Wild Berry Meadow yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

MATURE WARNING

The nip is reprimanded by a sharp hiss, his flesh snaking over sportive bones as though shrugging off the irritation. His teeth slowly unfurl from the delicate, pierced skin, relishing in the way his canines slid out from underneath the epidermis — the gentle tug of resistance, as though the flesh agonized in his abandonment and instead endeavored to suck him deeper.

Freed jowls now hung agape, slathering unabashedly, that stygian grin curling into his angular cheekbones casting the illusion that his face may crack in his depraved delight.
 
He steps softly around Zephyr, head low and predatory as he stalked voraciously to his opposite side, the gentle patter of blood breaking the silence as it swam through the wrinkles of his lips and peppered the ground. His nose rose, caressing the crest of his ear, warm breath tainted with the scent of copper brushing over sensitive hairs — “Will your cunt taste as sweet as your blood?” he offers softly, before a commanding growl gurgles through his throat.
 
“Open your mouth,” he commands, before his words nearly roll as a satisfied purr, “let me see that pretty tongue.”