Alpine Lake I hadn't slept in a week, I was weak, I was awake

He could almost pretend the white fur beneath him was Aspen, to ease his own guilt -- thankfully, in the throng of lust and hormones, he didn't have to think too hard about anything -- but nothing could stop him from admitting to himself that he loved the rush of both the actions and the forbiddenness of it all. He loved his wife with all his heart, and the girl beneath him meant nothing: but he could not tell Aspen a second time. The King would not admit he did wrong simply because, despite his guilt, he truly believed he did nothing wrong. 

There was a long minute or two of passionate lusting, and when Potema pushed back it brought a moan from his throat. Growling in lust, he felt the telltale tingle of the end of their dance just moment before it happened -- with a gasp, the King let go of her scruff, tightening his grip on her waist before going limp on her back. Tied as they were, he knew they would be stuck awkwardly together -- Would she talk? Ask of him? Tell of herself? -- but so she didn't have to carry his weight, the ginger Mercenary twisted around to balance on his forelegs, one hindleg draped over her.