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

The soot-stockinged songbird issued an appreciative murmur as her black-masked suitor drew up alongside her, his lean, angular musculature pressing intimately through her plush pelage to trace the feminine curves beneath. His tongue traced a line of fire along her jaw that was spiced with a soft nip, and the murmur became a low hum. Though she did not precisely relax as she’d been bidden, Lotte stretched languidly and felt some of the knots of nerves untangle. She made no verbal response aside from the pleasurable hum that continued to reverberate on a deeper register, turning to watch curiously as Arturo’s fangs scored the unsullied flesh of her left hip. Oh! Her hips skittered reflexively away from him, but the heated tingle his love bite had wrought was something she wanted to explore further. Suggestively she offered herself to him again, her hindquarters swaying readily within his reach.