Barbie & The Beast by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

couldn’t penetrate the human skull
     so that he could see what Barbie was thinking. Not even the beast could help him there. A woman’s mind was a foreign and complex
     thing. Barbie hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t run, hadn’t tugged really hard. Nevertheless, she had refused his offer of getting
     together again. Why would she refuse? Shouldn’t someone with his supernatural abilities be able to figure this out?
    Oh no!
One of his fingernails began to burn: a claw again wanting to pop. He willed it to chill. Touching Barbie was causing this,
     he suddenly knew. She was bringing out these feelings. Barbie was liquid moonlight in female form. The smoothness of her fingers,
     the strawberry fragrance that clung to her skin, but didn’t overwhelm—all those things taken together were irresistible.
    He glanced back. Barbie’s hair was shiny, silky, and slightly curled upward at the ends, where it lay across her shoulders.
     She had an adorable fringe of bangs across her forehead.Little wisps of curl at her temple. How good it would feel to lean in and kiss her.
    Damn beast! Was it instigating these thoughts? Keep back— I mean it! he inwardly shouted. But the idea of stroking Barbie’s
     hair now haunted him. He wanted it to spill over his neck, tickle his shoulder as they embraced. He wanted to run his hands
     through it, watch the silken strands slide through his fingers. How long had he waited for someone he could share his plight
     with? It felt like forever.
    At last they passed the fountain. He heard its splash. Seconds more, he told himself. Mere seconds, and Barbie would be safe.
     Think of the water. No, not Barbie in the water. Not Barbie in a bathtub filled with bubbles. Anything but bubbles.
    Too late. There she was, in his imagination, naked, in a bathtub, her dark hair floating on the surface of the water, the
     contours of her body covered by translucent, bubble gum– scented bubbles. Two firm and flawless breasts rose from the H 2 O like perfect little islands. Pink nipples crowned those breasts, the color of the palest rose species and tight with arousal,
     the paleness a delicious contrast to her tan, caramel-colored skin.
    Choking off a cry, nearly forgetting his pledge to behave, Darin found his heart fluttering to an unusual stillness as he
     raced around the fountain, unable to escape the image. Tub. Barbie. His hand would move slowly over the water, sending tiny,
     fragile, blush-tinted bubbles spiraling upward to ride the crest of his exhaled breath. Drawn to Barbie’s breasts, he’d take
     one of them in his hand, gently rub his thumb over the peak. Barbie would moan with delight—a throaty response that would
     make more things than the wolf spring to life.
    Holy Mother of God.
    With a big gulp of warm night air, Darin hesitated on the cemetery path, staring glassy-eyed at the image his mindhad invented. Pure imagination. Not reality. This was only a dream, a longing.
Get it straight!
    Yes, but couldn’t it also be a premonition? A door into the future?
His
future? His and Barbie’s?
    Nope. A little perspective was needed here. This had been a chance meeting in a cemetery, that’s all. Nothing more. He should
     have been laughing at the absurdity of it all, the incongruity. Barbie and the Beast. Little Barbie and the Big Bad Wolf.
    He glanced back, swept Barbie around a tall old tree, then came up short—and fully erect. Cusswords rolled over his tongue
     in a whisper. “Damn. Hell. Shit.”
    He twirled Barbie around to face him, making sure she remained on her feet and that his hands stayed appropriately placed.
     “Look at me,” he directed, yanking her closer, knowing she couldn’t see him no matter how hard she tried; Barbie remained
     sightless, both in reality and in her ability to perceive the beast lurking within him. “How dare you place yourself in this
     kind of danger?” he asked. “How dare you take this place so lightly?”
    Nearly overpowered by the urge to throw