inside of me. When he was sheathed inside of me, he stared down at me. His eyes had gone that startling amber of a wolf. They were almost orange gold in the tan of his face.
He worked in and out, once, twice, three times, gently, as if making room. Then his hips caught the rhythm. I slid my hands to his buttocks until I could cup them while he pushed himself inside me. I dug my fingernails into the smooth hardness of his flesh. He pumped faster, harder, still holding most of his weight on his arms and shoulders.
I raised my hips to meet his body. Without his body trapping me under him, I could move. A rhythm began between us, a wave of movement and heat and muscles moving together.
Something opened inside of me, inside of him. I felt the mark that bound us open like a door. What fell through that door was a warm, golden, rush of power. It spilled over me, into me. It raised every hair on my body as if it were an electric current.
Richard lifted me in his arms, still sheathed inside me. He half-carried me, half-flung me to the bed. He collapsed on top of me, and I was lost under the warmth of his skin and the weight of his chest. It was as if his power rode my skin; every thrust sent a line of warmth pouring inside of me. It was as if I were bathing in the golden warmth of his body inside and out. It grew in golden pulses with every thrust. The pulses turned to waves that made my body tighten around him.
He cried out, but didn't come. He raised back up on his arms, only his hips and legs pinning me to the bed. His eyes were still amber, still not human, and I didn't care. I watched his beast ride up through those alien eyes. I watched it look down at me from Richard's face. I watched thoughts slide across that handsome face that had more to do with food than sex, and nothing to do with love.
His hands flexed in the bed on either side of me. I heard the cloth tear, ripping. I turned my head and saw his hands lengthening, turning into human claws. Those claws ripped the mattress with a thick, tearing sound.
I stared up at Richard and couldn't keep the fear off my face. "Richard," I said.
"I would never hurt you." He whispered it, and when his hands convulsed in the bed, bits of white bedding sprang in the air.
I said, "Richard!" My voice was high, not panicked, but close.
He sliced claws down the length of the bed and pulled out, rolled off me. He rolled onto his side into a tight ball. His hands, his claws were long and thin with his fingernails turned into something monstrous, dangerous.
Shit.
I smoothed my hands down his back. "I'm sorry, Richard. I'm sorry."
"I won't change during sex, Anita, but this close to the full moon, it's hard." He turned his head to look up at me, and his eyes were still amber. His hands began to re-form, shrinking back to human. I watched them change, felt the rush of energy like a wave of dancing insects on my skin.
I knew that if I left him like this, he'd never recover. It wasn't my loss, not really. It was that this would confirm his deepest fears: that he was a monster and only fit to be with other monsters. Richard was not a monster. I believed that. I trusted him not to hurt me. I trusted him more than I trusted myself sometimes.
"Roll over," I said.
He just looked at me.
I rolled his hips over, and he let me. He wasn't completely hard now. Nothing like having your lover scream for help to take the fun out of it. I touched him, and he shuddered, eyes closing. I held him in my hands and stroked him until he grew warm and hard.
I slid over him, and he was almost too big from this angle, almost too much. It was more intense with me on top, sharper somehow. A small moan escaped him.
"I love you, Richard. I love you." I moved above him with him so deep inside me, it felt like I should be able to taste him.
His hands slid around my waist, then to my breasts. The feeling of his hands on me while I rode his body was almost too much. I