I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates. I'm actually about to go to Disneyworld and I've been very busy planning and getting ready for my trip. Hopefully once I get back, I can update more regularly. Thank you so much for your patience. I just want everyone to know, I plan on continuing this story until it's finished. If you have any questions, feel free to write me a private message or review, as I frequently check my inbox. Thanks guys!

Chapter 4

Adam stirred in his sleep as the bright morning sun peeked through the large golden curtains, a singular stream of light falling on his eyes. They snapped open instinctively and a wince knotted his face in discomfort. He felt the instant urge to move but stopped as he realized he was not alone. It was a strange sensation, waking up in the embrace of a woman. It was the first time in his life he had been granted such a privilege and for a moment he dared himself to wake up as if he had been caught in some dream and every pleasant memory of his intimacy with Belle had been a mere fantasy. But he was happy to find that when the grogginess of sleep began to fade, she remained there. Her soft face was plastered into his chest, her slender fingers delicately clenching fists of fur as she held close to him. He smiled down at her, his large paw easily cradling her head as he inhaled her sweet scent.

He always thought to himself, the woman that would replace his rose would have the same scent, and almost feared the notion that something he loved would smell the same as something that held him prisoner for so long. Her scent wasn't of roses. She smelled altogether unique and different. Her hair smelled of lavender and chamomile, like tea and honey. She had an aura of freshness, as if she had bathed only moments before but at the same time, she smelled of old crisp pages of ancient books. It was new and old; it was sweet and earthy. It was heavenly to him, and nothing like a flower. It filled him with feelings of romance, something he was entirely unused to experiencing. He had the innocent desire to feel her lips to his when he caught this scent. He felt the urge to hold her close and keep that scent from lingering or leaving. He supposed if he was a man, he would become used to this smell and for the first time, he agreed that perhaps there were good things about being something other than a man. He would always be able to enjoy this succulent treat, his lover's perfume.

Adam allowed his eyes to linger over her face, taking in her gentle beauty as he carefully removed her from his chest and laid her down beside him on the large feathered pillow. Her skin was like cream, pale and flawless, no signed of distress or fatigue, no bags below her eyes or blemishes. Her lips were blushed and pink, parting minimally as she breathed, her little teeth brushing her skin. He had the urge to touch them and trace them with his clawed finger, fantasizing of how soft and supple they would feel if he felt their outline and over the highly defined arch of her cupid's bow. He knew he would wake her, so the task was done with his eyes, his breath hitching in his throat and causing him to swallow hard at mere idea of the sensation. His bright blue orbs then came to her eyes, her dark black lashes brushing against her flushed cheeks, her eyes moving from side to side as if in a dream, her angular brows arched almost in happy surprise. She looked so at peace.

She lay back her hand still curled into a lose grip by her head her other placed over her belly. His eyes continued their inspection, then exploring the beautiful mess that was her chestnut hair. She had begun the night with a white ribbon pulling every strand back into a tail at the base of her skull, but now it fell about her like the mane of a lion. He smiled, daring to reach out and brush a few rogue swatches away from her forehead and eyes. She stirred slightly but only moments later, it was clear she hadn't been disturbed.

Adam thought back to all the times he'd seen her with her hair free and flowing. Every time had been a moment were for some reason or another, he felt more close to her than before. The night he had scared her away after she ventured into the west wing, she'd been thrown from her horse. When they returned, she had nursed his injuries and her hair was down then. That, he recalled, was the first time he took note of her fiery personality and began to love her. The night she had left him, after they had their special night filled with dancing and romance. That was the night he realized how much he cared for her. When she left, he felt as though he would die of heart break. And most importantly, when she returned, and as he lay dying he brushed her hair away from her weeping eyes as they comforted each other. And now, the morning after they'd both openly confessed their love and spent the night together, sleeping side by side. Perhaps this is why he felt such a strong loving feeling towards her seeing her this way. Every moment her hair was free was a moment he treasured for other reasons. He made a note to treasure this moment too; her sleeping form beside his reminding him of her incomparable beauty and his endless love.

It was at his moment that it occurred to him to let his eyes linger lower, to her exposed neck and chest, a deep knot forming in his throat as he could feel a great swelling beneath his breeches. It was a morning normality, of course, but it had never been spurred on by such obvious stimulation. Sudden guilt overtook him as he quickly flicked his eyes up to her face again, almost expecting her to be watching, ready to chide him for his wandering glances but her eyes remained shut, her breathing calm and steady.

"Perhaps," he thought to himself, clutching the blankets between his large paws, "perhaps just looking won't hurt." Free from judgment, he glanced down again, his eyes greedily staring where he'd never dared before. Her neck arched as her chin turned away from him, her heart beat visible through her delicate flesh, the rhythmic thumping causing her skin to dance. He followed that curve to her shoulders and the lace border of her nightgown, the large opening falling on the top of each shoulder, affording a view of her collar bones in the bight morning light, the angles of her bones creating soft shadows on her skin. And then his eyes slowly traced the edge of her nightgown's collar from her shoulders all the way down to the succulent mounds of flesh that nestled there. Her breasts almost seemed overexposed, the tightness of the gown causing lines above and between, showing the true suppleness of them. He let out a soft whimper as his organ became more engorged. She was so lovely, he feel that he might burst just from the look of her. He had to stop.

Throwing the blankets off of himself, he stepped out of the bed and looked down, the thickness of his member pressed against his leg now, obvious through the white linen of his pants. He glanced over his shoulder at her, moving to the door on the other side of the room and entering the small room that lay beside the bed chamber. It had a few seats, one of which was cut out of the wall, curtains hanging over and mirrors at the back so one might lay there and read in the shelter from the sun or chat with friends. It was almost a secret room, the door appearing as if it were just a part of the wall. He closed it eagerly and paced back and forced, his arousal bringing him such discomfort. He'd only ever felt this aroused once or twice before in his entire life. All other times, he merely ignored the organ and it returned to its normal state, but for some reason now, as he thought again of her laying there beside him, he felt the unbridled urge or satisfy himself. He'd only ever attempted the task a few times, too ashamed of himself to finish more often than not but now he didn't find the thought disgraceful. He was too far gone into this feeling. She had changed something in him. He was feeling less and less shame ever since she came. So he was resolved to see this arousal dispatched in the most enjoyable way he would allow.

He moved to the door, locking it and went to the small cushioned seat in the wall. He quickly unsnapped the front of his breeches, careful to remove them without too much discomfort. His tail began wagging instinctively as he placed the white ball of fabric on the seat and he stood before the mirror, glancing down at the thick, pulsing organ between his legs, hanging from the sheer weight of it. It was somewhere between the member of a man and a dog, like aroused and reddened human flesh in color but having come from a sheath-like holder that concealed it when it was not in use. It was shiny and wet from self-lubrication, and thick as the wrist of an average man, and almost a foot in length. To Adam's size as a beast, he knew it was proportional but to Belle it would most likely seem quite large and monstrous. It jumped at the passing thought of her face, shocked and almost frightened to see it for the first time in all its glory.

He took hold of it in an instant, the softness of his own paws causing a slight groan to slip from his lips. He thought back to her skin. His hand began to move up and down, teasing and slow, his other paw coming to support his weight, gripping the top of the cut out, nails digging into the curtains as his eyes snapped shut. Her lips. He moved more, the length of him easily slipping through his large hand, as a normal man would touch himself. The arch of her neck. He groaned helplessly, dropping to his knees before the seat, his hand reaching out and pawing at the lavender fabric of the cushion. He thought of her breasts and how easily he could have ripped the dress open, imagining the beauty of her naked flesh, the pertness of her youthful breasts, the soft curls that would inevitably cover her womanhood. How wet and tight it would be if he were to bury his manhood deep between her thighs. He moaned again, thinking of her cries of pleasure to feel such a large fulfilling object ravaging her, taking her, loving her. He bowed forward as he helplessly quickened his motions, his face buried in the cushions, muffling his bestial growls.

He began to pant as his pleasure mounted, the flesh twitching in his grip as his mind let him imagine himself over her, her sweet voice calling out to him as he plunged into her again and again. His hips bucked as his tail tucked between his legs, stiff and shivering. He breathed heavily, imagining her never for a second protesting or fearing his size, never being harmed by his claws or deepness. His cheek was lying against the cushion, eyes closed, deep in his fantasy, loving her as his hips moved more quickly than any man could ever achieve as he felt the greatest point of pleasure. He thought of nothing but her. He thought of pleasuring her. He thought of her anguished moans as he brought her to climax and suddenly he was there. He moved in jolts, slamming his member through his hand and his fist against his pelvic bone, spurts of hot, steaming whiteness jetting out. With each incredibly hard thrust it spurted forth again, leaking all over the marble floor and pooling just before his knees.

A deep growl of pleasure slithered from his lips as he completed his last motion, shivers running down his spine as he lay there thinking of her. He felt amazing in the afterglow, allowing himself to breathe more easily, even though every other breath he drew in would shake in his lungs as if he might cry. He sat up, looking at himself in the mirror as he sat on his knees. Perhaps she could love him as she had in his fantasy. Perhaps she would delight in his girth and scream in pleasure as he railed into her.

He shook his head, the haze of pleasure leaving him. He had never even thought of these things before. This wasn't the romantic love making he'd fantasized about. This was pure animalistic fucking he had thought about. He hung his head, glancing down at the mess he'd made, his member now retreating back into its sheath.

This isn't the way he wanted to take her. He wanted to love her. If he ever imagined what their first time would be like, he imagined her fear, and her pain. He imagined she would cry and he would comfort her but soon she would hold him close and he would cradle her in his arms and bring her to dark sweet pleasure and she would lie in his arms and whisper her love over and over. This was his fantasy, not ravaging her until she screamed. He was all at once filled with worry and fear. He knew he would attempt to control himself, but in that moment, would he ever be able to? He frowned deeply, shakily coming to his feet and pulling his breeches back on. He'd barely been able to make it here in time before he had to touch himself. It was too risky to even think of harming her that way. It was all the more reason to cement the promise he'd made to himself the night before. He could kill her in this fantasy. This was the only reality. He knew this now. He wouldn't risk hurting her for his own pleasure. There was no way the way he'd imagined it would happen either this animalistic way or making love. He would rip her apart if he took her. She was too delicate and soft. He slumped down burying his head in his hands as he thought of himself, caught in some trance, hips wildly moving against her as she cried for him to stop, his hideous body raping and destroying her pure form until the monster inside him was sated and her lifeless body lay beneath him.

All at once he was overcome with guilt and grief and he felt his eyes welling up with tears, his throat knotted with heat as he choked out a sob. He covered his face and wept, ashamed of himself for even imagining her in such a compromising way. He shook as he hunched over, the fur of his cheeks quickly becoming wet and streaked. What would he do? One day she would need to feel this kind of love and then what would he do? How could he even trust himself? And suddenly, there was a sound. It was delicate knuckles softly tapping on the door.

"Adam?" Belle called, concern in her voice at the sound of his tears. He jumped, staring at the door before glancing over at the mess on the ground. He wiped his eyes and before thinking, he pulled the curtain down, dropping it in a pile over his pool of seed.

"J-just a moment," he called out gruffly, staring wide-eyed at what he'd just done. He turned and walked to the door, unlocking it and taking the key before opening it and joining her in his room. He locked the door behind him and clutched the key in his fist, staring down at her sheepishly smiling form.

"Are you alright?" she whispered, reaching up and touching his cheek, noticing the streaks of wetness that moved down over his eyes to his chin. He flinched for a moment causing her to frown gentle.

"Yes," he muttered simply, before staring into her eyes, the light brown pools staring back into his, concerned and sad, "I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"Is there anything I can do?" she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.

"No," he insisted, finally allowing himself to relax once again and hold her against him, "You've done so much already." He held her head in his hand, resting his chin on her scalp as he breathed her in again.

"I love you," she cooed softly, "I hope you know that."

"I love you too," he answered, his eyes closed and his lips pressing a soft kiss on the very top of her head. He clutched the key tightly, sighing against her, promising himself again. They had to remain innocent. There was no other way.