Lair of the Lion

him, buried deep inside her, his mouth at her breast, as the ripples overtook her and she cried out his name and her fingers curled into fists in his hair.
    At once, through his pounding heart and the fire sweeping his body, he felt the wildness rising in him, felt the beast wanting to mount her again and again, to ensure no other touched her, no other gave her a child. His thoughts were confused and primal, a fierce possessive streak shaking the very foundations of his soul. He nearly leapt away from her in fear, wanting to retreat into the shadows like the animal he was.
    One moment his body covered hers in a wild, passionate exchange, the next he was wrenching himself away from her as if he couldn't bear the sight of her. Isabella didn't look at him, didn't want to see if the lion was blazing in his eyes. She didn't want to know if he was near the end of his control. She wanted more. Much, much more. She wanted him to hold her close, to cuddle her in his arms and whisper how much he loved her.
    She closed her eyes against the pointless tears burning there. She couldn't blame Nicolai
    —she had been his willing partner each time. And she would be again. She could hardly deny it when her body still throbbed and clenched and craved his. She pulled her gown up over her breasts, her body responding to the feel of the fabric against her sensitized skin.
    Very carefully she sat up, looking away from the corner where she could hear his heavy breathing as he struggled for control.
    At once she felt an edge of danger in the room. It had nothing to do with the strange entity and everything to do with the curse. The hair on her skin rose, a chill going down her spine. He was watching her from the shadows, and she didn't know if he was watching as a man or a beast, and for the very first time she was afraid to find out. Isabella rolled over and came to her knees, wanting to get up.
    At once she sensed movement, a whisper of sound, hot breath on her neck. Nicolai stood over her—she felt the brush of his hair along her arm and back.
    "Don't move," he warned. His voice was thick, strange.
    "Nicolai." She knew her fear was between them, that he could smell it. Hear it.
    "Shh, don't move." His hands shaped her bare bottom. "We haven't finished."
    Isabella nearly jumped out of her skin. Her heart leapt in terror, then settled into a strong, fast, pounding rhythm. Hands, not claws, touched her body. It was fully Nicolai. He might be struggling, but he was with her.
    His hands kneaded the firm flesh of her buttocks, then slipped lower to find her pulsing, wet core. He pushed into her with his fingers, immediately bringing her to a fever pitch again so that she moaned and cried out for him.
    "Dio, cara, this is dangerous," he whispered. "So dangerous." But he didn't stop, pushing deeper until she moved against him with a small sob.
    At once he caught her hips and thrust into her again, deeper and harder, filling her with his thickness, stretching her tight sheath, the friction almost more than either could tolerate.
    Having emptied himself into her once, he had more staying power, but he could feel the wildness rising with every stroke. His blood raced with fire—his belly burned with it. He reached for emptiness in his mind, sheer pleasure, no thoughts, no fear, just erotic pleasure.
    Isabella could feel him surrounding her, his arms strong, every muscle taut, his body surging in and out of hers. He was deep inside her, the pleasure building and building until she was swamped with it, until every cell in her body was stretched beyond endurance and she was shuddering with pleasure. Until her body was no longer her own but his, to teach and play like an instrument until she fragmented, exploded, dissolved. Until there wasn't a part of her that wasn't burning and spinning out of control.
    She felt his body swelling, hardening even more, the friction so intense it was more than she could bear. It sent them both tumbling over a cliff and falling through space. Colors burst in her mind, whips of lightning danced in her bloodstream. This time he collapsed over her, driving her to the floor, where they lay in a tangled heap, too exhausted to move.
    They lay still for some time, hearts pounding, the heat so intense that beads of sweat formed between their bodies, but neither could find the energy to move away from the fire.
    Nicolai's wild hair was everywhere, their clothes were disheveled, and their arms and legs were tangled together.