Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

“When I’m not home,” he’d said, moving on to his own purpose. “You will wear this, so you don’t forget who owns you.” He held up a shining black plug with a flat base and a rounder middle that tapered into a slightly pointed tip. “I have the remote. It vibrates.”

“You could’ve just filled the room with bees.” She spoke louder that time, stabbing her eggs. “It would have the same effect.” Anteros’s lip ticked upward almost imperceptibly at her words.

“Come here, Frankie.” He noticed how her body tightened as if about to fight. He waited, watching how the muscles in her arms slackened and her chest caved with an exhale. Rolling her eyes, Frankie set her plate down with a loud clank. Pushing the tray to her side, she stood up and walked over to him sluggishly. When she finally stopped, Frankie was a good few inches away from him, arms folded and eyes at the floor.

His gaze raked over her. After bringing her from the storage room, he’d told her to dress appropriately for bed. She’d chosen a periwinkle lace outfit that brought out the crystal blue of her eyes. It also had the added benefit of showcasing her small yet somehow enragingly enticing breasts. It was as if the delicate curve was like the rest of her—trying to hide.

The lingerie she’d chosen was not as exposing as the other items Anteros had bought for her. It was a bit looser, a bit more opaque. He’d told his shopper to buy the best brands, but he’d have to be a bit more clear on the other requirements in the future. Though the periwinkle lace top clung to her, it also fell down her slim abdomen just to the dimple in her navel. His eyes flicked to her ass where the shimmering blue lace covered at least half of the perky cheeks.

“Take off your underwear, Frankie.” Her eyes flashed to his, rebellion in the narrowed pupils. “Or I could do it for you,” he suggested. Defiance melted to fear on her delicate features and she bent over, grasping the lacy sides. She stayed bent over and unmoving for at least a minute, fingers entwined in the thin, hand-sewn lace. He noticed her fingers shook.

He walked to her, bent down, and put his hands over hers. With his hands over hers, he guided them down so she pulled her underwear to the floor, and shook the entire way. When the lace hit the floor, he lifted one of her legs up and grasped the underwear for himself. He tucked them into the pocket of his pants and stood up.

When he stood, he saw that Frankie's arms were still folded and now she had crossed her legs—as if that could hide herself from him. Though he’d already taken her, this was the first time he’d actually seen her. Before she’d been hidden in fabric. He’d felt her soft and warm and wet and maddening—but seeing her? She’d crossed her legs—her long, honey legs that radiated light—so tightly he thought she might fall over. They were so tight, it was as if she had one leg, so tight that she hid her slit, but not tight enough to hide her somehow perfectly bare vee.

Anteros took one final step toward her, closing the last distance between them. He slid his fingers around the curve of her waist, joining them together. “I think you’ll like this,” he said.

“I think you and I have very different views on what I like.” It was probably meant to be bold, but it came out in a whisper. He adjusted the grip on her waist, making sure she was close. Then he slid his hand between her thighs. She kept her legs crossed, but that just served to make his hand snug.

The tight fit of his hand snaked against the slick wet of her naked flesh and he whispered against the lobe of her ear. “No, I think we’re both quite clear on that.”

She spit at him then. The saliva hit his cheek but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He didn’t even flinch. Instead he tightened his hold and plunged a finger of the hand he’d been teasing her with up inside her. The way she grasped his digit was punishment enough for her. “Your cunt is wet for me.”

“That’s biology, asshole,” she hissed. “Not an invitation.” His other hand, the one holding the plug, palmed her bare ass as he worked his finger into her. She closed her eyes, biting her lip, body going rigid, but he could feel the way her cunt spasmed against his fingers.

Taking the plug, he used the tip to part her cheeks, pressing it against her ass. At the invasion, her eyes popped open and she stared wildly at him, inquiry written across her face.

“I will always be inside of you, Frankie.” He pressed the tip just barely into her, as if for emphasis. “Even when I’m not here, I will be inside you.” His meaning dawned on her, and her expression hardened.

“No matter what you put in my body,” she seethed. “No matter what you do to me, you will never be inside me.” She closed her mouth, eyes like granite. Anteros stared at her for a moment, surprised at her words, then plunged the plug into her ass, satisfied when she screamed.

“Boss?” Emilio’s voice pulled him out of the memory. Anteros looked up, closing his fist over the remote. He’d lost himself for a moment, but they had no need to know that. If he’d learned anything over the years, it was that silence made people uncomfortable.

Rhys and Emilio shifted feet.

A few more moments passed until Rhys started. “With respect, Mr. Drago, we were asking what to do about The Council.” That night there was a council meeting. With Lucio out of commission, no one had officially been named Boss. Technically, Anteros was the Boss. Everyone who mattered called him Boss, the businesses they dealt with called him Boss, and he had all the power of the Boss—except for one, tiny thing: The Council wouldn’t name him Boss. Officially, he was still under Lucio.

Anteros was the elephant in the mafia. Everyone knew to respect him or get mercilessly trampled, but unless you were speaking to his face, you did not recognize him as Boss. Anteros curled his fist at the thought but nodded, signaling for Rhys to continue.

Rhys looked to Emilio before speaking. “Emilio was saying he’s received word that Lucia has reached out to The Council.”

“She knows Lucio is sick, Boss,” Emilio said. “She’s not happy about you. She wants a Pavoni in charge.”

“All the Pavonis are dead, sick, or women,” Anteros replied. It was their own fault, too. The Pavonis were once a powerful family line, but due to infighting, they were down to one crippled old man and an old woman. You wouldn’t catch anyone saying it out loud, but the Pavonis were nearly extinct.

“The Council is going to vote on who takes over if Lucio dies,” Emilio said.

“I wonder who they’ll appoint?” Anteros laughed acidly. “It couldn’t possib

ly be one of them.” It was a little known secret that the De Lucas were biding their time until the last two Pavonis died.

“You know it doesn’t matter who they vote on,” Rhys said. “It will be the same as it is now. You’ll still be where you are. You’ll still have the power.”

“Just not the title,” Anteros said bitterly.

“You could take it by force,” Emilio suggested. Anteros stood and grabbed his coat from the rack without response. For the past year, he and The Council had had a begrudging truce. What Emilio was suggesting was another blood war. Normally Anteros would be all for that, but for some reason, he had no interest.

Anteros exhaled and looked down at the remote in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the shiny black button. He knew he should either meet with The Council that night or declare a war, end it once and for all. He rubbed his thumb over the button again, pushing against it until the pressure gave way and turned it on.