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

For a moment, the unlikely ingénue longed to evade her masked suitor — an anxious whine clawed its way from her lips as she whipped around to observe him — but as his chest pressed tightly against her hindquarters, the last of her nervousness fell away. Instinctively her coal-colored tail swept to the side and her long legs shifted, bracing themselves to take his weight. “Please,” she whimpered to him softly, having seen how her pleas had incited him. “Arturo,” she purred, the sound half-whine, half-growl, and then she found she could make no sound at all for a prolonged moment. She stood, rock-still, as he slid forward, his touch dancing up her spine and deeper still, and her eyes drifted shut as a new kind of awareness and understanding broke over her and swam through her bloodstream. The tension that sat heavy and electric in her muscles didn’t abate, though, and she allowed — with a brief rumble of discontent that her body should so control her quicksilver mind — instinct to guide her. Without instruction or permission, she arched her back, pressing her hips more firmly against her lover. Oh! “Pyydän, pyydän, rakas, rukoilen sinua — haluan — ” she breathed, the words bounding in gasps from between clenched teeth. Chuckling breathlessly at her lapse, the sound husky and sensual, “Arturo, I want — need — ” she ground out.