking crazy—a moonshot. I knew what I had to do and when, but it was still all such a balancing act. Everything depended on certain things coming together at the right time. The longer I stayed with him, the more of myself I lost.
The one I love doesn’t love me.
Romeo and Juliet blasted through me and I remembered the day in the library. I remembered his annoyingly beautiful, arrogant, and wry smile. It was as if he knew that I had no control of my emotions. His smile confessed all my fears: just a few more days and I would be completely his, whether he wanted me or not. I gripped the sink, breathing heavily, trying not to cry.