TEMPORARY MATES PERMANENT CRAVINGS novel Chapter 67

Sixty-Seven

Lisa

+15 Bonus

The hospital room had become familiar enough that I could navigate it half-asleep, which was basically how I arrived most mornings. My mother was already awake when I walked in, propped up against a mountain of pillows that had slowly migrated into the wrong positions overnight.

“Let me fix these,” I said, already reaching.

She let me. I fluffed, rearranged, tucked the blanket tighter around her legs the way she liked it.

“You’re staring at nothing,” she said.

I blinked. “What?”

“That pillow.” She lifted her head, her good eye studying me. “You’ve been adjusting it for over a minute. You’re somewhere else entirely. Where?”

“Nowhere. I’m fine.”

“Lisa.”

“Mom. I’m fine.”

She didn’t believe me. I could see it in the slight press of her lips. I sat down in the chair beside her bed and picked at a loose thread on the armrest.

“Is the pressure getting to you?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“The arrangement. Everything that’s being asked of you.”

“There’s nothing to complain about,” I said firmly. “Cameron getting you this surgery, paying for all of it without a second thought, is more than I ever thought was possible. More than anyone has ever done for this family. I would be ungrateful to sit here and call that pressure.”

“You can be grateful and still be drowning,” she said quietly.

I didn’t respond to that.

Because she was right, and acknowledging it would crack something open that I couldn’t afford to crack open right now.

My mother reached out and found my hand, squeezed it.

“Once all three stages are done,” she said, “when I’m recovered and on my feet again, I’m going to help you with whatever comes next. I’ll be there. I’m not going to let you carry this alone anymore, Lisa.”

I sighed. “Thank you, Mom.”

She squeezed my hand again and let the silence sit between us for a while.

“Have you noticed anything yet? Any signs?”

The question I’d been bracing for.

“No. Not yet.” I kept my voice neutral. “We’re still trying.”

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“Bodies work in their own time,” she said. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself over it.”

“I’m not.”

“And how are things with Evangeline?” my mother asked. “Are you two getting along? It must be strange, sharing a household with her mate.”

I thought about the cameras Franklin had found in my room. The way Evangeline had publicly reset every boundary between us in front of Nadia. The staff who barely looked at me anymore without curling their lips.

“We’re managing. It’s complicated. But we’re managing.”

She watched me for a moment. But she didn’t push. And I loved her for it.

The nursery was quiet that afternoon.

Most of the children were deep in their naps. Dorothy was tidying up quietly in the corner, humming to herself.

I helped her sort through a pile of artwork that needed to be dried and filed away. Cora was there too, sitting cross- legged on one of the low tables, untangling a knot of ribbon that had somehow gotten into the craft supply bin. Her brow was furrowed in concentration.

“You look like you need something to do that isn’t thinking,” she said without looking up.

“That obvious?”

“Painfully.” She set the ribbon down. “Come sit with me.”

I dropped into the chair beside her. She handed me a section of the tangled ribbon, and we worked on it in silence for a few minutes. Then Cora said, casually, “There’s a sexual apprenticeship happening this week.”

“A what?”

She laughed. “Young women learning from older, experienced ones. How to be good. Really good. With men. With Alphas, specifically.”

I stared at her. “That’s a real thing?”

“Very real. Incredibly old tradition in Lycan packs.” Cora tugged a knot free from the ribbon. “The older women pass down knowledge and techniques. Everything that nobody ever bothers to teach you but everyone expects you to already know. It’s usually fun. Wine. Laughter. Very frank conversation.” She glanced at me sideways. “No shame. No judgment. Just women helping other women understand their own bodies.”1

I was quiet for a moment, turning it over.

“Given your situation, it could be genuinely useful.”

She didn’t say it unkindly. She said it the way a doctor might recommend a vitamin supplement. And she was right.

I’d had sex with Cameron. Multiple times. During heat, during rut, in the back of his car. But every single time had been driven by instinct, by biological need, by a haze that stripped away conscious thought.

I’d never actually learned anything. Never understood what I was doing or why it worked or how to do it better.

If the whole point of this arrangement was conception, understanding it seemed like the least I could do.

“When?” I asked.

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“Tonight. Seven o’clock. Consider it professional development.”

I laughed despite myself. “Professional development.”

“Exactly. Very serious business.”

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The townhouse was on a quiet street at the edge of the Lycan residential district.

Nothing about the outside gave anything away. Cora knocked. The woman who opened the door was tall, middle aged, with silver threading through dark hair she’d pulled back loosely. Eyes that took in everything in one sweep.

“Cora. Good to see you back.” Her gaze settled on me with open curiosity. “New face.”

“Lisa. She’s with me.”

“Welcome.” The woman’s smile was unhurried. “I’m Mirra. Come in. We’re just getting started.”

The inside was warm. The whole atmosphere. A fire in the hearth that had clearly been going for hours. An oversized sofa and several armchairs arranged in a loose circle around the fire. A table with bottles of wine, glasses, small plates of finger foods. Soft music from somewhere I couldn’t pinpoint.

Four women were already there when we walked in. Different ages, different builds, all dressed in loose, comfortable clothes like they’d come here to relax. They glanced up when we entered, acknowledged us with nods and smiles, then went back to their conversations.

I poured myself a glass of red wine and sat on the edge of the sofa, close enough to Cora that our shoulders almost touched.

A woman slightly younger than me arrived a few minutes later. She hovered in the doorway with the exact expression I probably had on my face twenty minutes ago.

“Come in, sit anywhere,” Mirra called. “Wine’s on the table.”

The young woman filled a glass with a shaking hand and sat on my other side.

We gave each other a brief, mutually terrified look.

Then Mirra moved to the center of the room, and the energy shifted.

“For those of you who are new tonight,” Mirra said. Her eyes moved across the room, landed on me, stayed there just long enough to be seen. “Everything that happens in this room stays in this room. No exceptions. No gossip. No shame. The entire point of being here is knowledge. And knowledge makes you powerful.”

Then she introduced her co-instructor.

Sera was younger than Mirra, with a laugh that came out fast and easy.

“We start with the basics,” Sera said, settling into an armchair with one leg tucked under her. “And the most basic thing is this: most women have never been taught to actually pay attention to their own arousal. They learn to react to what a man does without understanding what’s happening inside their own body.”

She held up her hand, fingers spread.

“Five zones. Every woman has them. They’re not in the exact same places for everyone, but they exist. And if you know where yours are, you can guide your partner. Or you can handle yourself when they’re not around.”

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She pointed to the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thinnest.

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“Zone one. Here. Thin skin. Blood vessels close to the surface. When someone touches this spot with intention, it sends a signal to the rest of your body.” She pressed her thumb to the inside of her own wrist and moved it in a slow circle. “Feel that? It’s subtle. Most women skip right past it because it doesn’t feel overtly sexual. But it’s the beginning. It’s the thing that primes everything else.”

Mirra picked up, demonstrating the same motion on her own wrist. “Your body doesn’t go from zero to aroused in one step. It builds. Layer by layer. And this,” she pressed her thumb gently, “is the first layer.”

I watched her hand, turning my own wrist over in my lap without meaning to.

“Zone two. The inner arm.” Sera traced a line from her elbow toward her armpit. “Same principle. Thin skin. High sensitivity. A lot of men never bother with this area, and that’s completely their loss. Thirty seconds of attention here can change the direction of everything that comes next.”

She demonstrated the motion on herself, fingertips ghosting up the inside of her forearm.

“Zone three.” Her hand moved to the side of her neck. She pressed two fingers to the spot just below her jaw, directly on top of where her pulse beat. “Right here. On the pulse point. This is where the body keeps its fight-or- flight response. When someone puts their mouth on this exact spot,” she closed her eyes briefly, “it’s like flipping a switch. Everything below the neck responds.”

My hand moved to my own neck without me deciding to do it. I dropped it back into my lap.

“Zone four.” Sera moved lower, tapping the crease where her thigh met her hip. “Not the thigh itself. The crease. Right here, where the leg joins the body. The blood vessels are densest here outside of the obvious places. And most men skip straight past it.”

“Because they’re in a hurry,” one of the older women in the group said from her armchair, completely deadpan.

Laughter.

“Exactly,” Mirra said, pointing at her. “That’s the lesson. Most mediocre sexual experiences can be traced back to a partner who was in a rush. The body doesn’t work that way. It needs the buildup. Every point of contact matters.”

Sera nodded. “Zone five is the one everyone already knows about. We’ll get there. But we’re not starting there tonight.”

Mirra refilled the wine. The fire crackled. Someone shifted in her chair.

“Oral technique,” Mirra said, matter-of-fact, like she was announcing the next item on an agenda.

“This is where real education happens,” Sera added. “Because this is where you actually learn to control another person’s pleasure.”

I took a sip of wine and held it in my mouth for a second.

“Most women are taught that giving oral sex is something you do for a man,” Mirra continued. “A favor. Something you endure because it’s expected. Something you get through.”

She shook her head. “Wrong. Oral technique is a skill. One of the most powerful tools you have. Because when you’re doing it well, you are completely in control. He is at your mercy. And once you understand that,” she let the sentence hang, “everything changes.”

The room had gone very quiet.

4/5

Saty Sextoy

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Sera stood and crossed to where Mirra was sitting. Something passed between them, like a signal.

“Watch,” Mirra told the room.

Sera knelt in front of her. She positioned herself with intention, like she was about to perform surgery and knew exactly what she was doing.

“The first thing is eye contact. Not the entire time. But at the start. It tells the person you’re with that this is a choice you’re making. That you want to be doing this. That it’s not an obligation. That shift in dynamic,” she paused, “is everything.”

She took Mirra’s hand, brought it to her lips, pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“See?” Sera said. “Her breathing just changed. Did you notice?”

I did notice.

“That’s the anticipation. It’s as important as anything physical that comes after” Sera’s fingertips moved up the inside of Mirra’s forearm. “Now, the mouth. The rule is pressure. Not too hard at first. Not so light it’s ticklish. You find the point where it’s almost uncomfortable but hasn’t crossed into it yet.”

She demonstrated, her mouth on the inside of Mirra’s elbow. Gentle at first, then firmer, a slight drag of teeth against the skin.

Mirra made a small sound.

“When you get to the actual,” Sera glanced at the group.

“Dick,” said the older woman in the armchair again.

“Thank you.” Sera’s laugh was genuine. “When you get there, you’ve already built so much sensation that even the first touch is overwhelming. And that’s when you have real control.”

Sera demonstrated the motion on her own hand, exaggerating it enough that everyone could see exactly what she

meant.

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