Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

“She died when I was young and Papa doesn’t talk about her.” Frankie pushed him, eyes filling with tears. “God, why are you doing this? Is this some kind of new torture? Remind me how little I know of my mother to make me cry? Why must you torment me?”

“You’ve done nothing but torment me,” he growled.

“I’ve done nothing but torment you?” she repeated, eyes growing wider. “What alternate universe are you living in? And how do I wormhole over?” At her sarcasm, Anteros drew her to him. She gasped as he snaked his arm around her waist, crushing her body to his.

“You tempt me,” he declared.

She fisted her fingers, eyes flashing to his. “You’re delusional.”

“I don’t know why you won’t just give in,” he thundered. “I know you want to.”

“I do not.” She fisted against his chest, trying to push away.

“So if I felt here—” his hand grazed between her thighs “—it wouldn’t be wet? Wanting? Ready?”

“If you’re so sure then just take me.” Her words were spat like venom from a snake. “Just do it. Just take me. You’ve never cared what I want.” She gripped his lapels.

“Is that what you think? Or what you tell yourself?” He thrust her against the wall. She stood on her tiptoes, feet dancing on the floor as she struggled to find ground while he held her in the air. His eyes caught the painting behind her, an oil of Paris. He’d been there plenty of times, and had purchased the piece from a local artist on one of his more recent trips. His mind flashed to the wrinkly magazine cutout of Paris he’d seen on her wall.

“I don’t understand why you don’t.” Frankie looked away. Her eyes flashed to his briefly, angrily, filled with heat, burning anguish. Anteros frowned but dropped her completely with a harsh growl. He stalked to the other side of the room, feeling the need for distance as much as his next breath. What the fuck was he doing? He’d meant to come in and only ask her the questions about her lineage, to get to the bottom of what was really going on with the Pavoni Princess. Never in a million years would he have imagined the Pavoni Princess rumor could have any truth to it. It would be like finding out there was a mermaid living and breathing, but some things just weren’t adding up.

He couldn’t focus.

She drove him mad.

Any time he was close to her, she had the ability to coil chaos inside of him, drive lust like a railroad spike through his brain. He focused on the decor in his library instead. It spanned all three floors, with a spiral staircase connecting the balconies that housed the different levels of books. The library was a mix of modern and antique, with intricate carved molding but clean and simple colors.

There were a few accent items, like the chair, and the rug; those were a brilliant, cornflower blue, so bright it was clear. The blanket she’d been using to warm herself, it too was composed of such intricately woven strands of blue it looked like a brilliant galaxy of stardust.

Still with his back to her, Anteros loosened his tie, giving her his patience. The silky gray material of his tie slid through his fingers as he tugged it off his neck. He placed the tie on the custom wingback chair then turned from the blue fabric to her. Leaning with his forearms on the high back, he studied her.

A pink blush crept up from her neck and spread to her cheeks. She bit her lip, eyes stuttering from the floor to the ceiling to the door and back again.

Slowly he walked back to her, as if compelled. He clasped her chin, dragging her attention to him. Sliding his thumb between her lips, he gently pulled the bottom one down, exposing her white teeth. She was growing anxious; he could see it by the way her breasts heaved up and down with heated breaths. For a moment he regretted giving her the choice to choose her clothes that day—the tight cream-colored sweater she wore teased him.

Anteros grasped her and pushed her against the bookshelves. He pressed a knee between her thighs, pushed his chest against hers, and gathered her hands in his, pulling them above her. Gliding his nose along her skin, from the nape of her neck, down to the vee in her shirt, and back up again, he inhaled her. So sweet, so spicy, utterly Frankie. It was maddening.

“I thought I told you not to lie,” he whispered against her jugular.

“I—I—” she stuttered. “I didn’t. I really don’t understand why you don’t.” At her response, Anteros hoisted his thigh up, pushing hard against her sex. Frankie gasped. That gasp, even more than the way her sex completely melted against him, fucking tore him apart. It was the first sign that she was giving in.

“Should I take you hard, then?” Anteros thrust against her, pressing her against the wall so Frankie would feel every hard pack in his body. “Or soft?” He lessened his assault and snaked his hands through her hair. Grasping her skull, he brought her face to his, taking her in a slow kiss. Her hair was like silk, her face so small in his hands.

Frankie sucked him back, tonguing him feverishly against his slow, leisurely kisses. Still, her now free arms wouldn’t move. They splayed behind her body, pressing hard against the wall as if for dear life. Frustration churned in his gut.

Breaking the contact, he whispered against her lips, “Should we go fast?” Her eyes widened as he crushed his lips against hers, putting actions to words. Anteros worked his lips quickly down her neck and his hands stretched and tore her shirt open to reveal the tops of her small, delicate breasts. Then he paused. Palms resting lightly on her skin, he looked at her.

Like everything else about her, Frankie’s breasts were teasing. A small blush crept from the delicate curves, spreading from her neck to the beautiful arch of her cheeks. He wanted to tear her to the floor and ravish her.

But that wasn’t what this was about.

“Or slow?” He calmed his actions, bending down to kiss her curves leisurely. Frankie’s quick pants turned into sighs and her hands snaked around his neck. The feel of Frankie around him was a victory that lit up his entire body. Anteros rumbled, low in his chest, something sounding like approval. Something felt so fucking right about her arms around him. A voice whispered that he would destroy anything, break anyone just to feel that.

And so Anteros quickly destroyed that thought, getting back to the task at hand.

“Should I fuck you gently,” he asked, kissing his way back up to her mouth. “Or with passion?” His hands grasped her ass and he lifted her to him. Frankie’s legs tightened around his waist. She groaned into his mouth as he ground his cock against her center.

As Frankie started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, Anteros asked, “Which way would best erase the doubt in your mind, mio cuore?” He hadn’t meant to say the term of endearment, but it had just slipped out. Luckily Anteros was sure Frankie didn’t know much, if any, Italian. “Which way would best confirm I am the monster of the story?” He dropped her then, and she fell to the hard library floor.