The Dark Forest: A Collection Of Erotic Fairytales(35)

Rearing up to tower over her, he placed his hands on the delicate skin of her inner thighs, spreading them wide. Shifting his hips, he thrust forward.

Her body accepted the tip of his shaft but not without a struggle. Gliding his hands up her thighs, he placed them on her hips, raising her up. This time when he thrust, he pulled her body forward with his powerful arms. Ruthlessly impaling her straight to the hilt. Driving through her delicate maidenhead.

Beatrice opened her mouth on a silent scream as she fisted the bedcovers. The sharp inescapable ache bringing tears to her eyes. Her body felt stretched and pulled as it strained to accommodate his girth. He was inside of her. Part of her. Taking over her body. A pulsing, throbbing heat.

Rhys continued to thrust in a building rhythm. Leaning down to kiss the sensitive spot just below her ear, he ground out, “You are mine now, princess.”

His words caused her already tight sheath to clench down on his cock. Beatrice reached around to clutch at his back, her nails digging in. She drew them down the full length. Leaving her mark on him as he had on her. The touch of pain drove him on. With increasing vigor, he pounded into her delicate passage.

Beatrice, overcome with new and complex emotions, clung to his broad shoulders. Still it was not enough. She needed more…something…more. In her ardor, she bit down on his neck. As her sharp teeth sunk deep into his flesh, she felt a primal surge. All her senses were alert. The rich, earthy scent of him. The acrid, tang of his blood on the tip of her tongue. The sound of his harsh breathing in her ear. The feel of his chest hair brushing against her nipples. It all rushed over her with crystal clarity.

Biting. Clawing. Clenching. Thrusting.

Rushing towards a mutual release.

The room spun, faster and faster. The colors merging and melting, swirling about her. As her world tilted, she could hear his roar of completion. Beatrice stopped fighting it and gave in, reveling in the pleasurable whirl.



Rhys moved to her side, keeping a strong arm around her waist. As the euphoria ebbed, Beatrice tried to sidle away. Rhys only pulled her closer.

“Well…um…I am very tired so…”

“I’m not leaving,” uttered Rhys as he moved to pull the covers over both of them.

Beatrice felt her irritation rise. “You got what you wanted. You can leave now.”

She needed him gone. Needed to be alone to reflect on what had just happened. How she had let it happen. She had just given her maidenhead to a man she barely knew…and a servant no less. Yet, somehow she wasn’t feeling the rush of guilt or panic which was expected. It was wrong but it still felt right. The very least of her concern was how her supposed fiancé would feel on the subject. He probably was old and fat. He probably didn’t even know what to do with a woman in bed let alone be concerned if his purchased bride was not pure.

“I haven’t even begun to take all that I want,” warned Rhys.

Beatrice shivered. It was a long time before she ventured to speak again.

“I don’t know your name,” she whispered with mortification into the darkness, half hoping he had fallen asleep.

Rhys paused. Now was not the time to reveal his true identity. She was not quite ready to learn he was more tied to her fate than she realized.

“Rhys,” he responded finally as he nuzzled her neck, hoping she did not draw a connection between that and the Prince Rhysmont of her engagement. “Now sleep, love. I plan to wake you early in the morning with more of the same.”

Realizing he truly had no intentions of leaving and being both emotionally and physically exhausted, Beatrice yielded. And it had nothing to do with his promise of more pleasure, she resolutely lied to herself. She would see that he left the way he had come in before the servants stirred in the morning.

For the first time in years she did not dream of the gypsy or the curse that night. Nor did she dream of the beast, he had become a reality.





Chapter Seven





“You have to leave!”

Rhys opened one eye, took in Bea’s beautifully disheveled state and then promptly closed it.

“I’m not jesting! You have to leave, now!” Beatrice urged as she shook his naked shoulder.

Rhys rolled onto his back, pulling her down on top of him.

Beatrice placed her hands on his warm chest. Running her fingers through the thick black hair which did nothing to hide the deep valleys and ridges of each muscle. She blushed as she watched his lips form a knowing smile. Before sunrise that morning, he had awoken her in a very creative, if not mortifying way, insisting she straddle his shoulders. Beatrice swore if she looked closely she would see nail marks in the headboard she had grabbed onto it so tightly.

“Please, what’s-her-name will be here soon,” she pleaded.

“What’s-her-name? You mean, Dolores, your lady’s maid?”

Beatrice was astonished. “How do you know my maid’s name?”

“I know more about you than you might think,” he responded cryptically.

Shaking off the warm feeling knowing he had taken the time to learn about her produced, Beatrice gave him another pleading look. “Well then, Dolores, will be here soon. You must leave!”

Rhys took pity on her. Once his identity was revealed there would not be much fuss about finding him in her bed, even though they were anticipating the wedding a bit. However, he would not have her the brunt of innuendo and crude talk till that day. Reluctantly rising, he reached for his breeches. However, thinking better of it, he laid back down