Ravensblood Forest the one minute. the soldier's minute

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They collided and fell to the earth something of a tangle of limbs — least this was how Arturo thought of it in the chaotic seconds in which gravity sank them to the hard earth as her legs circled him and she cushioned his fall. The gangster lingered there, content as he rubbed his muzzle against the thick, soft fur of her throat and the elegant curve of her chest. “Are you hurt?” He asked her as he felt her nibble on his ear. She had not made any sounds of pain and yet the gangster worried regardless; a soft sigh falling from his lips when he felt her place a kiss upon his brow. Arturo reveled in her attentions, in the closeness of her body still beneath his, in her kisses. Selfishly, the Ceannasach did not wish for this to end but he knew she would need to return to Donnelaith and that he would not beg her to stay here, with him. Not yet. Not until he had time with clarity and to think about all that had been spoken and all that transpired, that was transpiring and what it all meant to him.

Lotte spoke and she commanded the gangster's attention, as he shifted, placing his paws on either side of her as she wiggled beneath him in a tantalizing manner that stole his breath away. A low, appreciative noise rumbled in Arturo's throat, his ears cupping forth atop his skull at her words. He listened. He lifted his weight off of her, so that he loomed over her, staring down at her for a moment before he bowed his head so that he might brush his muzzle along the length of jaw, to place his muzzle close to her ear. “You are perfect, Lotte.” The smoky timbre of his deep, accented voice was a low, husky sound as he spoke to assure her that she was, indeed, perfect to him.

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