Just then, Denver hardly needed more than her touch, but her kiss sent him into euphoria. Her lips tasted of liquor; warm and spicy. Pink tongue shot out here and there, but in his intoxication he couldn't be sure if it was her lips, mouth, or cheek he'd kissed. He was almost glad when she broke away, still feeling embarrassed as blood rushed to his face-- and other places, too. When she turned away he went to reach for her, but didn't need to. Maggie came back with twice the vigor, and pushed him back onto the blankets, making her fur blend with his. Denver hurriedly pulled his jacket and shirt off over his head and tossed them aside, reaching around her to tug at the zipper of his pants. Her fur was warm; a soft, silvery pelt that shone in the rising moonlight. She's amazing, he thought to himself as he looked up at her, grinning drunkenly as he fumbled with his pants. She wanted him again, maybe loved him even, and he desperately needed her. Then, now, and always, he thought as he held her.
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