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Return the Rose - Novella Excerpt

Brief excerpt of the erotic novella by Joachim Heijndermans

By Joachim HeijndermansPublished about a year ago 8 min read
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Beautiful Beasts 1 - Return the Rose - cover art by Man Carot

The Beauty that had broken the Beast's spell is now queen...yet she still yearns for the creature he was, consumed by erotic memories and desperate to have her beautiful beast returned to her.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of "Return the Rose"

“So,” said the King, desperate to change the subject. “How was your morn?”

The Queen said nothing. She sat in silence, as she clicked her teeth while she searched for an answer. What could she tell him? That she read, walked in the garden, ate small exquisitely made sandwiches perfectly cut into triangles that Pythagoras himself would have been impressed by and then read some more. It was how she spent practically most of her days. Not that she minded the reading. She could spend the entirety of her life in that library he’d given her. But in the days prior, she knew he would come back to her. Grant her the space she needed to lose herself in fantastical faraway worlds beyond distant horizons, then return to take her into his arms once more and reveal in the fantasy come true, an adventure of the heart and the flesh. Now, a man she loved had once again returned to her, but it was never the man she truly hoped for. And when he did, in those brief moments where the scent of his sweat was strong, he was often too spent to truly be with her in mind and spirit.

“Uneventful. I finished my book,” she finally answered, seeing no reason to lie.

“That’s wonderful. Do you need more?” he asked.

“Let me finish the ones I have first, all right?” she said, referencing the large pile that awaited her beside her on the table of her reading nook, not to forget the rest of her vast collection.

“Yes, of course,” he said meekly. “My love? What troubles you?”

“Nothing,” she sighed. “Nothing troubles me. I have all that I could ever want,” she said, lying so poorly even the chambermaid could tell something was amiss.

The King, hardly blind and certainly not a fool, made an attempt to mend the gap between him and his wife. “Then let me propose this! Shall I personally prepare a meal for you? Or perhaps have a fire made in the reading room? We can drink wine whilst I play a tune for you?”

“Hmm,” she said, somewhat intrigued as she nodded pleasantly in agreement to the thought. It had been an old pastime of theirs she still greatly enjoyed. Their courtship had not been entirely a series of savage acts and bestial encounters.

“You could even read to me?” he suggested.

Her expression perked up even further, delighted at the thought of a simple fire and an evening of sharing her favorite works with him. He loved to listen to her voice as she spoke the words. She adores hearing his gentle heartbeat when she laid her head on his chest. She rose up from her seat, prepared to take him up on his offer with delight and a fiery blaze of enthusiasm… when a bell rang. A manservant had entered the hall, his head raised and a staff in hand.

“Your Highness. Your audience is needed in the throne room regarding urgent matters of the land and its borders.”

“Right now?” the King sighed.

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Ah, of course. I beg of you my leave, dear wife,” the King said, meekly shrugging and making. Gesture with his head. The ‘my duty calls for me’ gesture, which had once been an endearing motion that she had now come to loathe.

Aghast, she looked as her husband walked off to follow the servant. “So soon? But you’ve just returned from a hunt. By God, you haven’t even eaten yet.”

“I don’t believe this can wait, my love. Matters of the borders are most paramount to us right now. But I will come to you later. We’ll meet in the reading room! I promise you this! We shall have our night together!”

He vanished behind a door, which slammed loudly, almost mocking her for her resumed isolation and the ever-growing distance between her and her love. And with that, she was alone again. She looked down at her cold soup. She remembered the stag, draped over the table just moments ago, with now only the blood and mud staining the wood to remind her of it. Even in death, that beautiful creature of the forest had something wild to it. The color of its hide. The eyes. The strong antlers, which were not too much unlike horns. His horns.

Her heart raced, thinking back to the one who had demanded her father trade his life for one of his daughters. The creature. The one who had spent so long alone within the enchanted halls he ran on all fours and ate flesh raw. The Beast whose home had nearly become a holt with its carcasses and evidence of past violence on the decor, with only a reluctant enchanted service staff to keep him company and attempt to clean up after him. She remembered her role as prisoner, before the captive became a friend, and the friend became a lover and the lover became a queen. Her heart stung, yearning for what she once felt.

She needed release. Now!

The Queen raced toward her private chambers, nearly tripping on her dress several times in her haste, undaunted by her brushes with falling as her furious desire pushed her to continue on. When she reached her floor, she made a mad dash towards her private room, the only quarters that none may enter once she was inside, lest she had given permission. A trio of young ladies was in the midst of changing the sheets, startled by her sudden intrusion. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her handmaidens, who then scurried past her and made themselves scarce. She entered her most private sanctuary and slammed the door shut. An iron key, one that used to be able to turn itself with the clap of a hand but had once again been rendered into a solid metal, she thrust into the hole and violently twisted to lock the door, divorcing herself from the world.

Then, she turned, her back against the door, her bosom moving up and down as she fought to catch her breath…and her loins burning with an enraged passion.

For a moment, she receded into memory, thinking of a time from before when she had done the same. She ran through the halls, trying to stay ahead of the creature that was in hot pursuit of her. He had granted her the room by then, but her resistance to him was still quite firm. Her future husband had given chase. She tried to hold it just like this, but the wood lost its battle against his mighty strength. With her back pressed hard against the door, she let her hands glide over her neck, caressing the light scars on her neck. Some were left by claws, others by teeth. She closed her eyes, enveloping herself in the memory of the night her lover left them on her. While her one hand circled around the marks on her neck, her other wandered downward. She spread her legs, pushed her dress roughly aside and took her womanhood into her hands, feeling the wetness of her sex gushing down her thighs and coating her palm with fluids. With her fingers, she stroked her rose, circling away at its bud as she felt her wetness slide further down her leg, a droplet reaching her knee. She closed her eyes, trying to recall him as he was. Large hands. A mouth that both frightened and excited her, never certain if he was going to maul her or pleasure her with it. For a moment, she was with him again, moaning quietly as she cupped herself to simulate his touch, thinking back to that first time. The first time he laid…nay, fucked her.

The memory of the first time was the strongest. The night she dined with him. He’d said…something, a joke that she took great offense to. Exhausted from fear and the events that led to her imprisonment, she’d reached her breaking point and snapped. He had demanded she be more forthcoming with him. He had freed her from the cell, supplied her with a private room up in one of the towers, and even showered her with jewels, dresses and other priceless treasures. Yet still, she sat there, glowering at him and refusing to speak a word other than requests for water and salt. She would not respond, holding her head high and ignoring her. It was then that he mocked her, growling that her father had gained the upper hand in their bargain for his freedom and traded him the coldest, most unlikely to wed, most unpalatable shrew from his elected brood and thrust her upon him to deal with, insinuating he must be glad to be rid of her.

Soup had flown through the air, striking the colossal creature’s face, while the plate slowly slid down, coated his evening wear tailor-made to his monstrous form, then shattered on the ground. Red eyes of rage locked onto hers. All the force of will he had used to remain gentle and forthcoming and even civil (to a level that he could even muster) with his prisoner ended with that motion. His eyes turned fierce.

He roared.

She shrieked.

He flipped the table as if it were a stool.

She ran.

He chased, hungry for blood.

She feared for her life, racing as fast as she could toward her quarters, hoping it would be enough to hold the monster at bay. By some fortune, she had managed to make it inside but was unable to close the door as two sets of massive claws held it open, splintering the wood where their points dug in. With her whole body, she slammed the entrance to her room shut, bruising her shoulder in the process. A furious yelp from the other side made her think she'd done it. For a single moment, she had thought to have succeeded at keeping him at bay. With some hope, she let herself breathe again whilst her heart calmed its loud thumping.

This was a moment before his arms cracked the wood and rendered the door to pieces, leaving it little more than a heap of splinters. She fell as he burst through, small slivers of wood puncturing her skin. He roared in triumph as he lumbered inside, towering over her as he flexed his fingers. She trembled as he stood over her, panting loudly and certain she would be dead. With his mighty hand, he grabbed her by the collar of her dress. The fabric ripped under his strength, revealing more of her silken skin and her chest, her bosom moving fast with her erratic breathing.

The sight of her like this, helpless and with eyes wide in terror, changed his mood.

She felt it.

His body betrayed his eager want for her.

She noticed.

To her shock, she responded. The power he held over her. He could break her like a dried twig. The ability to devour her or rip her to shreds was a paralyzing thought. But that look in his eyes. That unbridled desire to have her.

And despite everything, she wanted him. At that moment, she realized she had always wanted him.

She reacted, placing her hand on his leg, then moved up to unbutton the pantaloons, releasing his manhood. She took it in hand and pressed her face against it. She startled both her captor and herself when she released her tongue from her mouth and slid it across his shaft. It was the first cock she had seen, let alone tasted.

-For the entire novella, please purchase 'Return the Rose' on Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Kobo and other affiliated stores at the link here-

Return the Rose & Beautiful Beasts Logo ©Joachim Heijndermans - Cover art by Man Carot

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About the Creator

Joachim Heijndermans

Joachim is a freelance artist and writer. He writes short stories and draws comics. Likes to travel, paint, collect rare toys, and read in his spare time. His fiction writing has been featured in magazines, websites, podcasts and television

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