Dragoncrest Cliffs & Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, (mtr.)

How long had it been since they’d had another? How long had this ache for him gone on for? How could she have evaded it for such a time, until it entirely consumed her as it now did? The first caress of his paw at her womb — no, the incremental nearness of him had her flushing and paling, and until their eyes met over his words, she liked to think she’d been doing a courageous thing, being aversive.

Up until now, she’d listened to Verx’s raptured, albeit nervous, remarks with a gentle smile of her own apprehensiveness. Up until now, she welcomed the touch, and the press of her womb that fluttered in return. ...And yet, sensing his realization that their children were real, and the feeling of him decidedly situating more into that role of father, still hesitant but assured —

Her loins couldn’t have been more taut, more inflamed. With all that had happened, did he still burn for her? Become so enshrouded with a fever that could only be cured by the decadence of each other? And her tongue was so heavy, and speaking — she couldn’t, wouldn’t. Not when she was smothered by her own scent of warmth and milk; by her arousal and the proximity that had her breast fluttering. Not when she was so ravenous, brimming with all these shivering nerves —

The breath she’d been holding came out in a stuttering, needing gasp; so soft it might as well just be another murmur of the lake itself. 

But Verx would know; and that’s why, after the next several moments crawled past, she made to evade him. And evading, in this case, meant blathering some paltry excuse of ”I—“ as she shimmied away from his reaching paw, situating herself onto her elbows. Aure would’ve made to rise (all wobbly) in that heartbeat, had it not been that her traitorous eyes were now held captive by his own. A little keen left her, her ivory form shuddering, faintly, with another quickening.

So, there she was: pale fur all mussed, poised and trembling on her hip and elbows, and staring at him with that blown, heavy-lidded, demurely ravished look that she hadn’t presented him with in two months. He was in her blood, he was roaring through her veins with such a searing heat it almost ended her; it ripped the trappings of her modesty from sternum to crown, made the argent of her eyes gloss and flare over —

Her ears curved back further, bedding into the porcelain ruff; frowning more in her last, weak whimper of protest was: ”V-Verx—“ And even that plea, whatever it was, came out in a low, simmering huff. But she was kept in place by his presence, and her own urge to rise went ignored. Aure had told herself she’d only come to him out of anxiety for their children, and yet...