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

100 for you! ♥

“Lotte.”

Coherent thought was cast upon the shore as Lotte slipped deeper into a sea of sensation; the sound of her name on the wings of a rumbling groan sent a sweet, sweet shivering from the quiver of her waiting ear down the sinuous curve of her spine. Heat balled in her belly, centering somewhere lower, and a keening whine fluttered from her lips — the likes of which she had never issued before. “Arturo,” she gasped, made agitated by the cries of her body, distantly aware that she wanted and waited for something only he could give her. Her paws danced where she stood, the trembling having taken hold of them; she shifted her weight from side to side as though she stood upon hot coals. Heated, she drew in great, shuddering gulps of air, incorporeal in the face of her breathlessness as her heart galloped at a breakneck pace. “Please — ” She didn’t know how to phrase what she wanted and restlessly turned her head, angling her muzzle to bathe his face in kisses that were wild and distracted with a new kind of urgency. Her lips curled, fangs gleaming as she nipped at his jawline with growing need, and she pressed insistently against him as her searching mouth found the base of his ear. “Arturo,” she breathed, her vocabulary bare but for two words. “Please — ”