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

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He billowed down around her like night itself, and she let the heft of him shrug her shoulders forward and meld against her; as when she’d been in heat for him, she rubbed the small of her spine up into him. His hips had drawn away, but caught on the backs of her quivering thighs not a pulse-beat later; chased her, and pressed back in the same moment she clenched.

”O-oh—hh-“

Breath flared from her, hesitant and shuddering, and rather than let him grapple for her ruff, her huffing, open-mouthed muzzle dove down. Her ivory neck curved against the stones, so she could eye back up at him as raptured and tender-sensual as ever; ideal for her to coax Verx towards the aching sweet-spot that was her pulse. ”S-... slowly, Ber-“ A soft, throaty gasp cutting her off.

Whether he heeded her or not, the descent of every torturous, decadent inch of him — from the moment he pressed in to the moment he hilted her — had her writhing against him intermittently, drooling a little bit against the stones. ”T-two months s’ve been ze e-end of uss,” she slurred, poking her ass up and sculpting it against him as much as she could.

Aure was, promptly put, being ‘made a mess of’, and they’d only just begun — but she nuzzled at the stones, groaned and whimpered softly at the deep, languorous rolls of Vercingetorix into her. Her own body wove with his, the harmony of them punctured by little jerks of her boney hips and shoulders; but she was his. In body, in soul, whether he wanted both of those, only one — or neither at all.

​And she was definitely not a seductress.