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ominous silence.
    “Amarantha.”
    Nothing more.
    Amarantha gulped the last of the crimson wine. The sudden bite added a convincing croak, she thought.
    “Yes, my lord?”
    “Open this door for me.”
    Amarantha froze.
    And the doors crashed open with a scream of splintering wood, and all the candles blazed into light. The Beast stood in the doorway. Roaring bounced off the porcelain tile.

    34

    “ Never deny me !”
    Amarantha cowered back against the wall. The Beast strode in, towering over her, black boots crunching on the shattered remains of her wineglass, bits of wood clinging to his formal cloak. His cowled hood had slipped back, and a golden muzzle with a slavering jaw thrust into her face. Weakness sapped her limbs. She imagined the white tiles spattered with her blood.
    He stood over her. He said nothing for a long time as Amarantha quailed.
    “A lesson, then,” he said, the words so distorted Amarantha almost couldn't understand.
    “Sit.” The Beast pointed at her vanity chair. When Amarantha couldn't move, weak with terror, he stepped back and offered her a gallant gloved hand. “Allow me, Lady Amarantha.”
    Years of social training took over, and she accepted his hand and rose from the floor. The Beast led her to her vanity and settled her at it, ever the gracious gentleman. Amarantha smoothed the white skirt, now marred with a trail of red wine. The Beast stood patiently behind her, waiting.
    At last Amarantha laid her hands on the armrests and looked up. He hadn't adjusted his cowl, so she could still see glimpses of that feline snout through a black mask.
    Without speaking, the Beast took her right wrist in his gloved hand and drew her arm behind her. He clicked the circlet in her glove to a hook on the back of the chair. He did the same with her other hand. With her arms pulled tight and her shoulders pressed against the high back, her breasts thrust forward, straining, Amarantha sobbed a little.
    “I won't allow you to resist me, Amarantha. You may choose whether I fuck you, yes. But only that. You will find that this is less difficult for you if you stop trying to fight it. Give over to it.”
    The Beast took two of the ribbons dangling from her dress and tied them around the back of the chair, so that her waist fit snug against the chair.

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    Amarantha watched him in the mirror. He reached over the side and turned up her hem near her right ankle, finding the end of a ribbon beneath. She hadn't realized the ribbons went down the inside also. He tugged it up, and Amarantha's skirt rose with it, exposing her white leather boot and her slim thigh. Black gloved hands tied the snowy ribbon to another at her waist, the fabric collapsing between so her skirt rose to above her hip on that side.
    Amarantha whimpered when the Beast did the same on the other side. Only a small apron of material and a few dangling ribbons guarded her modesty. The Beast laid his gloved hands on her shoulders, then slid them over her tightly encased breasts, kneading them in his hands. She watched him handle her and thought she might be some other girl, if her blood weren't pounding, rising to the surface with his rough touch.
    The Beast slid his hands down her waist to her exposed thighs. Amarantha pressed them together, but he only took one of the ribbons.
    “Watch, Amarantha.” A soft growl in her ear. She could see the feral gleam of his eyes inside the cowl, reflecting the blazing candlelight. With excruciating patience, the Beast drew the ribbon up. Amarantha pulled at the ties on her arms but couldn't budge. A breath sighed out of the Beast as her black thatch came into view. She moved her legs restlessly but could do nothing to cover herself.
    He tied that ribbon too, securely to another at her waist. Cascades of white silk framed Amarantha's delicately curved hips. The Beast adjusted the folds of her dress so they swept back and over the arms of the vanity chair. She could see all of herself in the mirror, from