I washed her hair while Tieran climbed in to take care of her lower half. She’s definitely sore there as she flinched a few times while grumbling something about her wolf’s unhealthy obsession with knots.
Her protest made my lips twitch. Then I purred louder for her and she immediately calmed again.
She snuggles into my neck now, yawning as Tieran haphazardly wraps a towel around her. She’s still in my arms, curled into my chest, and now she’s cloaked with awkwardly placed cotton.
It can’t be a more perfect moment.
Well, that’s not true.
Tieran could have claimed her.
And Caius could be here, too.
So it’s a near perfect moment.
I study her sleepy features, smiling as she yawns again.
“Yes, definitely well knotted,” I repeat.
I carry her to the bed, not caring at all that I’m still wet, and sit with her in my arms. Tieran follows with a comb, handing it to me to brush out her hair. “I’m going to put together a midnight snack and check on our morning arrangements.”
I almost point out that it’s after three in the morning, making it more like an early breakfast, but I let it go with a nod. Clove needs some sustenance after everything we just put her through and I’m hungry as well.
Tieran doesn’t bother with pants, just wanders out of the room in his towel. There are a few human staff members that reside at the estate to keep everything up and running, but they should all be asleep.
Besides, they’re used to a little nudity where we’re concerned.
They don’t know about our true heritage, they just think we’re eccentric and embrace it. We pay them well and keep them happy. That’s all they really care about.
I comb through Clove’s hair while she snuggles into me, my purr keeping her sated in an entirely different way from my knot.
She’s so precious and small, so perfect andours. I want to hold her like this for the rest of our very long existence.
I kiss the top of her head. “You did well tonight,” I tell her. “Very, very well.”
Her eyelashes flutter as she peers up at me. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I frown. “For the compliment?” Because I should be the one expressing my gratitude to her, not the other way around.
She shakes her head. “For knotting me.”
My eyes widen. “You’re thanking me for fucking you?”
I nearly laugh, but she nods serenely, her lips curling. “Yes.”
“Oh, sweetheart, no,” I say, pulling her up to straddle my hips. “You’re the one deserving of praise and gratitude, not me. It’s my absolute pleasure to knot you. Always. In fact, I’ll do it again right now, if you want.” I yank her forward, her barely-there towel slipping and allowing my cock to press against her slick heat.
But she winces, a little whine coming from her.
Because she’s sore.
So I kiss her instead, gently, telling her with my tongue how grateful I am for her, how much I adore her, how I intend to worship her for the rest of our lives. Then I slowly guide her down to the bed and continue the demonstration of how I promise to always take care of her.
But as I start to kiss a path downward, she flinches again. “Too sore for my tongue?”
“Yes,” she admits, her voice low.
I return to her mouth, telling her with my tongue how proud I am of her for voicing the truth. “I never want to push you to the point of true discomfort,” I tell her. “That doesn’t mean I won’t test your boundaries, but I’ll never hurt you, Clove. Not truly.”
