Luneshale Pass [m] body right teeth white knife sharp gettin'

“I prefer to hear you sing again,” he purred into the perfumed cheek, gathering the fellahin's slim frame up with an arm and leading her out into the desert groves, away from the eyes and ears of the festivities.

Beneath the silver moonlight his teeth found her hip, a growl of possessiveness rose up in his throat. He plied her legs with nuzzles and ran his tongue through the pale hairs there. She tasted sweet and flowering, the same shade of her eyes, the same scent in his nose. He let his senses be consumed by her.