Page 41 of Full Moon
I stroke that bundle of nerves through her aftershocks, feeling her thighs tremble uncontrollably as her core spasms around my softening length. Each pulse draws another whimper from her lips. Feray reaches for me, gripping my face with both hands, her touch tender despite the urgency of moments before. She pulls me in, kissing me gently, her lips a soft caress against mine. I move my hands to her hips, stilling them, and savor the sensation of being buried inside her still. It's such a rare gift to have this time alone with my mate, and I treasure every second.
Feray giggles, the sound vibrating against my skin as she nuzzles into my neck.
"What's so funny, my flame?" I press my lips to her cheek.
"A desk chair is a new one." Her laughter bubbles up again. "I'm glad it was sturdy. It would have really been a showstopper if it broke while we were..." She lets the sentence trail off, her hand waving lazily to complete the thought. The insinuation paints several vivid pictures in my head, each more disastrous than the last.
I chuckle along with her, the absurdity blending with the profound intimacy we share. In this moment, filled with shared joy and the lingering thrill of our connection, I realize just how deeply I love her. Feray slowly climbs off my lap, her movements deliberate and graceful. I watch our combined release slide down her inner thigh, and something primal in me purrs with satisfaction.
Mine.
Within moments, Diaval stomps down the stairs, carrying washcloths and dry towels, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement.
"I thought we left the risky maneuvers to the young males to make asses out of themselves?" His voice drips with sarcasm as he chucks a washcloth and towel at me. The washcloth hits my bare chest with a wet thud.
"She chose the chair, not me," I protest.
Diaval huffs, and a plume of smoke escapes his nostrils. "You are almost fifty-three times her age. You should know better by now." His arms cross over his chest. "And you burned your dress shirt off. What are you, a hundred again? Get a grip on yourself."
The weight of his reprimand sinks in, heat rising to my cheeks. The remnants of the burned shirt cling to my wrists, a stark reminder of my lapse in control.
"You're a fine one to talk," I say sharply. "You knotted and used your flare. I'm not the one who got themselves lodged in our mate for hours when we weren't trying for children." I watch him recoil, the memory of his poor choice during our mate's heat clearly stinging. She was so sore the rest of the day she barely moved after dinner.
"Point made." His gaze falls on the shirt Feray had worn earlier. "At least our mate left you a shirt to wear."
He grabs his silk sash and turns to leave.
I hadn't even noticed the shirt had survived our lovemaking. Exhaling, I slide it on, my mind drifting to a time long past. Back when the Empire of Dusk flourished where the Basilisk now rule. Back when my bloodline were sovereigns over the shifters.
I refused the arranged marriage with Nadira, the daughter of the Basilisk ruler. It was a defiance that sparked a war—a war that turned most of us to stone, never to be resurrected. I wassent away as an emissary to the Dragon Court in Vasserdell. Had I stayed, I would have perished along with my family, frozen forever.
The loss is a shadow that haunts me. Shaking my head, I push the memories to the back of my mind, forcing myself to focus on the present. My fingers move over the buttons, closing the shirt with practiced precision. I pull on my underwear and slacks. As I tuck in my shirt, I notice a distinct wet spot covering most of the tail.
I freeze, feeling the dampness soaking through my silk boxers. Drawing in a deep breath, I summon the warmth within me, raising my body temperature. The heat radiates outward, evaporating the wetness until the fabric is dry and warm against my skin.
Feray's voice echoes from upstairs—food is ready.
I gather the documents I was studying before Feray decided it was time to reconnect, and climb the stairs. There's an unease within me, an awareness of our shared disadvantage. Diaval and I struggle to perceive Feray's unspoken needs more than the younger males. Our origins are steeped in species where females initiate intimate moments—old-world sensibilities that leave us fumbling in the dark.
But moments like today remind me why it doesn't matter.
She chose us anyway.
And I will spend every remaining century of my existence proving worthy of that choice.
