Natalie was reclining on the pink satin sheets—a gift from her to herself, she’d joked on Valentine’s Day the year before. If they were aiming for a cub before he shipped out, she needed to feel regal, queenly, divine; her words, all spoken casually as though these were everyday demands. Charlie would have brought her the ocean if he could, and she knew it; luckily, all she’d ever needed since they’d met eight years before had been him, his heart, and his body. Natalie made him feel complete without implying that he wasn’t whole without her. Her constant strength fed directly into his. Other prides avoided their dynamic because masculine mates felt they wouldn’t feel right showing submission, but it had only ever been a source of tenderness and love between them. So that night, he rubbed scented oils down the curve of her back, massaging the plumpness of her ass as she undulated in bliss on the sheets below him. The golden brown of her skin against the pale pink satin was so beautiful that soon he was planting kisses on the backs of her soft thighs and calves, licking and nipping the sensitive skin and relishing her sharp, delirious cries as he slipped a finger into the warm nectar between the folds of her vulva.
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