Page 31 of His Lucky Charm

“Eager, aren’t we?” I teased, though my own urgency betrayed me as I worked to unfasten his belt while still in his arms.

“Three years, and you still affect me like the first time,” he growled, depositing me on our bed with surprising gentleness given his obvious arousal. “It’s maddening.”

“Scientifically fascinating,” I corrected, reaching up to pull him down on top of me. “The sustained chemical reaction between compatible organisms over extended periods—”

He silenced me with a kiss that made coherent thought impossible, his body settling over mine with familiar weight. “No science in the bedroom,” he reminded me, an established rule that we both routinely ignored. “Just feeling.”

I would have argued, but his hands were already working at my belt, and suddenly scientific observation seemed far less important than active participation.

Clothing disappeared with practiced efficiency—no awkward fumbling or tangled limbs after three years of perfecting our technique. Within minutes, we were skin to skin, my cooler human temperature contrasting with his supernatural warmth.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, trailing kisses down my chest. “Every inch of you. And now officially mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent heat pooling low in my stomach. “I’ve been yours for three years,” I reminded him, arching into his touch. “The ring and pendant just make it public.”

“True.” His mouth continued its downward journey. “But something about everyone knowing, about having the pack’s blessing…” He looked up at me, eyes now fully gold. “It satisfies something primal in me.”

Before I could respond, he took me in his mouth, and coherent speech became temporarily impossible. My hands fisted in his hair as he worked me with expert knowledge of exactly what drove me to the edge.

“Rafferty,” I gasped when I could form words again. “I need—”

He pulled off with a final, teasing lick. “Tell me what you need.”

“You. Inside me. Now.”

His smile was wolfish. “So demanding.” But he was already reaching for the bedside drawer, retrieving lube with practiced ease. “Turn over for me?”

I complied, positioning myself on hands and knees as he moved behind me. This had become one of our favorite positions—satisfying both the human and wolf aspects of his nature while allowing for the deepest connection.

His preparation was thorough but efficient, three years of intimacy having taught him exactly how to ready me for his substantial size. By the time he positioned himself at my entrance, I was practically begging for him.

“Please,” I urged, pushing back against him. “Don’t tease.”

“Never,” he promised, then pressed forward in one slow, inexorable thrust that had me gasping his name.

The initial stretch and burn quickly melted into familiar pleasure as he established a rhythm we’d perfected over countless nights together. One large hand gripped my hip while the other wrapped around my chest, holding me against him as he moved within me.

“Mine,” he growled against my ear, voice deeper than usual, touched with that rumbling quality that emerged when his wolf was close to the surface. “My mate. My Eliot.”

“Yours,” I agreed without hesitation, the word punched out of me with each precise thrust. “Always yours.”

He shifted angle slightly, now hitting the spot that made me see stars with every movement. His hand slid from my chest to wrap around my neglected erection, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts.

“Want to feel you,” he murmured, nipping at the sensitive juncture of my neck and shoulder. “Want to watch you come apart for me.”

It didn’t take long. The dual stimulation, combined with the emotional intensity of the day, quickly pushed me toward the edge. When his teeth grazed that particular spot behind my ear—slightly sharper than human teeth should be—I was lost, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through me in overwhelming waves.

Rafferty followed moments later, my release triggering his own. He buried himself deep with a sound that was more howl than groan, his body shuddering against mine as he found his completion.

For several long moments, we remained frozen in that position, both catching our breath. Then, with the gentleness that always followed his most intense passion, he eased out of me and guided us both to lie on our sides, his chest pressed against my back, arm draped protectively over my waist.

“Well,” I said when I could speak again, “that was quite the engagement celebration.”

His laugh rumbled against my back. “Just wait until the wedding night. Guardian tradition demands at least three rounds.”

“Is that an actual tradition, or are you making things up again?”

“Would I lie about sacred pack rituals?” His tone was wounded, but I could hear the smile in his voice.