Free PETALS AND THORNS by JENNIFER PARIS Page A

into her wrists sent a spear of arousal through her. Her arms stretched loosely above her head, and the covers had slid down overnight, exposing her breasts to the late-morning light.
    Amarantha's nipples puckered, and she felt her sex thicken with moisture.
    The Beast would probably love to leave her like this all day—contemplating the night to come, filling with need, and unable to do anything about it except, yes, stew in her own juices.
    Except he'd mentioned that she could see his horses. The snow had passed, and day glowed with brilliance outside the windows. But she supposed that she would do as he wished.
    The ribbons slithered off her wrists, releasing her. Before long Amarantha, dressed—with her hair in a long braid—ran down the stairs to find the stables. She wore a reasonably modest riding outfit. Modest unless you noticed that the little jacket could be unbuttoned to reveal her naked breasts upheld by stiff corset cups.
    And the divided habit left her crotch and bottom bare under the draped fabric.

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    Amarantha's sex tingled in moist anticipation, and her taut nipples chafed lightly on the tweedy jacket.
    The stables competed with the manse itself for magnificence. Clearly the Beast loved his horses well. Stalls as big as bedrooms housed the finest horses Amarantha had ever seen. All acquired through the Beast's thorough research of breeding lines, and many bred and foaled on the estate, she now understood. The fabulous stallion her father had ridden home—and kept—had come from here, she realized.
    She found the Beast in a stall with a surprisingly ugly mare. Scrawny with a mangy coat, the mare seemed like a beggar child at a royal ball.
    “Good morning, my bride.” The Beast greeted her in great spirits. He wore his mask with his riding clothes, and Amarantha could see how his odd mouth smiled at her and how his green eyes gleamed with pleasure to see her.
    She patted the mare, who whuffed in return. “Is this one of your prize mares?”
    Amarantha teased him. “In disguise, perhaps?”
    “Alas, no,” the Beast replied. “She's too old to breed. Which is unfortunate because there are good lines in her background. Your father was in dire straits when he rode her here. In her senior years, she became a poor man's horse. Now she can live out her remaining days as a rich beast's horse.” He laughed, and Amarantha heard the familiar bitter tinge to it.
    “Come into the light, my sweet.” The Beast held out a hand to her, and they left the mare happily munching her oats.
    “Do the horses mind your invisible servants?”
    “No. Like you, they become accustomed quickly.”
    “I'm not one of your horses.”
    “Would you like to be?” The Beast gave her an assessing look. “The idea has possibilities. I shall have to think on that.” They stopped in the bright light spilling in the stable doors. “Unfasten your jacket for me and let me see your delightful breasts.”

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    Feeling the thrill of his interest, Amarantha fumbled with the buttons, then held her jacket open. Her nipples contracted tightly in the cold air, a shiver rippling through her flesh to her groin.
    The Beast studied her, idly tapping a riding crop against his muscular thigh.
    Amarantha shivered again, wondering if he planned to use it on her, though she'd been obedient.
    “And now bend over that bale of hay and lift your skirt for me.”
    She turned around to the bale he spoke of and leaned over it. The bale only came to thigh level, so she had to prop herself with one gloved hand on the prickly hay and reach back to flip up the fabric flap that disguised just how divided her skirt was.
    “Spread your legs and bend lower so your nipples touch the hay.”
    Amarantha obeyed, her nose nearly buried in the spicy hay, her nipples pricked by the scratchy stuff, her thighs bare above the riding boots, sex open to the chilly air and the Beast's intense gaze. She could feel it on her, potent as his touch.
    She found herself