Luna floated in a haze of pleasure so profound it felt like her soul had momentarily left her body.
The orgasm that had ripped through her moments ago wasn't like anything she'd experienced—it was a complete detonation, a shattering that had rearranged something fundamental inside her.
She even tried to remember if she'd ever felt anything remotely like this before.
There was a moment years ago—she remembered it now, the memory rising through the pleasant fog—when she'd been practicing with her bow.
Just target shooting, the way she did most afternoons, except this one time something had clicked differently.
Maybe it was the angle of the sun, maybe it was the way her fingers had settled on the string, maybe it was just luck.
But she'd drawn back, aimed, released, and the arrow had flown true—so true that it had landed not just on the target, but damn near the bullseye.
A fluke, really. She knew that.
