Dawn light slipped through the curtains, pale and watery, catching the dust motes that hung in the still air. Belle woke to sheets that smelled wrong—clean linen and soap and something floral she couldn't name. No musk. No fur. No warm animal weight beside her.
She turned.
Alexandre sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, those broad shoulders catching the morning light. His hands rested on his thighs. Still. Careful. His jaw was smooth now—no trace of the fur that had shadowed it for years. But his eyes were the same. Gold. Watching her like she was something precious he might break.
Something cold settled in her chest.
He reached for her hair. Slow. Gentle. His fingers hovered near her temple like he was asking permission to touch something sacred.
She caught his wrist.
"Don't." Her voice came out raw. "Don't you dare pet me like I'm some fragile thing."
His brow furrowed. "Belle—"
"I broke a curse for the beast." She pushed herself up, the sheet pooling at her waist. Her thighs pressed together under the fabric, heat and frustration tangled into something aching. "Not for a prince who's afraid to bruise me."
His jaw tightened. The muscle there jumped. Something dark flickered in that gold gaze—quick, there and gone, like a shadow passing behind glass.
"You don't know what you're asking." His voice was low. Careful. Still that careful tone.
"I know exactly what I'm asking." She leaned forward, close enough to see the scar that split his brow, the one she'd traced with her tongue when he was still fur and fangs. "I'm asking for the man who threw me over his shoulder when I argued. The one who growled my name when I touched him. The one who bent me over the library table and—"
"Belle." His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around her arm. Not hard. Still careful. But his grip trembled. "I could hurt you."
"I don't care."
"I do."
She looked at his hand on her arm. At the way his knuckles had gone white. At the restraint screaming through every line of his body.
"Then show me," she whispered, and her voice shook—not with fear, but with want. With need. With the terror that she'd saved him only to lose him. "Show me you're still in there."
Something broke behind his eyes.
His hand slid from her arm to her jaw—not gentle now, but firm. His thumb pressed against her lower lip, parting her mouth. His gaze dropped to where he touched her, and when it rose again, the gold had gone dark.
"You want the beast?" His voice dropped, rough and low, and she felt it in her chest. In her thighs. In the sudden slick heat between her legs. "Then you get all of him."
He pushed her back onto the bed.
His weight followed her down, one hand catching both her wrists and pressing them into the mattress above her head. The other hand found her hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to bruise.
He leaned close, his mouth brushing her ear. His voice dropped into that low rumble she'd thought she'd lost, the one that vibrated through her chest and settled wet and aching between her thighs. "Tell me you're mine, Belle. Say it."
She turned her head, meeting those gold eyes. "I broke a curse for you. I'm not going anywhere." She arched up against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin sheet still tangled between them. "But I want all of you. Not just the prince."
A growl, deep and animal, vibrated through his chest. His grip on her hip tightened, yanking her lower body hard against his. She felt him there, thick and straining through his trousers, and the pressure made her breath catch.
He didn't bother with the sheet. He tore it down, baring her breasts, the soft swell of her stomach, the dark thatch of hair between her legs. His gaze raked over her, feral and hungry, and she felt heat flood her cheeks and pool lower.
"Look at you." His thumb traced her lower lip, pressing just enough to part her mouth. "So beautiful. So perfect." He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And you want the monster."
"I want you." She reached up with her free hand, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair. "Stop talking."
A rough laugh, dark and surprised, escaped him. Then his expression shuttered into pure need. He shifted, shoving his trousers down just enough, and his cock sprang free, heavy and leaking. She felt the tip press against her inner thigh, hot and insistent.
He didn't push inside. Not yet. His fingers found her instead, sliding through her slick folds, circling her clit with deliberate pressure. He groaned at the wetness, at the heat. "So ready for me. You've been wanting this."
She bucked against his hand, her hips rolling. "Please."
He shifted, settling between her thighs, the head of his cock nudging at her entrance. He held there, the pressure maddening, the tip just barely parting her. "Say it," he demanded again, his voice strained. "Say you're mine."
She was shaking. Her free hand tightened in his hair. "I'm yours. All of me."
He drove forward in one smooth, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. She cried out, a sharp, broken sound, as her body stretched to accommodate him, the fullness stealing her breath.
He filled her completely. The weight of him, the heat, the exquisite pressure that bordered on pain. Her inner walls clamped down around him, gripping him tight, and he groaned low in his chest.
He stilled for a moment, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged. "Fuck, Belle." His composure cracked. He was inside her, and he was trembling with the effort of holding still.
Then he moved.
He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, before thrusting back in. Harder. Deeper. The sound of wet skin filled the room, mixing with her moans and his guttural breaths.
He lowered his head, teeth scraping her collarbone before he bit down, just hard enough to mark. "Mine." The word was a growl against her skin.
His rhythm was punishing, relentless, driving her up the bed with every stroke. Her wrists were pinned above her head, her breasts bouncing with the force of his thrusts, the coil in her belly winding tighter and tighter.
"Alexandre—" She gasped his name, a warning and a plea.
"Yes," he growled, his mouth finding hers, swallowing her moan. "Come for me. Now." He drove deeper, and she shattered around him, her body clenching and pulsing as he followed her over the edge, his roar muffled against her throat.
Belle lay beneath him, trembling and breathless, her body still clenching around him in fading aftershocks. His weight pressed her into the mattress, his forehead against her shoulder, his breath ragged and hot against her skin.
But she felt it—the way his hands had gone still. The way he held himself above her like she might break. Like he was already pulling back into that careful prince.
No. Not yet. Not when she'd just found him.
She shifted beneath him, rolling her hips against his, and felt him harden again inside her. She heard his sharp intake of breath. His fingers tightened on her hip. And in that sound, in that grip, she heard the beast stirring.
"Don't you dare go gentle on me now," she rasped.
Something low and dark rumbled in his chest. His hand slid from her hip to her waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave crescents. He pulled out slowly, the drag of him sending a fresh shiver through her, and she felt empty and aching before he even fully left her.
Then his hand closed around her hip, and he flipped her onto her stomach.
The movement was fast, rough, decisive. She landed with a soft gasp, her cheek pressing into the black silk, her body still humming and slick. He didn't give her time to adjust. His knee drove her thighs apart, and his weight settled behind her, the heat of his chest against her back.
His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back just enough to bare her throat. His mouth found her shoulder, teeth scraping, then biting down hard enough to make her cry out. The pain bloomed sharp and bright, and she felt herself clench around nothing, desperate to have him back inside her.
"You wanted the beast." His voice was a growl against her skin, rough and animal. "Then take him."
His hand cracked across her ass.
The sound echoed through the chamber, sharp and wet. Pain flared across her skin, hot and stinging, and she gasped, her fingers clawing at the sheets. Before she could catch her breath, his palm landed again—harder, lower, the impact rocking her forward.
She cried out, but it wasn't pain. It was need.
"More," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please."
His hand soothed over the tender skin, a mockery of gentleness. Then he gripped her hip, and she felt the head of his cock press against her slick entrance, teasing, barely breaching her. She pushed back against him, desperate, but his hand clamped down on her waist, holding her still.
"You beg so beautifully," he murmured, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "Tell me again."
"Please," she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper. "Alexandre—I need you. All of you."
He drove into her in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The fullness was brutal, exquisite, her body stretching to accommodate him as he filled her completely. She screamed, her face pressed into the silk, her hands fisting the sheets as he began to move—hard and fast, no restraint, his hips slapping against her ass with every stroke.
His hand found her hair again, yanking her head back, arching her spine. "This is what you wanted?" His voice was ragged, feral. "The monster?"
"Yes," she gasped, her eyes rolling back. "Yes, yes, yes—"
He bit down on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and she shattered around him, her body clamping down as another orgasm ripped through her. He followed a moment later, his roar muffled against her skin, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into her, deep and endless.
They collapsed together, tangled and slick, his weight pressing her into the mattress. The only sound was their ragged breathing, the crackle of dying candles, the distant song of birds greeting the dawn.
His hand found hers, fingers interlacing, and he pressed a kiss to the curve of her shoulder—soft, reverent, human.
She smiled against the silk, and tightened her grip on his hand.