Deepwood Weald you waiting at ho[m]e for me saying what time do you call this?

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Arturo’s chuckle was deep as it echoed her own as she responded to his devilish inquiry with a quip of her own. "Twenty, eh?” He drew, the deep, smoky timbre of his accented voice a quiet, contemplative murmur as it slipped from betwixt his lips. Arturo appreciated his beloved nightingale’s wit, but the truth was simple in and of itself: if she desired twenty pups or a litter every year until the day he drew his last breath than she would have it. If there was one thing Arturo couldn’t imagine it was denying Lotte anything she wanted in life.

The conversation changed with a confession from Lotte who admitted that the idea of her estrus cycle scared her. Admittedly, it wasn’t anything that Arturo ever gave much thought to and though he knew well enough the influence, the saccharine temptation it poised for males — a temptation he did not fall prey to this year though the gangster knew that was largely Lotte’s hold upon him — and in (typical) male fashion he did not stop to think about how it influenced females. Arturo wasn’t sure what to say when she voiced her concerns and thus remained to his contemplative silence, considering her words and his own with careful precision only to let his eyes take her in when she admitted that she did not want their first time together to be the rush of hot passions induced by the instinctual urges that a woman’s estrus cycle awoke. While he was no green boy at heat cycles and intimacy Arturo didn’t want that to be their first time, either. He wanted to love her in every way a male could love a female without the heedy and demanding presence of hormones.

Arturo drew in a sharp breath as he felt the warm touch of her nose against his collarbone, the preen and nibble of her teeth against his flesh. Words failed him under her touch, and Lotte’s demand brought back to attention the fact that he had yet to answer her. Yet, she was no longer requesting. The twitch of his lips carried with it his admiration for her brashness with him. Lotte wasn’t a meek woman which was a blessing as the world that Ceannasach had created had left no room for the meek at his side. He’d found his equal in Lotte and it resounded within him as she nipped at his shoulder, her demand still lingering in the air between them. “I will teach you everything.” Arturo promised her in a low purl, reluctantly moving from where he loomed over her so that she had room to stand back up.

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