Chapter 104

Sarah POV

One of the things raising Chloe had taught me was that just when I was prepared to face a major issue or life event head-on, something small would pop up out of nowhere to leave me scrambling.

Chloe and Grace were about to start their level one elementary schooling at Chelsea H. Saradon Elementary School for Alphas and Betas, an institution now heralded as the best in the territory after the meteoric and well-deserved demise of Pride Academy following Zane’s condemnation of the place. I had been looking forward to and anxious about this moment for weeks. It was the start of a whole new phase of the girls’ lives.

They too were facing a great crisis: picking out backpacks.

Most of the back-to-school supplies we got for the girls were mandated not only by type but also brand. We got Ticonderoga #2 pencils, Trailmaker college-ruled composition books, 64-count Crayola Crayon packs, and Crayola Ultraclean Broadline Classic Washable Markers (10 count). The school didn’t care what sort of glue sticks or plastic folders they had. I had anticipated some conversations about lunch boxes, but Chloe wanted Barbie, and Grace wanted My Little Pony.

So, all the arguments and debates got to be focused solely on the issue of what all their supplies would go in. They both explained to me in all seriousness that the type “had” to be a randoseru. (They both seemed barely to restrain themselves from hours of eye-rolling that I had to be told this.)

The whole thing, of course, was a trend from Japan, where young school children had been using randoseru almost exclusively for over a century. They were bulky but sturdy and imminently practical, particularly the leather ones, so Zane and I had no reason to object, but I confess I got tired of being asked questions of color and whether the backpack needed to be plain or adorned.

While a plain black randoseru was most popular with the alphas and red with betas, recently this hardline style was seen as “old-fashioned,” and now the backpacks came with embroidered anime characters, flowers, and other designs, and the liners were made with every pattern under the (rising) sun.

Finally, Chloe chose a black randoseru with a gray pinstripe that sparkled in the sun and a silver lining, and Grace chose a forest green randoseru with embroidered tulips and a red lining. Bringing them home felt like we were returning from the hunt with a fresh kill.

The girls asked if they could show their backpacks online, and we had another discussion about their staying off social media for now. Also, they had chosen quite distinctive combinations, and I didn’t want them out there online either. In the end, I took a photo of me holding a randoseru in each hand so that they were actually hard to see.

I got approval from Travis and Lainey and then posted it on Instagram. In two hours, it got a hundred thousand likes.

Grace, however, wanted to see some of the many thousands of comments. I set up the safety mode so the algorithm would weed out adult content and handed it over. After about five minutes and much to my relief, she handed my phone back and looked unimpressed.

“They repeat themselves a lot,” she told me. “But I liked the one about how the randoseru look big enough for me and Chloe to fit inside.”

“I liked that one too,” I told her with a smile.

Finally, the Big Day came, and Ollie drove the girls off while Zane and I waved goodbye.

“I have a great idea for how we can celebrate their first day in grown-up school,” Zane said casually as the car went out of sight behind the trees that lined the drive.

“Oh?” I asked. “And what would that be?”

One of the most amazing things about making love with Zane, and there were many, was most definitely his hands. They were large but tapered, strong but delicate, and they seemed to worship my body as we lay there together in the cool white sheets of his large bed. They also had a tendency to focus on different parts of me at a time, making our time together excitingly different each time.

Today, he was focusing on my hair, which he’d undone completely from the casual bun I usually kept it in before helping me out of my clothes. His fingers were raking through the hair on my scalp, as though he were grabbing handfuls of me to keep closer. Softly yet urgently, his fingers cupped the back of my head and then rolled us over to spread my long hair down over my bare back.

I noticed he was fumbling a bit, which was so unlike him I pulled back from his tantalizing kisses to meet his eyes.

“You have something in mind?” I asked.

“Sit up,” he said with a smile.

I did, though it was difficult to sit there nude in front of him as though I were posing for a portrait. His lips curled in various smiles as he looked me over, putting his hands on my thighs where they straddled his hips.

“What are you—”

“Sh,” he told me, his smiles making the admonition sweet. He reached up to my hair and pulled it toward him and over my shoulders, but then he shook his head at the way this hid my breasts.

With an indulgent smile of my own, I turned around, having to move my whole body to manage it, pulled my hair up with my hands, and then let it fall down my naked back.

He whispered, “So beautiful.” I felt his hands gathering my hair up in his palms and then letting it fall again. He stirred beneath me, and it occurred to me we were probably in a position werewolves enjoyed frequently.

Daringly, I stretched out forward, raising up my haunches, and Zane groaned deeply. In a graceful scramble, he ended up behind me on his knees and was kissing his way over the globes of my left buttock and then my right. I spread my knees, making sure I stayed comfortable, and then shivered in pleasure as found my center and began to play.

His hands went to my hips now, pulling me back against his mouth and then forward slightly to kiss around my hair and small perineum. Then his tongue slipped inside me, and I gasped.

“I want you so badly,” I whispered.

“Now?” he asked roughly.

“Yes, no more teasing.”

“No teasing,” he growled, a sound I was coming to love as much as his diamond-like eyes and gentle hands. In a moment, he was in position, and as he pushed in I delighted in how much deeper he was in taking me this way. Soon, we were rocking back and forth together, and he reached around with his right hand to feel my clit, which he rubbed in time with his strokes.

I desperately wanted claws in that moment. I wanted to rip the sheets with my nails and feel them tear. I wanted him deeper and harder inside me, and when my body rippled in pleasure and my back arched, he brought his teeth down on my shoulder.

It was nothing more than a nip, not even breaking the skin, and I came so hard even as I heard him groan in completion that I damn near blacked out.