The Lion
Bella sat up from the bed, her trembling hands reaching out to pull the opened shirt from Edward's muscled body. The firelight danced upon his skin, casting shadows across the hardened planes of his skin dancing erotic movements. Her fingertips traced the movements; her eyes followed their choreography with rapt attention.
She felt him take in a deep breath and her eyes met his.
He didn't speak.
Didn't have to.
The crackle of the fire in the hearth mixed with the thumping of her heart against her ribs. In times like these, it had been common for Bella's nerves to get the better of her. Yet in the back of her mind, she knew her heart, her courage, and her vulnerability to be safe with her Edward.
He would not let her fall into worry and self-doubt.
God . . . he would cherish her.
His fingers caressed the skin along her collar bone, slow and steady, as if memorizing the shape of her body. Moving toward her shoulders, Bella let her own palms explore his bare chest, loving the feeling of smooth silk over hardened muscle.
Edward Volturi was everything masculine. His scent. His body. His hard erection stretching the fabric of his European thread pants.
At the same moment, the tension seemed to snap at the same time for both of them, and hungry hands became devouring mouths and clawing fingertips, ripping clothing from heated bodies and mashing teeth against fevered skin.
"Bella . . ."