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

Lotte stretched forward, shifting her weight from her hindquarters to her forequarters with luxurious slowness, and fixed her mate with a mischievous smile playing about the corners of her mouth. Voluminous lashes brushed her velveteen cheeks as she savored the sight of Arturo, all long lines and svelte planes and hard angles, and her whiskers quivered delicately as she greedily drew in his scent. “Where I come from — the Enok Tundra — we talk too much to say small things, but love is different,” she murmured, draping her body lavishly across his so that the press of his arousal could entice her, pushing insistently against her flank. “‘Rakas’ means ‘beloved’ or ‘darling’ — it is almost sacred. We are not casual when it comes to speaking of love.” Her tongue traced his midline, beginning just below his sternum and pushing the fur against the grain as she moved upward in an inexorable line toward his throat.

She pressed forward, her muzzle burrowing into the thick fur that lined the column of his throat, and set her mouth against the throb of his pulse, a curving line of soft kisses and sharp nibbles winding their way back to where they’d started. Then Lotte rose, hindquarters first, and carefully stepped back to continue her ministrations further still, nosing without shame at the base of his manhood. “I have dreamed of you this way,” she whimper-moaned, her breath fanning against his tender flesh, and she lifted her moonbright eyes to his as she graced him with a single long, deliberate lick, eagerly gauging his every reaction.