Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

last from me! this was so fun omg

She had rejected him merely weeks prior in the midst of her heat, and now he was returning the favor. Perhaps in the morning she would be thankful for it, but right now, it was a scorching slap to her face. Was she that offputting? Pah!
But— and she hadn't even had the time to finish drawling a retort before her feet were promptly lifted off the ground and her chest was pressed into a well-muscled shoulder. In her daze, her eyes unfocused; and after enough blinks, she realizes she's being carried. As if this could not possibly be any more humiliating.
She hadn't even the chance to send off the erpa-ha with a proper fuck you. She merely accepts her fate with a throaty grumble.

She's flopped onto a pile of plush fur in a darkened bedchamber, the throbbing sting of rejection burning low in her stomach. Not unlike a grumpy toddler, she turns her back to her knight in shining armor and balls herself up with her knees pressed to her chest. Quietly, she croons a demand to at least be held.
Not even five seconds later, she is sound asleep. In the morning with bloodshot eyes and a reeling head, she would make a silent promise to herself that what happens in the mesa, stays in the goddamn mesa.