The Sentinels legs and hands, thumbs together

His husky voice tingled in the back of her crown and she couldn’t help but flick and flutter her ear against his curling, frosted breath. That sweet mouth was a fingerbreadth away from the velvet of her cheek — the space between them was alive and sparking with electric desire. So often they had built fantasies together, alternate realities where where she called him my lord and he called her my lady and they were proper royalty — respected across their lands for their zest, piquant ambition and joie de vivre. It was Donovan who spun these stories and the perfumed harlequin who staged them; and their fantasies often seemed so real, so authentic, as if they both truly had royal blood running through their veins instead of their true blood of thieves and crooks. They were decorated performers, after all: he, a skillful puppetmaster and she, his ornamented puppet. 

But, sometimes, Indie had a difficult time picking apart the fictitious from reality. Possibly because it felt so good to pretend to be all the things she wasn’t; or, perhaps because it was these particular fantasies, scenes concocted from their own passions, had been entirely within their grasp. Stupid rules were what caused it to all turn sour; but they didn’t believe in rules…  rules were established to restrict the best, most pleasurable things in life to always keep you wanting. Needing: and a wolf in need was a wolf that would  readily submit. Donovan and she were never in need, they would never submit, they would always provide for themselves. Perhaps, in that respect, Donovan and Indie were the most authentic of the Merry-Andrews despite their individual departures from the gang.

“I couldn’t ask you to make that decision.” Indie’s fruitful voice was kept low, as this was a rare moment of pure truth.  He lost his own father for her sake…. now the rest of the family? If he were to proceed with such a choice, Indie needed to be secure that her titillating tutor was 100% on board. They both needed to want this. “I couldn’t. Not again.” The vamp couldn’t ask him to make that decision again, but she could. She would. She wanted to. She did. Indie would take from Donovan whatever we was willing to give her, as if he were a fish battling a fisherman’s reel.  For the most part, loving a shrouded man like Don was a struggle; he was the scaled creature, hidden amongst the deep waters, fighting and pulling against the fisherman’s line and refusing to give in — but every so often, he would double back, dart towards boat and slacken the fishing line. Every time he did so, she would reel him in just a bit closer and closer; and thought Indie felt as thought she called the shots, it was always but Donovan who was really in control.

Finally, words escaped her. Donovan pressed hotly against her and all other thoughts quelled. Her mind went quiet and his nearness caused every fur of her dense pelt stood on end. It had been so long since they touched like this, talked like this. Indie relented. Indie brushed her tender cheek against his own and her tail preformed its own curious bachata behind them; snaking and twirling against his ankles, exploring his lower limbs and inching along the warm softness of his hind legs.