Beauty and the Beast: an erotic re-imagining by Shoshanna Evers Page A

just yonder behind a tree. The Beast paused, one arm off the ground, ready to turn and give chase. The deer sensed the predator that he was and ran, its spindly legs moving so fast they seemed a blur. But the Beast was faster. Breathing hard, he caught up with the animal, his hind legs bent, ready to pounce.
    But something stopped him. An image of the expression on Belle’s face, if she were to see him hunting with his bare hands and teeth, ran through his mind. He was not an animal, he was not a monster. Beneath his beastly exterior, he was a man. He was Frederick.
    And Frederick wanted to be with Belle more than the Beast wanted to kill a helpless deer.
    The Beast paused, panting, and turned back to the castle. Instead of running on all fours like he usually did, he walked back on his legs, like a gentleman. The deer ran out of sight, not trusting this turn of events. No matter. When the Beast reached the castle, he would call upon a supper to be laid out for him. He could even request venison if he so desired. But there was no need to tear the meat from that beautiful creature’s flesh. No need to behave like a beast, even if that was what he’d become.
    Once, he was a prince. He could never be a prince again, but he could be a man. For Belle.
    For Belle, he would do anything.
    ***
    Back in the library, a note drifted from the air on a piece of paper, and landed neatly on top of the copy of Voltaire’s scandalous Candide that Belle had discovered. She picked the paper up in surprise, even as she noted that the sun was now low in the sky toward the west.
    ~~~
    Please do me the honor of joining me in the East Wing sitting room. I am prepared to mark you, and I trust you are prepared to accept my invitation. As always, I shall never harm you, Beauty.
    With Devotion,
    The Beast
    ~~~
    Belle folded the paper in half with trembling fingers and used it as a bookmark for her book. She set it down by the windowsill, not wanting to waste even a moment by putting it back on the shelf.
    The Beast would never harm her. She could trust him. And so she went, without delay, to meet him. The castle was huge and maze-like, but sconces lit up along the walls as she walked, showing her the way.
    The Beast wasn’t in the sitting room in the East wing when she arrived. What should she do with herself? What would the Beast prefer?
    He liked it when she knelt for him, so she carefully arranged her gown around her and waited, kneeling, head bowed.
    Belle could hear his heavy footsteps prowling closer before he spoke. “You are a sight to behold, Beauty.”
    Raising her head to meet his gaze, Belle offered him a shaky smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
    And then, as if he could see past her brave façade and into her heart, he added, “You needn’t be afraid. Not of me.”
    “I’m not,” she lied quickly. “I mean… I know I needn’t be, Sir, because I trust you.” And that was the truth.
    “Let me help you out of your gown.” The Beast came closer to her, so close she felt the fur that covered his muscles brush against her bare arms. With quick hands that weren’t nearly as clumsy as she would have imagined such large hands would be, he loosened the stays in her dress and, perhaps with a bit of fairy magic, managed to have her completely naked within moments.
    “Sir?”
    He smiled, and she clung to his arm. “Are you going to cane me?” she asked.
    “I’m sure I will, at some point. But not right now.”
    Good Lord in Heaven, what did he have planned? The not knowing was killing her. And she had thought she had it all figured out, based on Frederick’s diary. Fool, her.
    The Beast took her chin with his hand and tilted her head up to him. “You need not fear my fangs, my teeth.”
    Before she could process what he meant, he dropped his head to her bare breast, and licked her nipple.
    Oh! The sensation was almost that of a cat tongue, scratchy yet soft and wet. The sandpaper-feel of it made her nipple tighten to a hard peak, and