Phoenix Maplewood bad moon rising

She smirked as she saw the bucking of his hips, eyes wandering to his abdomen, then lower, the swelling there. His words caressed her ears like fine silk, and she drifted away on each sentence, few in number as they were. His last remark took her aback, and she blinked at him for a long moment, having returned her gaze to his face.

"Flatterer," Lily said finally, a chuckle in her throat. He was looking at the ground, not her, and this displeased her; she turned to pad toward him once more, an inexorable force of nature headed his way.

Not caring, honestly, whether he snapped at her or not, she ran her muzzle over his chest and shoulder, enjoying the way his pelt tickled her lips. Her tongue left her mouth to draw a long trail over his ribs, savoring the feel of each springy arch. . .thunk, thunk, thunk, against the sensitive tip of her tongue.

Nothing could have explained to Lily what came over her. The blood moon, perhaps, or something more. Something in the way he was, in the way he looked at her. She wanted to taste him, and she wanted him to taste her, too. She wanted--she lusted.