Firefly Glen The Witching Hour

They both seemed to like it rough, teeth and blood were the main part of the attraction and such a willing partner only spurred on his thirst. He wanted more. Much more. He wanted to dive deep down into her in more ways than he was right now. How far would she allow him to go? He wanted to test it. Test her. And like every other encounter he had, he inched his way to trying their boundaries and seeing if he could cross them.

As she dismounted and walked herself to stand by him, he leaned into her, bumping hip bones as his tail curled around her hips. She bit into his temple and instead, he ran his tongue along the wound he had created, roughly, with as much pressure as a tongue could muster, lapped up the remains that stained her dark coat. He couldn't see it, but he could taste it. All of it. The pale man's lips were thickly coated in saliva and gore, dripping in certain areas as he was more focused on her now than his little kink. Every now and then he'd remind her of him with grazing of his teeth, watching her expression, her movement, with a fire and ice predatory gaze from under his brow.