Belle rolled off him, her thighs slick and trembling, the air cool on her skin. Alexandre's chest rose and fell beneath her hand, his eyes half-lidded, the gold of them soft in the lamplight. She pushed his chest until he sat at the edge of the bed, his legs dangling, his cock still wet from her. He reached for her hips, but she caught his wrists and pinned them above his head, pressing his hands against the headboard. His breath hitched, a low growl building in his throat.
"No," she breathed, her mouth close to his. "Let me take what I want."
She swung a leg over his chest, straddling him, the heat of her cunt hovering inches from his lips. His eyes went dark, hungry, his tongue already wetting his lower lip. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, until she felt his mouth on her, the first tentative stroke of his tongue against her folds.
He groaned, a muffled sound that vibrated through her. His hands strained against her grip, but she held tight, her thighs squeezing his ears. She shifted her weight, grinding against his mouth, and he followed her rhythm, desperate and hungry, his tongue plunging inside her, curling, tasting.
The wet sound of his mouth filled the room. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but a broken moan escaped her when he sucked her clit between his lips, his tongue flicking hard and fast. Her hips rocked, her grip on his wrists tightening as the first wave built, slow and heavy, coiling low in her belly.
"Don't stop," she gasped, and he answered with a guttural sound that sent a shiver through her thighs.
He licked her like he was starving, like she was the only thing that could fill the hollow in him. His nose pressed into her curls, his jaw working, and she felt the orgasm cresting, sharp and white, a scream catching in her throat. She came undone against his mouth, her cunt clenching, her thighs shaking, a raw cry splitting the air as he lapped her through it, not letting go until the last tremor faded.
She released his wrists, her hands shaking, and slid down his body. His chest was slick with sweat, his abs tight, a trail of dark hair leading down to the thick length of him, hard and glistening. She wrapped her fingers around the base, feeling his pulse jump under her palm, and lowered her mouth to the tip.
He went still. His hands found her hair, not pulling, just resting, as if asking permission. She took him deeper, her tongue tracing the vein along the underside, the salt of his skin breaking on her lips. A groan rumbled in his chest, low and broken, his hips twitching but not thrusting.
She felt the tension leave his shoulders. The rigid set of his spine went soft, his head falling back, his hands slack in her hair. He was terrified of hurting her, she knew—of the beast that lived in his blood and his hands and his cock. But here, with her mouth on him, her rhythm steady and sure, he could surrender.
He let out a shuddering breath, a word she almost didn't catch. Her name. Not a growl, not a command—just her name, exhaled like a prayer.
She took him deeper, her throat relaxing around the head of his cock, the salt of him coating her tongue. His hands trembled in her hair, not gripping, not guiding—just there, as if he needed something to hold onto. She felt him hit the back of her throat, a soft gag reflex that she swallowed through, and his whole body shuddered.
"Belle." Her name cracked in his throat, raw and broken. "Belle, that's—"
She didn't stop. She took him deeper, her nose brushing the coarse hair at his base, her jaw aching with the stretch. His cock twitched against her tongue, a bead of salt breaking across her palate, and she heard his breath catch, a sharp inhale that hung in the air.
His hands slid from her hair to her shoulders, his thumbs tracing the curve of her collarbone. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just touching, as if he needed to prove she was real, that this was happening, that she wanted him like this.
She pulled back slowly, her lips dragging along his shaft, and looked up at him. His head was thrown back, his throat exposed, the tendons straining. His chest rose and fell in ragged waves, and she saw the gold of his eyes through half-closed lids, dark and wet.
"You're beautiful like this," she whispered, her breath hot on his skin.
He made a sound—not a word, not a growl, something in between. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face up, his thumb tracing her lower lip. It came away slick with him.
"I want to taste you," he said, his voice rough and low. "I want to taste myself on your tongue."
She opened her mouth, and he leaned down, his lips meeting hers. The kiss was slow, searching, his tongue sliding against hers, the salt of him passing between them. He groaned into her mouth, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, holding her there as he deepened the kiss, as if he needed to drink her in.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath warm and uneven. "I thought I'd lose this," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought when the curse broke, I'd lose the part of me that—"
"That what?" she breathed.
"That wants you like this." His thumb traced her cheekbone, featherlight. "That needs to feel you come apart on my tongue. That needs to hear you beg."
She shivered, her thighs pressing together. "Then show me."
He lifted her, his hands gripping her waist, and laid her on the rug, the coarse wool scratching her back. He knelt between her legs, his shoulders pushing her thighs apart, and lowered his mouth to her cunt. His tongue found her clit, swollen and slick, and he sucked it between his lips, a low growl vibrating through her.
"You taste like me," he said against her, his breath hot on her skin. "You taste like mine."
Her hips bucked, a broken moan escaping her throat. He held her down, his hands gripping her thighs, and licked her slowly, deliberately, his tongue tracing every fold, every crease, as if he was memorizing her.
The candle guttered on the hearth, the flame shrinking to a pinprick of gold. The room went dark around them, the only light the dying ember, the only sound his mouth on her, the wet slide of his tongue, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
She came against his mouth, a raw cry splitting the silence, her cunt clenching around his tongue. He didn't stop, didn't slow, licking her through it until she was trembling, oversensitive, pushing at his shoulders.
He crawled up her body, his weight settling over her, his cock hard against her thigh. "I'm still here," he said, his voice a growl in the dark. "The beast is still here. He's just learned to kiss."
He said the beast was still there. She pushed him onto his back, the rug rough beneath his shoulders, and climbed over his hips, straddling him. Her cunt hovered above his cock, slick and aching, and she watched his eyes—gold and dark, watching her like she was the only light left in the world.
She took his length in her hand, feeling the pulse jump against her palm, and guided him to her entrance. She lowered herself slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked on his. The head of his cock pressed into her, stretched her, and she felt the fullness of him sliding deeper, inch by inch, until he was seated to the hilt.
Her face hovered inches from his. "I want all of you, Alexandre. The beast and the prince. The hard and the soft. The rough and the gentle. The loud and the quiet." She rolled her hips, a slow, grinding circle, and felt his breath hitch. "I need both sides of you here with me. Always."
He groaned, a broken sound torn from his chest. His hands found her thighs, gripping, not hard enough. She caught his wrists and pressed them into the rug, pinning him beneath her.
"Show me," she breathed, her mouth close to his. "Show me both."
His hips bucked from below, a sharp, brutal thrust that drove him deeper. She gasped, her nails digging into his wrists, and rode the pulse of it. "Yes," she said. "Like that."
She set the pace—slow at first, a deep, grinding roll that made his eyes roll back. His hands strained against her grip, and she felt the muscles in his arms coil, felt the beast straining just beneath the skin.
"My good prince," she whispered, her lips brushing his. "My monster. Say that you love me."
He growled it, the word dragging out of him like a confession. "I love you." His hips thrust up to meet hers, each word a stroke. "I love you."
The rhythm broke. She rode him harder, her thighs slapping against his hips, the wet sound of her cunt swallowing him filling the room. Her grip on his wrists loosened, and he took the invitation—his hands sliding up her back, pulling her down against him, burying his face in her chest.
He bit her shoulder, a sharp flare of pain that made her cry out. His tongue traced the mark, soothing. Then he bit again, harder.
"More," she demanded, her voice raw. "I want more."
He flipped her onto her back, the rug scraping her spine, and drove into her from above. His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, his cock plunging deep and fast. The beast was here, in the snarl on his lips, the gold burning in his eyes.
Then he slowed. His grip softened. He kissed her collarbone, her throat, her mouth—soft, searching, the prince learning the shape of her.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Both," she whispered against his lips. "Always both."
His hand slid between them, finding her clit, circling it with his thumb as he thrust. The pressure built, sharp and white, coiling low in her belly. She shattered against him, her cunt clenching, a raw cry spilling from her throat.
He followed, his body shuddering, a low growl breaking into her name as he emptied himself inside her. His weight collapsed on her, his face buried in her neck, his breath hot and ragged.
The candle burned low, spilling shadows across the ceiling. The room went soft and dark around them, the only sound their breathing, slow and uneven.
She traced the scar on his jaw, a featherlight touch. He turned his face into her palm, his lips pressing a kiss to her wrist.
"There," she said, her voice barely a breath. "There you are."