[P] [M] - Come at Me Give Me the Staff, Don't Leave Me Hanging Don't be so Chaff

WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

Specifically, this thread is marked mature because of: .

OOC:: Backdated to Dec 1st.

Guinevere didn't know what it was about this morning, but she rose from her fur swaddled bed into the chill of dawning winter's air with an energy that itched beneath her pelt. It sang in her heart, urged her feet to fly, pounded in her heart and put a gleam in her eye that was almost downright dangerous in its eager delight.

Rather than work on any of her projects inside the fire warmed walls of her shop downstairs, she pelted down the stairs after putting her hair in a secure plaited braid, striding out of her home under fox furred cloak and both weapon belts strapped around her waist. She took care of Cecil first, visiting him in his stall to give him an extra carrot and thorough grooming.

Guin even had the bravery to saddle up the grey stallion and take him out for a smooth warm-up around the racetrack. She kept the pace slow until she was sure all the muscles in their respective bodies had been put through the paces, remaining at a walk and jog for almost five rounds of the track. Steam billowed from Cecil's body, but she was not done just yet.

She'd worked with Honrin on more than just her bond with Cecil, and now Guin could hold her own on horseback alongside some of the best Cavalier's. Her mate was a brutal, thorough teacher, and had no sense of favoritism for his own partner in the way of being 'soft'. If anything, their relationship made him train her all the harder, especially after she'd recovered from her injury. Initially, she'd been hesitant to return to the back of a horse, since it'd been the second time she'd had a horse throw her off.

No one would have known of her injuries prior if they looked upon her now as she loosed the reins and gripped a chunk of his mane before clucking with her tongue and cueing her mount with her heels. Cecil gave a proud snort and surged forward with a few powerful thrusts of his hindquarters, launching into a collected gallop down the racetrack. Guin stood over his withers in the stirrups and whooped as they flew across the ground as one, her plaited hair pulled backward just as Cecil's mane snapped to and fro against her face.

The mount beneath her tugged on the reins, asking for more give to really give it his all, but she knew running too hard in the cold, even when properly warmed up, could be harmful to her equine companion. So, after half a lap around the inside of the track, she leaned all her weight gently back into the saddle and gave him steady, firm pressure on Cecil's mouth to ease him back into a canter, and then a bouncy trot. The warhorse-in-training shook his head on several occasions, his mouth working against the bit to try and take it from her, but he only resisted long enough to share his displeasure at being forced to stop and then he slowed to a walk without a fuss, huffing and puffing clouds of steamy air from his pulsing nares.

Isaac waved at her from the side, a wide grin pulling across his muzzle. "Oi, once you're done with your horsemeat there you fancy beating a different type of meat?" he called out, and she nearly fell out of her saddle laughing at the horrid pun, but his grin only widened. She agreed to meet him in the training ring outside the Courthouse after she finished rubbing Cecil down with a cloth, blanketing him, and returning him to the stall with a small reward of hay for the exorcise.

Guin noticed she was warm sometime during her walk from the stables to the training ring, so warm that she actually ended up removing her cloak and draping it over one arm. Her braid was slightly askew from the gallop, but her ghostly pale green eyes were nearly feverishly bright as she let the cloak hang across the fence, hopped over it easily, and brandished her short sword at Isaac with a grin. He eyed her good-naturedly. "Have a little too much fun in the hay stack, ey?" he quipped, gesturing to her hair. She snorted and didn't even bother to try and fix it as she sauntered toward him.

"Three touches?" she asked instead, pulling an axe from her belt to accompany the shortsword. He pulled his own axes. "Three touches," he confirmed, and barely gave her a second to breathe as he lurched to strike. The warrior princess cursed and twisted, on fire and alive as she blocked his downswing and lifted her offhand to counter, which he danced away from with a whisker's breadth to spare.

They danced back and forth across the training ring, each of them getting only one touch each in the first thirty or so minutes. The heat hadn't gone away from her body, but she assumed it was the excitement of her ride with Cecil, and now the physical workout it took to keep up with the butcher and not let his axes touch her hide.

It wasn't until they locked blades for the sixth or seventh time in a row that she noticed Isaac's teeth were chattering, and he was staring at her with a different heated gleam in his eyes. Rather than counter-attacking or disengaging their weapons to reset, he leered in closer to her and took a heaping gulp of air as though he'd been holding his breath and his lungs were afire. He made a deep groaning sound, as though in pain, and tried to lean in closer, putting more weight onto their crossed blades, making them protest. Guin blinked rapidly, confused. What on earth?

"Isaac? You alright?" she asked, breathing a little heavy from their spar so far, and she couldn't have known the way her eyes glinted at him challengingly, and the scent of her very breath, while not from the source of the heat, only further intoxicating him. The butcher shuddered from head to toe and actually growled, at her, and practically threw himself backward to put distance between them. She tried to follow in concern, their spar forgotten, but Isaac snapped at her, far more boldly than he ever had before, and with teeth bared warningly.

"No closer! Where the hell is your mate?!"

WC:: 000

He was restless, prickling with some kind of energy beneath his skin. It might have made him irritable if he hadn't a mountain of various projects and duties awaiting him. They clamored there in his mind, ranging in various degrees of importance and urgency. He knew he should focus on paperwork first, at least he'd have something to present to Aldora and Cedric on the status of their storage.

Winter was fully upon them now, and snow came from the sky more than not.

Settling behind his desk, he took on the deadly, dangerous task of his mountain of paperwork that threatened to overflow at any possible moment. Such an arduous life he led, the fear of paper cuts was ever present. Good thing he had Guinevere to keep him in shape or he feared he'd go all to seed, a spent flower wilting in the sunlight.

Thank Artoi.

Still, he couldn't resist but to suck in his gut a little bit, striking a pose in his reflection of the window. Oh yeah, he still had it.

Focus man. He shook his head at his own dumbassery, and sat back down, taking up his quill and making quick marks against the pale paper. It wasn't long before his mind was wandering again. Finally, with a growl of frustration, he flung down the quill and stood, pacing back and forth across the space.

Okay so, no sitting and writing. That much was clear.

Another thing on his list was assisting Veri with clearing her personal things out of the Chief Cleric office. Of course the sickly woman couldn't handle much of it herself so he had gallantly volunteered to pack it all up for her to sort through back at his mother's camp. Something physical might be just the ticket.

A quick walk across the hall and he was settling into the work of piling the Secanti's private owned possessions neatly into a pack to carry on over. There was so much, and he'd simply let her go through it all and bring back what she didn't want to keep. He also had a good view of the Fort spread out before him from this window, unlike his own that looked back onto the gardens and the watchtower.

So of course he indulged a little, watching his wife command about her horse like she'd been born with hooves and a mane. Could he be fair in saying he felt a good deal of inwardly aimed pride too; And, of course he was going to observe as she moved on to sparring with another pack member. It was smart to know where her strengths and weaknesses laid. Also she had a great ass.

Humming as he alternated working and watching.

"I like it, I love it..." He mumbled to himself, and finally stopped to stretch his arms above his head, groaning with a pained pleasure as the vertebrae in his spine popped all in a line. Oh thank the gods, that was good.

Pausing mid-stretch though, as an irregular occurrence caught his eye. Isaac throwing himself backwards and away seemingly without a cause. Frowning, he drifted closer to the window, squinting, and trying to focus at their expressions.

Certain parts of him understood before other parts did.


Honrin grinned his savage, sharp-toothed smile, a hand coming up to touch against the cooler window. Was it creepy if the woman you were lusting over in the shadows was your wife?

He thought, probably not.

From his high position up here though, all he could do was watch, for now, and wait to see which way she'd flee, or, if she'd come to him.

Guin lowered both of her weapons, her expression twisted into utter confusion by the way her packmate threw himself away from her and warned her to stay away. Had he taken to madness? She stood staring upon the butcher with a heaving chest, though she was fit enough from constant training one way or another that a break-even this long should have allowed her to catch her breath. The motion had Isaac's hooded eyes dropping to her bared breasts, uncovered by neither cloth nor armor and only hidden by a smooth layer of soft tan fur.

It took her a moment to realize she was not only breathing air to cool the fire in her lungs from the workout, but she'd been sucking in Isaac's scent, greedily taking it in but deeply displeased that it wasn't the right one. Guinevere blinked rapidly, trying to gain control over her own airways when he demanded where her mate was, his teeth on edge and still warning her away and he wrenched his gaze away from her chest to stare at something toward the Courthouse. His posture changed again for seemingly no reason, his ears dropping against his head and picking up both hands, palms out, before taking another few extra steps between them.

"Isaac, what the hell? Honrin is...is.." the heat swelled inside of her and enveloped each limb and digit. Her back arched salaciously, a stretch that showed off every curve she had and more. It was this movement that enlightened her to the sharp cool sensation down south, and she would have turned a dark crimson red in absolute horror if it just wasn't so damn hot.

With realization dawned, the yearning for her mate had crescendoed to a keen almost pain. She shuddered from head to tail, the latter appendage flagging up against her back and swaying to and fro as she took a deep breath, lifting her breasts skyward once again. The phoenix warrior spat an oath and turned on her heel, uncaring when Isaac sputtered at the sight of her uncovered derriere. Weapons were forgotten, dropped upon the sand of the training ring as she sprinted for the fence and vaulted over it without a single pause, he only singular thought to get to her home, to her den, and then she would-

Guinevere stopped, practically skidding to a halt as actual reasoning kicked the door down and reentered her thoughts, sharing that the one she sought would not be at home, he'd left to conduct Council business earlier that day even before she'd risen. The liver Sworn turned on a dime and sprinted toward the Courthouse, too hyper fixated on the stairs leading to its entrance that she didn't see the hawkish gold eyes already watching her from on above.

She took the stairs two or three at a time and ran inside. The fan of flames was only made worse when she actually caught the scent of her target, her nares flaring as she sucked in his essence and couldn't contain the needy shudder that overtook her body, a quiet moan just barely coming from her muzzle. his scent was like a livewire for each of her senses, and it did things to her without him even being physically being there that should be fucking illegal.

She followed it like a hunting hound, and when she found the door which led to his freshest scent, she turned the knob and pushed it open to let herself inside without even to pause and ask if she were allowed; it simply wasn't something she'd remembered to do, now with full knowledge of her own condition.

Guinevere stood there after shutting the door behind her, panting to inhale his intoxicating essence, which also served to lift and swell her breasts with each breath. Her ghostly green gaze was hot and feverish on his, and she greedily took in the sight of him. Her voice, when she managed to lick her lips and wet her throat enough for speaking, was deep, and husky with desire.

"I need you."

His breath was fogging up the window. He wiped the condensation away with his furred arm, turning his head away but not his eyes as she threw down her weapons and turned to scurry away from a staring Isaac. The poor butcher fanned at his face in the wake of Guinevere's flight and stepped over to reach down and collect the two abandoned weapons, looking stunned. Honrin could appreciate the feeling, even as his hands itched jealously to hit the man who was his friend.


Unreasonable, his glittering eyes turned to the female scurrying her way across the Fort's courtyard.

He followed her with his stare, pacing restlessly at the window as she slammed on the brakes hard, almost tumbling over herself. Though he couldn't make out much of her face, the intensity of her body language led him to no doubt that her mind was ticking like clockwork.

His barked laughter echoed in the empty room as she spun on her heel and began to race instead in a beeline towards the Courthouse. The senselessness of his wild brain was telling him to throw himself from the window to be with her faster, and he might be a slave to his instincts but he wasn't that stupid.

By the time she had stormed her way up the steps out of his sight and then the stairs of the Courthouse, Honrin had perched himself against the Chief Cleric's desk, awaiting her arrival. Leaning back with his arms crossed over his broad, scarred chest. Wrapped up in his council cloak, pale button-down shirt and dark-hide pants he cut an imposing, impressive figure against the backdrop of sunshine streaming in through the window.

He was ready for her, when she finally made her grand appearance. The hurricane storming in, uprooting everything not tied down, just like she'd uprooted his entire life and turned it on its end.

Gold and green, they were connected, a spiral of desire.

I need you.

Honrin had for her, a smirk, settled into the arrogant lines of his face. The lascivious brush of his gaze across her bare body was languid, lingering specifically away from the places she'd want him to.

Rumors heard of the fading ability of men such as his age to rise to the occasion were yet again proven false. He took no action to hide the burgeoning of his lust from her gaze, though he was securely fastened away behind cloth and leather.

"Miss Callow-Knight."

He drawled, drawing out the syllables of her name unnecessarily. Ending on a T clipped between sharp teeth.

I need you too.

Honrin breathed in steadily, stately, ignoring with greater and greater reluctance the wilderness that throbbed away behind his temples, twisting about in the forefront of his mind.

"Is that so." He enunciated, purring the words. Of course he never passed up a chance to torment the both of them, and she still had it coming to her for her little stunt. He captured that image of her from the blazing argument, the wrathful flash of her eyes and supple ripple of fur and compared it to the wild-eyed version of her here and now.

A different kind of fire. One he wanted just as desperately as she.

Abruptly Honrin pushed off from the desk and covered the short distance to her in three long-legged strides, using the bulk of his big body to physically trap her between himself and the solid wood of the door. His hand curled about her neck, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her jaw so she was forced to tilt her head back and upwards, to look up at him. The other dug its claws into the wooden door besides her head, carving chunks out of the dark, aged grain.

Hunter's gold narrowed down at her intently and gave her a window inside to the violently seething wildfire.

"Is that so?!"

He hissed between his teeth, the breath fizzed about his fangs. Pouring out against her bare fur and skin. Sucking himself in a long, heady breath, he leaned forward, down, and brushed the arc of her neck with the cool, dark leather of his nose.

Pulling his claws free of the wood, he wrapped his pale hand about her own and drew it up into the small amount of space between them, pressing her palm to his racing heart that thundered away behind the thin, bleached material of his shirt.

Feel me.

The time for sweet nothings and whispered declarations of love was not now though. She would hear it soon enough in the candor of his cries, and a taster came in the whuff of his breath whooshing out again.

"What do you want, Guinevere." He murmured plaintively, a question that wasn't a question because he knew perfectly well what she wanted.


He'd been expecting her, the bastard. For a moment in her feral stated mind she had trouble imaging how, but she saw the light of the day playing across Honrin's alabaster fur, and her gaze shot to the window, widened slightly as she realized he'd seen the whole display between herself and Isaac. He'd been peeping, like a young teenager.

Ghostly orbs raced back over to meet her husband's, their hawkish gold pinning her to the spot, and she liquified as he purred her name in greeting. She smiled at him wolfishly, sensing a brutal game of cat and mouse as her tongue flicked forward over her canines. She could see in her lower periperahl that he was rising eagerly to the occasion, yet still contained within those infuriating cloths and leathers he currently wore. She dared not take a deeper look, though she wished she could, lest their game be over all too quickly.

Looking away now, in front of a predator that had given her his full attention, was almost downright dangerous.

He teased her, enunciating his words with careful precision, playing coy as to what she meant. Her eyes seethed at him, and her lips parted to let through a growl, but abruptly he was moving, and no one could have doubted his lethality, despite his greater age. She was pressed back against the hard surface of the door and pinned there by his mass, his hand around her throat and forcefully tipping her head back so she was made to look into his face.

Another woman might have been intimidated by his display of dominance, by the protesting creak beside her head as the claws of his other hand gauged into the aged wood. A carnal part of her wanted to redirect those talons to prick deceptively gently into her own flesh. Later, later, she preened, and she did not gaze up at him naively as he postured and demanded that it was so.

Guinevere snarled at him, wrinkled lips and bared teeth inches from his own, her tongue curling forward to wet her fangs. She was no waif to be manhandled, and she snapped her jaws at him to tell him so. When he asked what she wanted, when he took her hand and pinned it against his chest to feel his hammering heart, she hissed a similar breath out, and then in, and she clenched the hand he'd taken into the cloth keeping them apart, barely cognizant enough to keep from ripping the material. She held back, but only just, as she used that to yank him closer still.

"You. Now, fuck me. Or I will drag you across the Square by your knot, and everyone will know what fills our home even after I lock that door." she seethed, eyes feverishly bright, her free hand giving an example of her words as she groped him through his precious garments, and she lunged what distance she could to force their muzzles together in a sharp, searing clash of lips, tongue, and teeth.

Theirs was very much a game of push and shove. They played at hunter and prey, each sizing the other up for weakness, searching for the advantage, tails flaring like starter's flags. The red cape to a bull's rage.

Oh but she was no shrinking violet, to demurely accept the bullying of his fervor, snapping back at him with a seditious growl and a crash of her jaws. He lost his breath then, letting go of it into the plush fur of her shoulder. A stuttering sound of frustration echoed deep in his throat. Yanking on his shirt, she pulled him closer and unleashed the hiss of her fury onto him.

He'd been the one to awaken this world for her, to teach and explore. He knew exactly what she was capable of in her passion.

He went willingly.

Swallowing heavily and fighting with the instincts that clouded out his mind, he struggled to keep a grip on his composure. Guinevere swallowed away the sound he made, part laughter, part barked groan as her hand slithered between them, it disappeared down the grasp of her throat along with his restraint, and his advantage.

Flexing his spine, he pressed forwards eagerly, wantonly driving himself against the clutch of her paw.

They were a tangle of hands and tongues. Surrounded by the scent of her perfume, he was lost, falling, falling, and what a way to take a tumble from his pedestal.

Honrin was the one to pull away first, panting heavily. They couldn't, not here, not in the Chief Cleric's office. They'd never live it down. Extracting her grabbing paws from his shirt and his goods he pressed them back against the wood, wrapping his hands around her wrists, holding her hostage with nothing to do about it but hiss and snarl.

There was a thought circling there, but for Artoi's sake he lost the thread of it immediately and leaned down to kiss her again.

"Guinevere..." He whispered, nuzzling the side of her jaw with his nose.

"Go home." Honrin told her, "We can't, not here, but go home. I'll be there shortly." His voice all a hum, hating to have to break them apart for even a single moment. If they left together, they'd never get down the stairs without committing an act of public indecency that he was sure neither Cedric nor Aldora would appreciate.

He let go of her and took a rapid step back all in the same instant, swinging his head towards the door in prompting, eyes burning in the pallid stretch of his cheeks. He still breathed heavily, tongue lolling indolently from his mouth.

Only when she was gone could he take a deep breath, and, tasting the scent in the air, smiled wryly, sorry Veri.

He waited as long as he could stand, each moment dragging. Pacing before the window again as he watched her sandy body scurry again across the Fort and disappear into the woodworker's shop.

His patience snapped all at once and he was out the door and down the stairs before a handful of seconds had passed.

Fortune smiled upon him and he met with no one in the corridor, nor on the steps, nor bursting from the doors and striding across down the paths.  The stretch of his luck gave out as he strode past the training ring, which, the still-recovering Isaac was standing.


"Not now, Isaac." But the butcher was following after him, calling again,

<"Honrin wait.. I've got--">

"I said, not now, Isaac." Honrin whirled wild-eyed on the man who's actions were still seething jealously in Honrin's mind.

Isaac was holding the weapons Guin had dropped earlier, a strange look on his face that morphed into laughter as he took a good whiff and then a good long look at the Labor Head's delicate predicament.

<"Guess she found you then, here, take them for her.">

Honrin grunted, took the weapons, and gave a grin that was more a silent snarl and turned with a billow of his cloak, making a straight-edged line to the shop that was his and Guinevere's now.

Isaac shook his head, and, chuckling to himself, turned to head back to his own shop.

He hit the door with enough force the rattle the walls, slamming it shut behind himself and turning the lock hard enough he almost broke the damn thing. Then for good measure he jammed one of the wooden chairs underneath the knob. No one would be getting in here shy of hacking it down with an axe.

"Guinevere!" He bellowed into the house, voice echoing in the dark corners.

Honrin took the stairs two at a time, shucking off his cloak of office and leaving it to settle on the polished wood. He couldn't care less about the damned thing at current.

Breathing heavily, he stooped in the doorway, fingers flying to the bone buttons of his shirt as he grinned with his sharp, wickedly long teeth at her, blocking the only exit from the room with his body.

"You know, propositioning a superior for a promotion steps on the toes of propriety." Still trying to keep his handle on the Game, even as he grew more frustrated with the buttons that slipped his grasp. Stepping forwards, he closed in until his knees hit the edge of the raised bed.

Gods, she was so beautiful, it made his heart ache.

Finally losing patience with the buttons, he grabbed both sides in uncaring claws and ripped, sending them flying off in every direction. So much for her attempt at care. With a snarl, he unbuckled his belt and ripped that loose too, snapping the thin leather with an audible crack.

Only the pants left now.

He came to her from the beckon of her clenched hand, his body all but consuming hers as he bent forward, their lines and curves pressed so tightly together that one might have found it difficult to define where one ended and the other began. To her, it was not nearly close enough. Between them his clothes still rubbed, blocked her to touch and tease as she wished, so the most she could do with her southernly hand was grope and fondle the illicit shaft she felt there, the growing half-knot she could already feel forming.

He buckled against her, his precious resolve turning on its head for even a split moment as their mouths clashed and they were a tangle of tongue and teeth, hands and fur. She swallowed each sound he uttered, and he the same for her, for they had no cognizance left to try and be quiet, or discreet. Later, she was sure, they might be ribbed by a packmate or two, but here in the moment, his break of restraint made her sing from within.

It was too soon that he pulled away from her, and no matter how much of a struggle it was for him she wanted to follow, sink her fangs into his alabaster fur and drag him back, for how dare he leave her chilled after suffusing her in his warmth, leave her panting and desperate in ways she should be embarrassed for. It almost hurt to lose his proximity, to be teased and almost cruelly worked up so she shook for the fix that she needed, her core clenching and seeking out its carnal relief.

He grabbed her hands, extricating them from the shaft she needed so badly and the shirt he cherished, and he was pinning them against the door, holding her prisoner there. She snapped and snarled initially, until he leaned down to kiss her once again, this one softer, less heated. When he pulled back, she had calmed, her fire tempered, but she ached all over and it almost caused her to whimper from the sheer psuedo-pain of it.

He spoke her name, and he nuzzled her jaw with his nose, causing her to shiver from ears to tail, gooseflesh prickling across every inch of skin and drawing the small buds at the peak of her breasts up into pebbles.

He beseeched her to go home, cried they could not follow through here, his voice a deep, vibrating hum against her ear drums, and with a flash she remembered where exactly they were. For a moment she wanted to laugh breathlessly, and leave a note for Veri to apologize should the ex-Cleric return to her previous office to collect some of her things.

These thoughts were thrown through a window, however, when Honrin released her and stepped away from her all in one motion, too far away for her to lunge after without taking some extra steps. She bared her teeth at him in displeasure, her hackles prickling, and she paced back and forth in front of the door like the stalking predator she was. It was partially in defiance to leaving him so soon, when his scent was so strong in her nares. But also partially it was her instinct to not turn her back on him when they were both so riled and feral minded. Not that he'd hurt her, but he could claim her easier if she were facing away from him, and easy is not what she wanted.

Finally she garnered enough control to reach out for the door and twist the handle open, compromising with herself by keeping one eye on him as she only half turned. "Come quickly," she demanded heatedly, and then she slipped out, forcing herself to pull the wooden barrier of the door shut behind her, and between them. Barely a second had passed and she was running, sprinting back the way she'd come, down both sets of stairs leading to the main floor and then to the outside.

Guinevere bolted across the Square to their shared home, and when she made it inside she didn't bother going anywhere else except up the stairs and into their bedroom. She didn't even bother to seat herself on the bed, she closed the door and she paced, back and forth the full length of the room.

The phoenix warrior did not know how much time passed, all she could fathom was the heat crawling beneath her skin, an itching that raked her from head to toe, and the pooling, desperate need that throbbed along with the racing of her heart. The door to her outer den was thrown open, hitting the wall with a loud, shuddering boom! that had her restless movement pause, and his thundering voice carried into all nooks around the home, giving her another delicious shiver of delight.

Honrin came to her, mate to mate, and he stood in the entryway of their bed den, her den, blocking the only possible exit as though he thought that might intimidate her. She slinked sideways to put the bed between them, hot pale green gems watching as he postured, scolding her for supposedly approaching him to seduce him into giving her a promotion. He tore the pieces of his shirt apart in frustration, and she smiled salaciously, all wild fang. "I have no need to proposition. I am already your Queen," she told him, proud and confident, with her tail flagged high against her back and posture tall. Because she was, and she knew it. And she was not ashamed of it.

When he was in nothing but those pants, she raked her gaze across him, openly admiring what she'd taken as hers. And what a catch she'd gotten too. He was well matured in years seasoned to perfection in both mind and body. She appreciated the latter, vocalizing it with a soft growl, but she loved the former as well. She loved all of him, this man that had loved and awoken her. This man that had stayed.

She play bowed toward him, stretching her arms across the bed as she arched her whole body, giving him a languid display of her as she then lifted first one leg, and then the other, now set upon all fours on the bed, and crawled slowly toward him, her eyes never leaving his. She bowed again, and her pink wolfish tongue appeared from between her lips, and she laved at the front of his pants, and up, up, slowly, feeling each ripple of material until she hit just above the waistband, where she set her fangs against his fur and breathed, inhaling his heady scent.

Her claws hands groped up his thighs, and brushing his thick length beneath her palms had her shivering all over again. She tore away the material, heaving it into two pieces, and then she was breathing hot and needy over him, her finger pads brushing his precious jewels, and she growled possessively, appreciatively. A wicked glitter in her eye, she laved at the tip to tease him.

Forum Jump: