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His kiss had moistened her enough that he'd been able to get his broad head in her gateway, but she'd never been taken before. The pain was immediate and excruciating, such that she cried out, but he wouldn't let her free. He held her on him, seated to the hilt in her body, his arms banded about her.
"It hurts . . . please stop. Please."
His breath rasped in her ear, a beast in mindless rut, and she struggled to get past the pain and panic of a pinned butterfly. She had to reach him, to understand why he was doing this. Gripping her buttocks again, he began to work her up and down his shaft. She whimpered at the abrasion of raw tissue, at his battering assault on her virginity. While it didn't feel exactly . . . wrong, it was far from right. He was supposed to care about her, protect her. Even if he didn't know it, that was the way it was supposed to be. He wasn't just betraying her . . . he was betraying both of them.
She knew simple ways to defend herself, but against his irresistible power, there was only one way. Though he was strong, the power of a shift was as unstoppable as the force of water. Her wings erupted from her back. The tail transformation swept her lower body, dislodging him. If the quick hitch of his breath and his curse meant anything, the scales had sliced him. She fell from his grasp, but he stumbled to one knee beside her, clamping onto her upper arm. She sucked in a breath, for this time his touch burned. No, not his touch. She'd landed in a bed of flames, and it was licking over her. She was helpless in this form, her wings catching fire, her tail flopping uselessly.
When he lifted her free of the fire, dousing the flames, she saw burn marks on her flesh and smelled singed feathers. "Your fear is different," he said at last. "Not like the others. Their fear stinks, like something rotting. Yours . . . it's sweet and sad at once."
Like a dying flower, she thought, and wondered if he knew what that was.
"I liked your cunt," he added baldly, still holding her with his intense stare. "I want to be inside it again. Change back." His voice was the growl of the mythical monster under the bed, but with a mesmerizing quality that would coax her out from under her protective covers, bring her to her knees to look beneath and meet the eyes of the beast.
Beauty and the Beast. "I can't," she whispered. "I'm afraid."
"You will, because I command it."
It's a dream, a dream, a dream. Hold on to your sanity, Lex. If it's a dream, you can control it. "No." She lifted her chin, forced herself to hold that blazing look. "You hurt me. You weren't gentle. You're supposed to be gentle. And make it pleasurable."
He blinked. She thought she felt surprise. What else did she feel swirling from him? Lust for certain, and while it now scared her, it sent another shiver through her as she remembered his more seductive ways of touching her.
"Show me, then," he said. "What do you mean by gentle?" He stumbled over the word, as if it was part of a foreign language.
"How you were kissing me before, in the earlier dream. It was . . . passionate, but gentle at the same time. Like this." Still trembling, she put her hand to his jaw. It was smooth, no facial hair. Swallowing, she stretched up, aware of his arms banding around her back and her tail below the roundest part of her hips.
She met his lips with a tentative caress, trying to dissipate the cold fear his violent assault had triggered. She had desired him. The edge of it was still there, waiting to be stoked to life by his touch. It's a dream, Alexis. You weren't raped in real life. It was just a dream . . . And it wasn't rape. You wanted him, he wanted you. He just . . . maybe he had no clue what he was doing. Or he thought you did.
But he'd acted with animal determination. No, that wasn't true. Even animals had ways of saying "not interested." He'd acted as if he was conquering her, subduing her like an enemy. She couldn't deny that wave of rage, the lust for vengeance, even as he stayed immobile now. While she nibbled shyly at his lips, he watched her, eyes of fire so close to her face. Grasping courage in both hands, she teased his lips open, licked his fangs, then flirted with his tongue, easing forward so her arms closed around his shoulders. She pushed herself against his chest, trying to reclaim balance in this odd and terrifying dream.
His powerful arm constricted on her back, his lower fingers curving in to stroke the scales low on her hip, a sensitive area that made her fearful shiver become something different. "If I woke, would I have burns from your fingers on my skin?" she whispered against his mouth.
"You would. Your thighs would be sticky with your virgin blood. Shift back for me. Let me lick it off."
She swallowed. "I'm afraid you'll hurt me again."
"You are mine to do with as I will."
"No," she responded softly. "I'm not yours to harm."
"Then shift back, and let me prove to you that I won't."
She held his gaze, her attention distracted by the sensual lips, held hard and tight. He was all hard and tight, not a relaxed muscle on him. But she allowed her body to shift, wings dissolving, her tail giving way to human legs again.
Lowering her to her feet on that patch of nonburning ground, he eased her down to her back. Her fear returned with him looming over her. But then he knelt, placing a hand on her thigh, widening her. His gaze studied her sex, the smears of blood on her thighs. The muscles in his biceps bunched as he leaned over her. His tongue traced the inside of her thigh, taking the blood away as he'd promised. She was tense, she couldn't help that. Her trust could only go so far, because she couldn't read his intentions clearly, a problem she'd never experienced. It was a confused jumble, perhaps clouded by her own distressed state. But she had felt his vulnerability, his pain so sharp and clear. All the things that drew her to a person . . .
Oh, Goddess, had it all been a trap?
His tongue was making it difficult for her to decide. Working his way over both thighs, then up to the center, he tasted flesh that had never experienced a man's mouth. She arched with an unexpected cry as his tongue eased the pain of her sex and replaced it with waves of pleasure. She was his, all his . . . Oh, Goddess, this was a mad magic . . .
When she could bear it no more, she reached down, gripped his hair in hard hands, wanting more, somehow. Lifting his head, he looked up her body, his eyes wandering in a decidedly possessive way. "You no longer wish me to be . . . gentle?"
Startled, she had to stifle an uneasy laugh. Goddess, here she was, a virgin trying to explain the unpredictable and minute nuances of a woman's arousal to a creature who apparently had no basis to understand it. Of course, through Clara, she knew how hard it was to explain it to any male with reasonable brain function.
"It's . . . as I get more . . . aroused, you can be less gentle. Can you tell when I'm more aroused?"
He seemed to think that through, then nodded.
"But if it hurts, I'll ask you to stop. You have to stop then. Okay?"
A glint of fire went through his gaze before he bent to her thighs again.
Her trepidation quickly disappeared. Perhaps he had more than reasonable brain function, because he didn't need to be told something twice. He started off easy once again, but as she bowed up to his mouth, mewling, he growled against her flesh, penetrated her more deeply with his tongue. Holding her wrists to her sides, he gave her an anchor against which to pull and strain. She dug her heels into the charred ground as he pushed her legs further a
part with the movements of his head, the imposition of his body between her legs. When she began to buck, she rubbed herself against his lips, the hardness of his jaw. His sharp fangs pricked her, her erratic movements raking one across tender flesh. It made her moan even harder, because his mouth sealed over it, suckling tender flesh.
Then, just as she was trembling on the pinnacle, he slid up her body. This time, when he came into her, the passage was slick and wet, and he moved slowly. She didn't know if that was for her benefit or his, because there was a studied concentration to his face as he braced his arms on either side and thrust with slow deliberation into her still sore sex. She didn't protest, except for soft cries of pain and pleasure at once as she kept her eyes locked on his face. Her whole body, inside and out, trembled for him, taken over by his strength and fire, the intensity of that extraordinary gaze.
When he was in to the hilt, she felt as if she couldn't move, except for her legs locking on his hips by pure instinct. Taking her hands again, he held them above her head, bringing his chest down against hers, softness meeting hard muscle, the bloody symbols painted on his body now pressed to hers. Glancing down, she saw her flesh begin to glow to match those symbols, a mirror image. A wild warmth swept over her at the evidence that they belonged together.
"I want you to surrender to me. Open yourself fully when I take you over. Say yes."
"Yes," she whispered, caught up in the urgent need behind the words. It was a command, but more than that, it was a plea. He was so lonely, it swamped her as much as his desire. How could she deny him this moment to feel completely connected to another, even it was only in their shared dreams?
"I'm here," she said, and then he began to move. A thrust and retreat that built, creating a rocking motion between their two bodies like ocean waves. As the waves became a storm, slamming against one another, she left the metaphor of cool water far behind, nose-diving straight for the flames. Something was about to shatter. She feared the dream would end.
