Beauty and the Beast (an erotic re-imagining) by Shoshanna Evers Page B

tongue, scratchy yet soft and wet. The sandpaper-feel of it made her nipple tighten to a hard peak, and she moaned.
    “I would like to bite you, my little Beauty,” he murmured.
    Fear ran through her body, and every tiny hair on her flesh stood on end. But she said nothing. If the Beast said she need not fear his fangs, then she would trust him.
    “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered, feeling shamed as a whimper tore from her throat.
    He licked her breast again, all the way around the small, pink areola, and she shuddered with pleasure.
    “I won’t harm you,” he promised. “But it will hurt. Let the pain mingle with the pleasure. This is not a punishment, Beauty. I want you to learn to enjoy this.”
    With that, he nodded, and though he didn’t speak, she knew what he meant. She lay back, her skin against the rich carpet that covered the stone in the sitting room, and stared up at the Beast.
    He was so big, so immense—he took up her entire field of vision. Somehow, even though she was naked and vulnerable beneath him, she was no longer frightened. His face was kind. How had she not noticed the similarity in his bone structure to that of Frederick? The cheeks, the jaw… the eyes. So human. So… Frederick.
    “You are magnificent, Beast,” she said.
    “As are you.” His head brushed the insides of her spread thighs.
    And then, he licked her, his thick tongue opening her nether lips to touch her very center, lapping at her bud. The scent of her heady arousal mixed with that of the fresh-cut roses throughout the sitting room, and she breathed it in, her passion mounting.
    Every lick of the Beast’s tongue brought on another wave of ecstasy. She writhed beneath him, moaning with desire.
    Yes, oh Heavens. Yes.
    Just as she reached the brink of climax, his fangs pierced her inner thigh, and she screamed as her orgasm wracked her body. The pain and the pleasure, the licking comingled with the bite, all came to a head, and she let herself fall over the cliff of sensual pleasure as she came harder than she ever had before.
    The Beast held her against the carpet, running his tongue over the sensitive bite mark, lapping up the two tiny drops of scarlet blood as she shuddered through an aftershock of her orgasm.
    Finally, he pulled her naked body into his arms, and cradled her against his massive chest.
    She looked down at her thigh, at the pale white skin marked now with his fangs, and smiled. “The mark of the Beast,” she murmured.
    “Does it feel real, now, Belle?” he asked tenderly.
    “It does. Thank you, Sir.”
    “Thank you for trusting me.” The Beast nuzzled his head against hers, and their lips met for the first time since she came to his hidden castle.
    Everything she had feared was for naught. His mouth on hers was heaven on earth, and everything she desired in that moment. She could faintly taste her own blood on his lips, and her arousal as well. Their tongues danced together, but his sharp teeth never scratched her. Belle had been kissed before—that time with the baker’s apprentice in the hay loft—but that had been nothing compared to this.
    She could kiss the Beast forever and be happy, wrapped in his huge, strong arms, so warm, so safe in his embrace.
    Belle had been marked by the Beast. Now she was ravenous for more—for whatever the Beast wanted to do with her, to take from her, to give to her.
    She was ready.
     
     

8: The Horse and Carriage
     
    Some time had passed , when Belle lay in her suite on the cool, white linen sheets. She was still not quite sleepy despite her hot bath, and ran her fingers over the Beast’s mark on her inner thigh. Light purple bruises had blossomed at first around the bite like an old sailor’s faded tattoo, but the mark was healed now, leaving behind the pale red mesh of new skin.
    She found herself hoping it would leave a permanent scar, one that would forever remind her of her time with the Beast. Two tiny, perfectly circular dots scarring her pale