The Beast & His Beauty Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Fantasy/Sci-fi, Magic, Paranormal, Virgin Tags Authors: ,
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
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She’s as turned on as I am. My beauty is in need. The lust and desire are thick between us, and I cave like the mere mortal I am.

I pull her out of her chair and between my legs, sitting up straight so I can lick the wine from between her breasts. I hardly notice the dishes from the meal and the platters of food flying from the room in an orderly row, granting us space to consume one another.

It is only one drop of wine, but it tastes as heavenly as the longer sip I drank before, made better by the sweetness of her skin. I follow the trail up to Elle’s chin and lick the evidence there, too, finally capturing her mouth. She whimpers into the kiss, but it is not a plea to stop. On the contrary, she presses herself between my legs with more force.

Fuck. She makes it both harder for me to fight the beast and harder to discern between the two of us.

I take her by the hips and guide her over my thigh. I do not know whether it is me or the beast who pushes her blue dress up to her hips. And I don’t give a fuck so long as she’s bared to me. She wears nothing underneath, and I press one of my hands into each of her thighs, my mind swallowed up by the heat of her pussy against me. Elle arches, rolling her hips, trying to get contact. I suckle at her neck, tasting her pulse and the magic and moonlight in a thick haze around us.

I had a mind to wait, to perhaps coax her into accepting me into her body, but a demanding growl vibrates through my chest. My memories crowd into my mind, both as I remember them and as the beast remembers them, which is tinged with strong scents and stronger feelings untainted by the rules and morals I was raised with. The beast is a creature of the wild, a dark, magical forest where the choice is between eating and being eaten, claiming or having the object of one’s desires claimed by a stronger predator.

There is no stronger predator, and the beast has run out of patience.

Or perhaps it is me who has run out of patience, and the line between us is too blurred for me to feel who is to blame.

In one smooth movement, I push her off my thigh and turn her, bending her over the table. Her small hands slap the wood as she finds her position. I take her waist in one hand and again push her dress higher to her waist. A man in possession of himself would likely pull it over her head, protecting the fine fabric, but I do not care to protect such luxuries.

And the man I have become enjoys the sight of crumpled silk in uneven lines over her slim waist. Elle arches her back, her palms flat against the table, the blindfold falling down her skin in a line of black silk that stands out against the blue.

It takes a single touch at her gorgeous, shapely thighs for Elle to spread them. She rises on tiptoes, her feet slipping out of the slippers. The next time I readjust my stance I hit one with my foot, and it slides beneath the table. I do not care to see it again. I only care to get my hand between her thighs and stroke flesh I know will already be sodden.

She is as wet and ready as she was in the bed and lifts her hips into my touch, moaning softly. Elle moves, and I glance up to see that she has pillowed her arms on the table and leans her forehead in, seeming lost in the sensation of my touch, though I have given her only one stroke. I drag three fingers through her sweet arousal again, teasing at her opening and then searching out the swollen nub of her clit. Desire builds as I listen to her moans grow louder and her thighs begin to tremble with her impending orgasms.

My pulse beats in my ears, a feeling of deep shame surfacing and falling away. The terms I offered Elle were selfish, but the way I drag pleasure out of her is even more so. I want to sink in her and be enveloped by the evidence of her desire. I want her to work her hips back to take more of my cock, her hunger to be stoked higher than any fire in the castle.

Elle cries out, lifting her head, her back a beautiful arch amid the wrinkled silk of her dress. I release her hip and shove her dress higher until I can see the delicate curves of her shoulder blades working as she rides out an intense orgasm. I recognize the pitch of Elle’s voice as she moans, beginning to come down.


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