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“Look at me, Penelope,” he said in that low voice, so I lifted and turned my head. He used his index finger to rub something thick and sticky onto my lips, and when I darted out my tongue to taste it, I realized it was the honey. Before I knew what was going on, he brought his face to mine and started licking off the honey - gently at first, but then he started really savoring it. He held me by the back of my head as he sucked and licked and made little appreciative sounds. I suddenly realized the sounds were coming from me. I broke the kiss, and his eyes searched my face intently.”

“My mate was blocking his feelings from me. All of them. All the time. Why? Why didn’t he want to share that part of himself with me? I didn’t even know how he did that. Meanwhile, he could probably feel everything I was feeling and thinking. I was mortified. And I felt naked and vulnerable. It was unfair. Nothing about this whole mess was fair. But like Nana always said, fair is a place where they judge pigs.”

“Females now want to like their mate, as well as love him. And whereas the idea of not liking your mate or being unhappy with him is by no means a new concept, it is the first time that females have the freedom to voice it. The old school attitude is that it doesn’t matter how your mate treats you, the bond overrides it all and takes precedence over everything. I know many packs still think like that,” she said, and she seemed hurt by it. “I don’t think that’s true. It’s possible to want your mate, even to love your mate because the bond is forcing you to, but still not to like him.” It felt like the room was spinning. What she was saying was akin to heresy in the eyes of my family. I was scared to think about whether I liked my mate.”

“I smiled. Then I felt his hand in my hair again. He was running his fingers through it, gently at first, but it soon turned into a nape and scalp massage that made me shiver. His touch and proximity were electric, and the tingles I got from our contact were felt everywhere. Everywhere. He was soon poised above me, his gorgeous eyes searching my face for something before he claimed my lips again. It was even better this time, maybe because of how our bodies were positioned. I arched into him, wanting to feel as much of him as I could, as I tangled my fingers into his too-long hair and devoured his mouth greedily. Suddenly, nothing mattered more to me in this world than feeling as much of his weight on me as possible. I was floating despite being weighed down. I kept moaning shamelessly into his mouth and I could feel how much he loved it. I guessed that was how the marking worked. I could truly feel his enjoyment in my bones, and it spurred me on more than anything.”

“From the age of 15,” Dominic finally said, “we write monthly letters to our mate, which we give them upon meeting them. This helps them learn about us, but it also lets them know we’ve been thinking of them before we knew them.” I felt a pang of hurt at the thought that someone else had already gotten letters that were supposed to be mine. Dominic absentmindedly rubbed his chest...”

“Being in heat was sweet, torturous bliss. It meant four days of feeling all the nerve endings that lived under your skin. It meant burning up, but wanting to burn even more. It meant feeling your heartbeat between your legs. It meant feeling restless every moment of the day unless your mate was inside you. I was still me, but without any of the normal restrictions I put on my thoughts and words. I freely reached for my mate for the first time ever, and I did so often.”