The Wolfless Luna
Noble wolves writhed with their bonded mates, bodies tangling in a fevered display, while the mateless surrendered themselves to whichever hands they found pleasing.
With a daring glint in her eyes, Mira drew up the skirts of her gown, her breath hitching as she straddled Nicolas’s lap. He sat slumped in his great chair, the crown of authority still upon his head though he was more asleep than awake—drugged into this helpless state. His chest rose and fell in deep, slow breaths, but beneath his robes, the hard line of his arousal strained against the fabric, thick and urgent.