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Amarantha could hear the Beast's deep breath as he hooked a gloved finger into the crevice between her breasts and pulled the fabric down to her waist.
    Her skin tightened in the chilly air, and her nipples puckered further.
    Amarantha didn't look down. She knew what he saw. And from his stillness, the Beast appeared completely transfixed.
    “Tell me, Amarantha. Did you succumb to the desire to touch yourself?”
    “My lord?”
    “Your sex, my sweet, between your legs, which was so deliciously wet for me last night. Did you pleasure yourself…when you awoke or dressed, perhaps?”
    “No,” she whispered.
    “Not even a little bit?”
    Unable to answer, she shook her head, her hair sliding over her naked shoulders.
    “And are you wet now?”
    “Oh please, Sir Beast…”
    “Very well, you may show me instead.” When Amarantha's eyes flew wide in horror, he laughed. “No, I shall not ask you to strip here. Though when the weather warms, we might do that. I might stretch you out amid the flowers, flushed and naked. Simply reach under your skirts and touch yourself. Then show me if your finger is wet or dry.”
    Her fingers scratched restlessly at her gown. Amarantha looked about empty gardens.
    “Amarantha…”

    30

    She heard the warning in his voice and inched up her skirts, just high enough to slip her hand under. He knew she wore no underthings, and she blushed at it.
    Amarantha dipped a hesitant finger into her private area, finding it slick and swollen. She nearly hummed at the sensation.
    “Now show me.”
    If possible, she flushed more deeply, that he might have thought she lingered.
    She held out a trembling hand for him. It gleamed slick in the sun. The Beast bent over. She felt his hot breath whuffing over her hand.
    “You move me, Amarantha,” he finally murmured, his voice rough.
    She shifted, reddening further.
    “You may replace your gown. I might be clumsy with the bow.” He watched her. Not knowing what else do to, Amarantha dried her fingers on her hem and pulled up the silk over her bosom with trembling fingers, then retied the ribbon that held it up.
    The Beast held out his arm, and they resumed their walk. As if he hadn't asked her to strip in the garden and stand there half-naked while he scrutinized the marks he'd left on her flesh. As if he hadn't made her touch herself and show him the result.
    She tried to think of something to break the silence.
    “Why wear your gloves? I've already seen your hands.”
    “You are not the only one who finds me horrifying to look upon.”
    “But there is no one else here.”
    “I refer to myself.”
    “Are you not accustomed to…the way you are?”
    He was silent long enough she thought he might not answer. He'd turned them back toward the manse. It stood at the top of a rise, graceful, stately, the pinnacle of the gardens.

    31

    “I have not always been thus,” the Beast said, his rough voice quiet. “As much as you hate my appearance, I am more monstrous to myself.”
    “I might find you less a monster if you did not…do these things to me.”
    “You think you wouldn't? I am a monster, Amarantha. Never doubt it. These things are baby steps and nowhere near where I plan to take you. In time you will understand. Whine to me if you like, though I might choose to punish you for it, so take care. And do not pretend that our games do not arouse you, or I shall go to greater lengths to demonstrate what your body yearns for.” With that, he released her arm. “It's time for you to prepare for our evening. I have special plans.”
    Her mind awhirl, Amarantha turned to walk up to the house. She didn't think she could bear any more of this.
    “Amarantha, my love,” the Beast growled after her. She stopped but did not look back. “You may touch yourself if you wish, but only a little bit. Save plenty for me. I shall be…hungry.”
    Though she didn't quite know what he meant, Amarantha fled, his deep laughter chasing her up the steps.

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