Ravensblood Forest everybody’s gone in the cotton and the corn [m]

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: amorous congress; convivial society.

Doubts and fears whipped through Lotte like a fire-laced whirlwind, making her edgy and impatient. Arturo would gain many things by taking the velvet-voiced rogue to wife, but a demure débutante was not one of them. Spirited and saucy, she tossed her head and arched her neck to preen deliberately at her décolletage — it was patchy in spots where the flames of Donnelaith had set their teeth upon her, but the v-shaped “scarf” of fur was blessedly untouched. She slanted him a sultry, pointed look over her shoulder as he began to speak, but her expression shifted from femme fatale to starry-eyed ingénue as he put a stop to all of her worries with four words: “I love you always.” She’d been unconscious the first time Arturo had confessed his love, and her moonbright eyes glossed over with happy tears. “I am so happy I lived to hear that,” she breathed, surging toward him in a rush, “so happy I lived to tell you this: I love you, too.”

She covered him in kisses, utterly swept away, her tongue laving wherever she could reach as her teeth nipped wildly at his fur, occasionally grazing his flesh in her haste. “You are my love, my husband, my Ceannasach — and heaven help the woman who forgets that!” she quipped, but there was steel beneath the purring lilt of her warm, rich alto. Hearkening back to the rustling of the branches, Lotte snaked her body along her beau’s with new intensity. She did not know of Olive or the children the pale sylph carried, and so she assumed that the Fearghal’s children would be the first to walk Teaghlaigh’s shadowy halls. “There has been no one else,” Lotte intoned staunchly, “and I have waited so long to touch you again.” Her voice trailed off on an undulating whine that fluttered with a low growl that bespoke her arousal and did not warn him off. The worst had been weathered, and her lips curled into a devilish smile.

With one healed paw she pushed at Arturo’s shoulder. “Lie down, rakas, and let me show you what I have been dreaming of,” she said sweetly, her eyes flashing with Dionysian mischief.

“On your back, please.”