Ocean's Breath Plateau Tonight

Her snap was slower in coming than anticipated— allowing him to first tease the fringes of her fur— but he had anticipated it nonetheless. The wolf jerked back his head, taking a single step back as he watched the silver nymph dance backwards, carrying the scent of her heat with her, but not lessening its potency. It was because of it that the bronzed wolf was not deterred in the least by her grandstand.

He only watched at first, tail pointed high and tipping back and forth like a pendulum. Her eyes, evergreen like the pines of his homeland, challenged the wolf's manhood with a withering gaze. A lesser wolf might have felt daunted, but Warbone was not a lesser wolf. A stag by all rights, she would see what great prize had approached her in the night. A sharp, ponderous beast, whose instinct for courtship was not lost in the haze of his self-imposed exile to a penniless life. The wolf postured— peacocked, really— and boldly trotted forward several steps, his limbs stiff and his body language vibrating with the waves of his excitement. His tail picked up its pace, and an amorous growl in his throat turned into an eliciting woof as it left his mouth.

If she did not want his attention, his willing and fervent affection, then what was she doing so distant from the scent dominating among the other traces of her pack. Her scent coursed through his veins, beating with the very blood that drove him to live. His energy seeped forth, demonstrating a primal need to inhale her. Taste her. Feel her. His very molecules now beckoned him to her, called by her despite what her face denied.

"I will not leave you unsatisfied," the virile male hissed, licking his chops excitedly and leaving it for her to interpret whether he was speaking on his pleasure or hers. His anticipation was built for her violence or her play. Either, he would accept.