Bearclaw Valley “What am I to you?”

The longer he went, the quicker he got, until he reached his climax and his thrusts gradually teetered off. He didn’t think about the potential consequences—he never did—and definitely didn’t think far enough ahead to pull out beforehand. As the swelling knotted him to her, he slumped against her back, breathing heavily into the crook of her neck as he did so.

He could not think of anything to say to her, nor did he even want to speak; words floated through his mind, jumbled and sprawled out, and encouraged him to say something, but he ignored each suggestion. Rather, he began grooming the parts of her that he could reach—neck, cheeks, poll, and so on—loath to put an end to their closeness; he silently hoped the knot would last longer than usual, allowing him to linger inside and against her, but his body would likely not answer his wishes.