As someone with a naturally submissive streak, I'd never felt the biological urge to lead or understand the mechanics. To me, "mating" was a nebulous concept—a hazy memory of being cast out into a vast ocean.
I would float in that ocean of pleasure, my only goal being to swim toward the distant shore of a climax. Once I reached that sand, the world would explode into unending pleasure, but the journey there was always a blank.
The sea, the current, and the pleasure itself had always depended entirely on my partner's pheromones.
But with Alina, there wasn't even an ocean. There was no shore. I didn't even remember when she had released her pheromones; it was as if the tether to my consciousness had been cut before a single image could even form in my mind.
Only pleasure was present with the unknown pair of gold.
It was only recently, during a blunt, awkward conversation with Shaun, that the truth had finally clicked.
