The Untamed Matriarch
Sierra leans in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial pheromonal hum. "Is he... failing to satisfy the wolf?"
I feel the heat of a massive blush creeping up my neck. I bite my lip, paralyzed by the shame of admitting that I have no idea. Our "bond" is a paper fiction, and the closest I’ve come to a mating ritual is a tense dinner.
Sierra studies my face, her eyes widening as she catches the scent of my flustered silence. She gasps, sitting back. "You mean... you two haven't even..."
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