Well technically the next day I f*****g could not walk well. I was sore as f**k. Like someone parked a truck in my p***y and left it running overnight. Barnacles. I did not know the first f**k would hurt and feel so good at the same time. Who wrote that rule? Moon Goddess needs to add a damn disclaimer. “Warning: c**k may cause limping, internal fireworks, and zero regrets. Side effects include wolf howling in your brain 24/7 and sudden urges to hump furniture.”
I hobbled to the bathroom mirror like a baby deer on ice skates, thighs sticky, neck bruised from his mouth, and my reflection just grinned back like “you absolute slut, look at you glowing.” My wolf was strutting in my head, tail high, smug as hell. (Told you. Told you he’d wreck us good. More. Now. Again. Knot. Bite. Breed. Shut
