Stavanger Bay give in to me

The scolding yap ought to have given Szymon pause, when in fact it did exactly the opposite; he wanted to rile her — wanted to be scored and marked by the touch of her fangs. Her birdlike grace seemed to falter somewhat — a scratch on the record; a glitch in the playback — and she tumbled tip over tail into the sand, then lay without moving on her back. It was only a second — maybe not even that — but Szymon was at her side in an instant, there to help her rise to all fours, his scarred nose sweeping over her with more intimacy than he probably deserved. She seemed all right, but her egg-streaked devotee wasn’t quite satisfied. He preened her shoulder, moving up the curve of her throat and down the curve of her spine.