Wapun Meadow the nasty words of a hateful song

whew.
merrick had prepared for the tight clasp of donovan's cruel arms about his waist; he had expected, anticipated, ravaging. 
not this torment, pinned by the heavy forelegs of the saint and turned to ash in the tiger's mouth.
his eyes closed tightly; hips moved of their own accord, and then suddenly the other's voice was washing over merrick, demonic tugging at every sensation that thrilled through his sinewy body.
"fuck," he hissed, tongue narrowly snapped by his own jaws as he sat up, pawing toward the broad muzzle. "anything. surprise me again," and he shook with lust, pupil dilated as he made himself malleable and coy in donovan's embrace.