Page 38 of His Lucky Charm

“Hmm, perhaps I should document the consequences,” I suggested, gasping as his teeth grazed my collarbone. “For scientific purposes.”

“I’ll give you something to document.” In one fluid motion, he lifted me, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he carried me toward our bedroom.

This dance was familiar after years together, yet never routine—the way he laid me on our bed with a care that belied his supernatural strength; the efficiency with which we removed barriers of clothing; the knowledge of exactly how to touch, where to kiss, when to press for more.

Rafferty hovered above me, taking a moment to simply look—a habit he’d maintained since our first night together. “Beautiful,” he murmured, tracing the lines of my body with reverent fingers. “Even more now than when we met.”

“Flattery,” I accused, though the compliment warmed me. Five years of running with wolves—metaphorically and sometimes literally—had changed me physically as well as mentally. I was leaner, stronger, marked by the subtle signs of a life lived partially wild.

“Truth,” he countered, lowering his head to press kisses along my chest. “My beautiful, brilliant mate.”

His mouth continued its journey downward, and coherent response became increasingly difficult. By the time he settled between my thighs, all academic detachment had been abandoned in favor of pure sensation.

“Rafferty,” I gasped as his tongue found its target with practiced precision. “Please.”

He looked up, eyes already showing hints of gold—the wolf close to the surface with the approaching full moon. “Tell me what you need.”

Even after years together, he always asked. Always made me articulate my desires, my needs. It had been challenging at first for someone accustomed to analytical detachment, but now it was part of our intimate language.

“You,” I managed, beyond eloquence. “Inside me. Now.”

His smile was wolfish. “So demanding.” But he was already moving, retrieving lubricant from the bedside drawer with familiar ease. “How do you want me?”

The question was genuine—offering choice, control, partnership. One of countless ways he balanced the natural dominance of his Alpha nature with respect for his mate’s autonomy.

“Like this,” I decided, pulling him over me. “Want to see you.”

His preparation was thorough but efficient, years of intimacy having taught us exactly how to ready each other’s bodies. By the time he positioned himself between my thighs, I was nearly vibrating with anticipation.

“Mine,” he murmured as he pressed forward, the familiar stretch and burn giving way to pleasure as our bodies reconnected after days apart. “My mate. My Eliot.”

“Yours,” I agreed without hesitation, the word punched out of me as he established a rhythm we’d perfected over countless nights together. “Always yours.”

His movements were more intense than usual, the approaching full moon lending an edge of desperation to his usually controlled passion. One hand gripped my hip while the other braced beside my head, his body covering mine completely as he moved within me.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle to take him deeper, earning a growl of approval that was more wolf than human. His eyes were fully gold now, a sign of how close his transformation was beneath the surface.

“Close,” he warned, movements becoming less coordinated. “Need you with me.”

His hand slid between our bodies, wrapping around my neglected arousal with practiced skill. The dual stimulation pushed me rapidly toward the edge, especially when combined with the visual of Rafferty above me—powerful, beautiful, partially transformed with elongated canines and glowing eyes.

“Yes,” I encouraged, arching into his touch. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

My release hit with stunning intensity, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I cried out his name. Rafferty followed moments later, burying himself deep with a sound that was definitely 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 characteristic tenderness, he eased himself from my body and gathered me against his chest, arranging us in the position that had become our default—my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist.

“Adequate reunion?” he asked when speech became possible again, the teasing question belied by the satisfaction evident in his voice.

“Empirical evidence suggests satisfactory performance,” I replied in my best academic tone, though the effect was somewhat undermined by my still-irregular breathing. “Further trials may be required for conclusive results.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest. “Your dedication to thorough research is admirable, Professor. Perhaps we should conduct additional experiments after a recovery period.”

“A sound methodology,” I agreed, tracing patterns through the hair on his chest. “Though I should note that baseline measurements may be skewed by proximity to the full moon.”

“Always the scientist.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Even after being thoroughly claimed by your werewolf husband.”

“Guardian,” I corrected automatically. “And the scientific method applies to all experiences, supernatural or otherwise.”