A Study on the Sex Life of a Werewolf's Mate

The first tendrils of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting the bedroom in hues of soft grey and pale gold. A delicious, aching warmth bloomed between my legs, a constant reminder of the night's brutal passion. Behind me, his steady breathing stirred the hair at my neck, his arm a heavy, possessive band around my waist. My body hummed with a languid contentment, every muscle pleasantly sore.
Then, a sharp pang shot through me as I shifted, a sudden jolt of alarm cutting through the haze of bliss. My eyes snapped open. I tried to pull away, to slide my leg from between his, but something held me fast. A thick, solid pressure, undeniably a part of him, lodged deep within me.
My breath hitched. My hand trembled as I reached down, fingertips brushing against an unmistakable bulge just inside me. A knot. His knot.
Panic warred with a peculiar sense of rightness.
