The sun was a white-hot pleasure pressed against the back of Beauty's neck, but she didn't mind. She liked the way it made her skin glow, the way the water beaded on her shoulders like tiny diamonds. The bikini her mother had bought her in Oz was **scandalous**—that's what the servants whispered when they thought she couldn't hear—but Beauty knew the truth: it wasn't scandalous. It was **attention**. She stretched out on the lounge chair, arching her back just enough to catch the male partygoers' attention. Across the pool, **Duke Richard**—her father's oldest friend, a man who'd been coming to these parties since she was eight—was watching. She'd noticed the way his eyes lingered on her the st few summers. The way his hand brushed against hers when he passed her a gss of lemonade. The way he **never** looked at her like she was just a kid. Today, she was going to see where this could go. **New experiences**.
"Duke Richard!" Beauty called, sitting up and patting the space beside her. "Please put some sunscreen on my back?"
He hesitated—just for a second—but then he smiled, that easy, friendly smile, and grabbed the bottle from the table. "Wouldn't want you turning into a lobster."
The other nobles **saw**. Of course they did. Her mother, the Queen, chatting with the governor's wife, gnced over and **didn't even frown**. The Duke's wife, three gsses of wine deep, just rolled her eyes like it was **a matter of time**. The help—**the peasant woman and her son**, refilling drinks in the background—**looked away fast**, but not before Beauty caught the tightness in the woman's jaw.
Richard's hands were **warm**. He started at her shoulders, slow, methodical, but then his fingers drifted **lower**, smoothing lotion over the small of her back, the top curve of her butt. Beauty **held her breath**. His thumb grazed the edge of her bikini bottoms—**just for a second**—but long enough that she **shivered**.
"Ticklish?" he murmured.
"No," she said, turning her head to look at him. **"I like it."**
His breath hitched. But he continued.
---
The party blurred around her—ughter, clinking gsses, the low sound of music. Beauty twisted on the lounge chair, her knees pressing together. She was **feeling frustrated**, a deep, insistent pulse between her legs. She'd touched herself before, in the dark of her bedroom, imagining **this**. Imagining **him**.
"Duke Richard," she said, her voice nervous, determined. "Do you want to see my room? I got a new game."
He froze. Just for a second. Then—**"What kind of game?"**
She grinned. **"I'll show you."**
The nobles around them **heard**. Some smirked. Some shifted uncomfortably. **No one stopped her.**
Richard stood, adjusting his cuffs. **"Lead the way."**
---
Her room was **pink and gold**, a princess's dream—canopy bed, stuffed animals, a vanity with scattered makeup and pieces of jewelry. Richard shut the door behind him. The click of the lock was **loud**. Beauty didn't wait. She turned, pressed her body against his, and looked up at him.
**"I like when you touch me."**
His hands found her waist. **"Beauty—"**
**"I know what I'm doing,"** she said, and it was true. She'd **researched** things. She'd **watched** things, te at night on her magic mirror. She knew what **oral** meant. Knew what **fingers** could do. She wanted to **try**.
He swallowed. **"You're sure?"**
She nodded, reaching for his belt.
---
It wasn't **real sex**. Not really. No penetration. Just his mouth on her, his fingers inside her, her small hands fumbling with his zipper. She came **twice**, her nails digging into his shoulders. He finished in her mouth, his breath ragged, his voice a pleased **"good girl"** as she swallowed.
After, she wiped her face with a linen cloth from her nightstand. **"This stays between us, okay?"**
She nodded, already pnning when she'd **do it again**.
Downstairs, the party continued. No one came looking. No one **ever** did.
