Page 32 of Claws for Celebration (Hollow Oak Mates #3)

MOIRA

L ucien's apartment behind the bookstore was exactly what Moira had expected: warm, masculine, and filled with books that spoke of a mind constantly seeking knowledge.

But tonight, as he closed the door behind them and turned to face her with eyes that held both desire and reverence, the familiar space felt charged with possibilities that made her skin tingle with anticipation.

Lucien turned to face her, and everything stopped.

His ink-black hair, loose around his shoulders, shimmered like water in moonlight. His deep forest eyes held both hunger and something gentler—something sacred.

“Are you certain about this?” he asked, his voice rough with the kind of restraint that made her belly clench. “Once we cross this line, there’s no going back to what we were before.”

She stepped toward him, reached up to frame his face with both hands.

His skin was warm under her palms, the stubble on his jaw deliciously rough.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said, feeling her heartbeat in her throat.

“I want to move forward. With you. As whatever we’re meant to become together. ”

The kiss that followed wasn’t rushed. It was deep and slow, like the kind that cracked something open inside her chest. Their mouths slid together with reverent hunger.

His tongue teased hers, not asking— inviting.

And when his hands settled on her hips and pulled her closer, she could feel the thick ridge of his cock straining beneath his jeans.

"I love you," he murmured against her throat, lips brushing the skin just below her jaw where her pulse thundered. “Not just because of fate or magic or mate bonds. Because you’re brave, and brilliant, and stubborn as hell.”

Moira’s breath hitched as her fingers fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. “I love you too,” she whispered, each word a spell. “Because you protect without controlling. Because you see all of me—even the pieces I’m still figuring out—and you still want me.”

As she pushed his shirt open, she marveled at the way the golden magic in the room responded, casting a soft, pulsating glow across his chest. Scars laced his skin like stories, each one speaking of survival, not weakness.

She slid her hands over the warm expanse of him, fingers splaying across his ribs and up to his shoulders.

He was strong— built like something feral had learned discipline —but his hands, when they touched her, were reverent.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured, brushing his thumbs along her wrists.

“With anticipation,” she admitted, heart thudding as he pulled her cardigan from her shoulders and eased her top over her head. “With need.”

He exhaled like the sound hurt, then stepped back just enough to look at her.

She stood in her simple lace bra and slacks, bare feet pressing into his worn wooden floors, curls mussed from his hands.

Her glasses had slid down her nose, and before she could reach to remove them, he gently pushed them back into place.

“Don’t take them off,” he said, voice rough. “You look like temptation.”

She laughed, nervous and breathless—but then his hands were back on her, sliding into her curls, and he kissed her again, deeper, hungrier. Her magic responded immediately, golden threads weaving around them, lighting the room like starlight caught in motion.

"Your magic," he whispered against her lips, his hands moving to unhook her bra, exposing her breasts to the air and his gaze. "It’s beautiful. Alive."

"It feels stable with you," she said, her skin burning under his hands. "Like it knows it belongs to you as much as I do."

Lucien groaned low in his throat and lowered her gently to the plush rug near the fireplace. She gasped as his lips trailed down her neck, tracing the spot where her shoulder met throat—the place that made her thighs clench and her toes curl.

“The mate bond,” she whispered as golden energy pulsed around them. “I can feel it strengthening.”

“Do you want me to slow down?” he asked, though his voice was tight, his muscles shaking with restraint.

“No,” she said, her hands sliding to his belt. “I want everything. I want you. ”

With that, his control snapped.

He made quick work of his jeans, stripping down until his full body was bare and bathed in firelight. Moira’s breath caught when her gaze landed on his cock—thick, long, and flushed dark with need. Her thighs instinctively pressed together.

“Lie back,” he said, voice a velvet growl.

She did, and he pulled her pants and panties down to her ankles and off to the floor. When he knelt between her thighs, her breath stuttered. He watched her with something primal, eyes glowing faintly as if his panther was just beneath the surface.

He gripped the base of his cock, then brushed the head through her slick folds, spreading the wetness along her pussy lips. She whimpered, lifting her hips to meet him.

He slid in slowly, inch by inch, stretching her open with a delicious, aching fullness that stole the breath from her lungs.

Her body arched instinctively, spine bowing beneath him as his cock pressed deeper, claiming space inside her that felt untouched, sacred.

The stretch bordered on unbearable, and yet she needed more—craved it with every nerve-ending.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice raw, braced above her on trembling arms. “So wet. So fucking tight.”

Moira gasped, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders.

He felt impossibly big, every inch of him forging its place inside her as if he were carving himself into her very soul.

Her pussy fluttered around him, struggling to adjust to the girth, the depth, the heat of him. It was too much—and yet, not enough.

“Lucien… you’re—” The words shattered on her tongue, lost in the sensation. There was no vocabulary for this—no spell or incantation to explain the way he filled her, thick and hot and pulsing with restrained power.

He bottomed out with a low growl, his hips pressed flush to hers, the dark curls at his base brushing her slick folds. Her pussy clenched involuntarily, already fluttering around the sheer stretch of his cock.

“You were made for me,” he rasped, voice guttural and reverent. “Fuck, Moira—you feel like home and fire and fucking destiny. ”

She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to hold him right there—deep, full, hers. “Because I was,” she gasped, eyes fluttering open, locking with his. “Because my magic knows you. It wants you.”

He didn’t speak. Not with words.

He began to move.

The first withdrawal dragged every ridge of his cock along her inner walls, slow and precise, until she felt like she was unraveling thread by thread. Then he pushed back in, deep and steady, making her feel the weight and length of him in a way that was almost reverent.

It was intimate. Soul-deep.

Each deliberate thrust lit her nerves on fire. She could feel him gliding along the slick, swollen channel of her pussy—stretching her, rubbing inside her like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

Her body burned, sensitive and alive in a way she had never experienced before. Not like this. Not this.

"Gods, Moira," he groaned, mouth trailing kisses across her cheek, her jaw, her throat. His cock throbbed inside her, thick and hot, rubbing her in just the right places with every precise roll of his hips. "You feel like a fucking dream. Like I’ve been waiting a thousand lifetimes to be inside you.”

And she felt it too.

His cock filled her so completely it was as if she couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have him inside her.

Every time he sank in, it was deeper. Thicker.

Better. Her pussy squeezed him like she never wanted to let him go, golden magic coiling from her belly and out along her limbs in rhythmic pulses that danced across his skin.

Her nails scraped down his back, desperate, aching for more. He growled low in his chest and answered her with a deeper thrust, grinding in slow circles that made her cry out.

“You undo me,” he gasped, fucking her deeper now, his voice strained with reverence and restraint. “You break me apart and put me back together again.”

Moira’s back arched off the rug as he shifted his angle, the thick head of his cock pressing perfectly into that devastating spot inside her. Her entire body lit up, inner walls fluttering in reaction. The pressure coiled tight in her belly, pure sensation radiating through her limbs.

“Lucien—yes—right there—don’t stop?—”

He answered with a growl that vibrated in his chest and into hers, his hips snapping harder now. Her slick heat welcomed every thrust, her pussy sucking him deeper as if she wanted to brand him with her need.

“Never,” he grit out, voice wrecked, sweat slicking his brow. “Never fucking stopping. You’re mine. Mine. ”

He slammed into her, over and over, every stroke dragging her closer to a breaking point that felt seismic. And still, his gaze never left hers—deep forest shadows filled with possession and devotion and love. It made her feel laid bare and cherished in the same breath.

And she couldn’t take it. The fullness. The intensity. The way his cock dragged against every sensitive nerve inside her, deep and grinding and perfect.

“I feel you everywhere,” she sobbed, tears blurring her vision. “You’re in my bones , Lucien. In my blood. ”

“Together,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers as their bodies rocked together. “We cross this threshold together.”

And then her world shattered.

The pressure in her belly exploded into a release so raw, so blinding, she screamed.

Her pussy clamped down around his cock, milking him, magic bursting from her skin in golden waves that washed across the room.

Her orgasm came in crashing pulses—over and over—pleasure layered upon pleasure until she forgot how to breathe.

Lucien’s rhythm faltered. He gasped, then thrust deep—one final, claiming thrust—and roared against her throat as he came. His cock twitched violently inside her, thick spurts of heat spilling deep, coating her in the most primal kind of promise.

Lucien gave a deep, guttural growl. His body tensed as he spilled his release in thick waves. His claws—half-shifted—dug gently into her hip, the pressure a claiming, not a wound.

And through it all, Moira felt him.

Felt his release like it was hers. His pleasure, his surrender, his love. Their magic didn’t just dance anymore—it merged. Golden light braided around them, through them, binding them heart to heart, soul to soul.

The mate bond surged between them, snapping into place with a force that made the air crackle. Their magic didn’t just tangle—it fused.

And Moira… felt it all.

Every emotion. Every heartbeat. Every piece of him that had been held back until now.

And he felt her.

All of her.