Moon Burning by Lucy Monroe

between her legs . . . on that most intimate flesh, his tongue taking over for his thumb, drawing forth excitations unimaginable.
    The sensations spiraled up and up and up until she felt her perceptions shatter and her body convulse in an agony of pleasure she was sure no other woman could have ever known. It was so much, so intense, she thought she might die of it, that her heart might stop, but it continued to beat a frantic tattoo in her breast. And his finger pressed forward and the sting of full penetration past her maidenhead mixed with the pleasure, adding an edge that both enhanced and detracted.
    She cried out, the sound coming from her throat that of woman beyond her endurance and yet exultant at the same time.
    He touched her, causing mini quakes throughout her body until she lost all tension in her limbs and melted into the ticking under her.
    He reared up, his magnificent body on display for her once again, and her raven could not help preening inside her.
    “Are you ready for the joining?”
    She did not tell him they were already joined, for she wasn’t about to admit such a weak sentiment. Nor did she say she was ready, because she wasn’t sure that she was. What she did do was smile, allowing the full extent of the pleasure he’d given her show in her satiated gaze.
    His eyes turned smoky black and he lifted her hips, pressing forward with that magnificent male sex against her open flesh. The bulbous tip pressed inside, bringing both intense pleasure and the sensation of being stretched and stretched and stretched some more.
    “Good?” he asked, his brow beaded with sweat.
    “Yes.”
    He rocked forward, slipping further inside. She closed her eyes, concentrating on exactly what she was feeling. There was more than a physical connection. Far more. He was mystical and spiritual and utterly terrifying. The shimmer of magic she felt at the change tingled between them, though neither was calling on their Chrechte nature. His sex filled her, but it felt like it was going beyond her own warm depths. He filled her with his very essence and her soul reached forth into his.
    As the blunt head of his member hit the depth of her channel, her body clenched in another shattering climax. Her raven cawed the Chrechte word for mate in her mind, filling the silent cavern inside her, the place that had been empty since the death of her parents.
    Her eyes snapped open and she met his, their smoky depths awash with a tenderness she could not understand. He was wolf. She was raven.
    This moment in time might well destroy her.
    But perhaps it was worth it. For the first time in years, the loneliness that was her constant companion dissipated under the heat of his presence, both inside and around her.
    Her younger brother had been raised by their aunt and uncle while she started training at an early age to be a protector of her people. While she called the others family, the truth of her life since her parents’ death and Sabrine was named warrior had been a searing aloneness never once breached, much less decimated as Barr had done with his touch.
    She ached with the knowledge that were Barr not wolf, she would adore him. As it was, they could never mate. Sabrine and Barr could not make the family all Chrechte longed for.
    Tears slid down her cheeks as the pleasure rolled through her in wave after wave, finally drawing forth his rapture, his seed exploding from his sex to warm her very depths, his body going rigid in the richness of pleasure so devastating, it verged on the edge of death.
    “Mine,” he shouted in ancient Chrechte.
    And her raven unstoppably answered in the affirmative.
    He kissed away the tears and then just kissed, her temples, her face, finally her lips.
    They were still connected intimately when she slipped into sleep.
     
     
    E arc let Verica explain to Sorcha why they were there. He’d thought Barr’s edict might come better from another woman, but Sorcha’s upset and confusion were plain. She did