Page 21 of Betraying the Beast

She rose, her hands moving to the laces of her gown. Vael’Zhur’s eyes widened as he realized her intent, but he seemed frozen, unable to stop her, unable to look away as she loosened the bodice, as the heavy fabric slipped from her shoulders to pool at her feet. The chemise followed, then her undergarments, until she stood naked before him, illuminated by candlelight, vulnerable yet unafraid.

“What are you doing?” he asked hoarsely.

“Choosing,” she said simply. Then she stepped into the pool.

The water lapped at her skin like warm breath, sinuous and alive, wrapping her in silken heat as she waded deeper into the bath’s embrace. Behind the steam, Vael’Zhur stood motionless, but not unaffected—his golden eyes tracked her every movement with a hunger barely leashed. He backed away when she undressed, as if giving her space. But now, he watched her approach like a man standing at the edge of a precipice, torn between reverence and ruin. Disbelief darkened his gaze, yes—but beneath it pulsed something far more dangerous. Desire. Worship. And the ache of a creature who had denied himself the touch of another for far too long.

“You should leave,” he said, but the conviction had fled his voice. “You should run from this place. From me.”

“I’m tired of running.” She moved closer, the water now at her waist. “Tired of fear. Tired of doing what others demand of me.”

When she reached him, she placed her hands on his chest—part fur, part skin, all heated male. His heartbeat thundered beneath her palm, as rapid and desperate as her own.“Tonight,” she whispered, tilting her face up to his, “I choose you.”

For a single suspended heartbeat, Vael’Zhur didn’t move. He stared at her with eyes lit from within—torn between shadow and light, man and monster, restraint and ruin.

Then he broke.

With a growl that rolled up from his chest like distant thunder, he surged forward, sweeping her into his arms with feral grace. His mouth crashed down on hers—not gentle, not polite, but desperate, a kiss born of starvation and surrender. His tongue thrust past her lips, demanding and claiming, tasting her like he had waited lifetimes for this moment.

This wasn’t a kiss. It was a possession.

She gasped into him, her body arching into the solid wall of his chest. His fur was slick with steam, coarse in places, silken in others, clinging to her like velvet soaked in heat. Her hands scrambled over his shoulders, threading through the thick mane of his hair, holding him there as if the world might shatter should they part.

“Do you know,” he rasped between kisses, his voice hoarse with restraint, “what you’re doing? What this means?”

“No,” she breathed, lips brushing his jaw. “But I know what I want. And I know who I want.”

He made a sound of pure masculine torment as she sucked lightly beneath his ear, his claws curling into her hips.

“And what is it you want, little thief?” His voice was wrecked, a whisper of broken control. “What do you crave from this beast?”

She drew back just enough to meet his gaze, her storm-gray eyes dark with certainty. “The man beneath the monster. The one who touches me with reverence. Who looks at me like I’m salvation.”

A low snarl of longing escaped him. He cradled her as if she were made of starlight and bone, carrying her through the warm water to a submerged ledge. There, he sank into the shallows and guided her astride his lap, their bare skin sliding together, her thighs spreading around the solid width of his.

Between them, his cock stood hard and heavy, thick and glistening, pressed hot against her core. She felt the thrum of his pulse there, matching her own, her slick heat coating him as she rocked against the length of him with a shuddering breath.

“If we do this,” he growled, his voice trembling with effort, “there’s no undoing it. My magic… the orchard’s magic… it marks. It binds.”

Her hands framed his face, thumbs stroking the sharp line of his cheekbones. “Then bind me,” she whispered. “Make me yours.”

That final thread of restraint snapped. He surged up to meet her kiss, his claws skimming along her spine as his mouth devoured hers. One massive hand cupped her breast, his thumb circling the peak until she gasped, arching into his touch. His other hand slid down, between her thighs, fingers parting her folds with exquisite care, teasing her slick entrance with knowing pressure, his claws retracted to not hurt her, but only cause the most exquisite pleasure.

“You’re already mine,” he murmured, voice husky with awe. “So wet. So ready. Gods, I’ve dreamt of this.”

Her hips bucked at the slow stroke of his fingers inside her, thick and deliberate, curling to find that spot that made her cry out. His thumb circled her clit in lazy, maddening spirals, never quite enough.

“Please,” she begged, her voice ragged, her body trembling. “I need?—”

“I know.” His voice was reverent now. “I know.”

He guided himself to her entrance, the blunt crown of his cock pressing against her heat. She gripped his shoulders, breathless, then slowly—inch by inch—she sank down onto him, impaling herself on his thick length.

He was huge, stretching her impossibly wide, the pressure almost too much—until it wasn’t. Until her body adjusted, accommodated, welcomed him like he belonged with her.

“Oh—gods—” she sobbed, burying her face in his neck.

Vael’Zhur held himself utterly still, trembling. “Ceryn…” he choked, her name like a sacred vow. “You… you feel like heaven.”

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