Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

“Can you move?” I asked after squeezing the last knot.

“I think I’m well fastened,” he murmured, rattling the headboard.

I smirked. “Well, what to do with you now?” I wanted him to feel safe. I wanted him happy, because I wanted to be the one to rip that away from him. I sucked and kissed and made him moan, and got him closer and higher. He pulled on his restraints, moving toward my lips and hands. I raked my nails along his skin, acting like that would be the only punishment he would receive.

Moving to his lips, I pulled his tongue into my mouth then slipped my hand around his cock and rubbed. I leaned in, feeling him hot against me. I tasted him, his unique, spicy scent. Even though I was on top, deciding our movements and actions, his tongue was demanding, lips dominant and ruthless. I nearly melted into him, allowing him to claim and conquer me.

I rubbed against him, losing myself…losing my mind. I was getting lost in a hot, hazy feeling spreading from my core to my limbs.

“Frankie…” Anteros groaned my name, voice hoarse. I blinked, snapping out of it, and pulled back. I stared at him, trying to come back, taking deep breaths. It was like trying to breathe clearly in pollution, in some kind of sensual smog. It had nearly happened again, I’d nearly gotten lost in whatever carnal miasma the man exuded. My entire body throbbed and ached, calling for him. The part of me that existed inside of him now tugged and pulled to be made whole, furious and indignant that I’d broken the connection.

Shaking my head, I reached back into my purse and pulled out part two of the plan. I continued to rub his cock until he was close, keeping him on edge, distracted. Then I released my hand and sat up, still on his chest.

“Only my friends call me Frankie,” I said, repeating what I’d told him the first day. I watched him come out of his lusty delirium, slowly focusing on the item in my hands. I assumed he would fight it, thought he’d try to break out of the restraints, but he never did. That was more terrifying, because he just sat there.

Waiting.

For me.

As if he was telling me he expected this.

I shifted, nerves setting in. I’d expected yelling, screaming, cursing, not this, this calm, cramped silence. I swallowed and adjusted the grip on the item in my hand. This wasn’t part of the official princess plan.

Not the plan that had me finding Nikolai in the middle of the night.

Not the plan that had Gabby meeting me in the park and giving me the rundown about being princess.

Not the plan that had me calling Nikolai before Anteros woke so they could find me in the getaway car.

Not the plan that had Nikolai or Vic or whoever leaving vials of some kind of sedative in Bibles all around New York in hotels where we might spend our night.

Not the plan that was to have been me drugging Anteros and getting out, quietly, before he woke up.

Not that plan.

No, this was my plan. This was the Frankie plan. It was cold metal in my palm. It was revenge.

I gripped the knife I’d stolen from the kitchen and swallowed. I didn’t know what Anteros thought he was playing at by being silent, but I wasn’t going to give in. I’d come this far. Butterflies the size of bats flapped in my stomach, menacing and furious. My hand shook, my palms grew sweaty.

But in my entire life, I’d never wanted anything more.

I needed this.

I pushed back his head and put the knife to his throat. He made no sound as the metal touched his skin, even though it must have been cold, or at least uncomfortable. When choosing the knife, I’d made sure to find the sharpest one. It was a smaller than I’d wanted, only a bit longer than my finger, but it was sharp as sin. I paused just before the steel broke skin and stared deep into his eyes.

He wasn’t even concerned.

In fact, he seemed amused.

Whatever.

I’d never had him at my mercy like this before, and I wanted to get my point across.

“You don’t get to take any more of me,” I hissed. “I get to take you.” He said nothing, just looked at me with that same amused expression. “Do you think this is funny?” I asked. “I have a knife to your throat. I’m going to kill you.” His cheek quirked up even more and his chest moved beneath me, like he was silently laughing. My jaw clenched but I paused, feeling my strength waver. The knife shook in my grasp.

“This isn’t fucking fair!” I sat back, looking at the knife in my hand. My grip loosened further and I focused on that, on the way the metal had looked so powerful and daunting against his skin but it just looked lame in my palm. My gaze flicked to Anteros, where he lay patiently. He was silent, hadn’t even tried to break free, and his scrutinizing, amused stare burned into me.

I thought back to the moment in the library and whispered to myself, “It’s not fair that the man who ruined me is the only one to ever know me.” He laughed, bellowing, sounding so entertained by me and my hurt.