Wheeling Gull Isle angry smol

Your posts are always perfect, just like you. ♥

The cool leather of his nose caresses the bulb of one tufted ear, sending warmth radiating outward; a shiver runs down Seelie’s spine with such primal force that she has to step away from him and shake the water from her fur. “Make shark now,” she urges him, circling back to him immediately and snaking her tiny body along his broad chest. Tipping back her head, she angles her muzzle to trace the tip of her nose along the shorn edge of one short-cropped ear, bathing his chin and cheek in ardent kisses. She has utterly forgotten her manners and doesn’t offer him a single, “Please,” or, “May I?” — she merely whines at him, a plaintive, airy sound that seems at odds with the coquettish movements of her body and the smoke in her eyes. She needs desperately to banish the memory of the forest and the feeling of failure that comes with letting her lambs find their own truths, and though it isn’t at all the, uh…shark-making-season, she believes that his touch will heal what the island cannot cleanse.

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…and then, whabam! They do the sex.