Hideaway Strath you were never meant to be a tragedy

yeap just gonna go ahead and stick this on there:

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The blanchard's cloudwisp auds flittered as the breath burst from his lips, his own alabaster muzzle sweeping over her throat. She leaned into the paw brushing featherlight along the pale summits of her shoulder blades, shivering as the warmth of the dhochtúra's tongue pressed to the slight dip behind her ear. A warmth had bloomed in the pit of her stomach, a trembling and nervous sensation -- or maybe it was just anticipation. 

His question stilled her as she took to preening the fur at the crook of his neck, dithering indecisively. She was not ready for sexual intimacy with anyone just yet and they hardly knew each other. This wasn't a situation that the sylph was accustomed to falling into -- in fact, she'd never done anything like this -- but she'd decided not to question her actions. They had some kind of connection and she was learning to accept who Aerin was, Saint and all. Why wallow in anxiety and overthinking, deny herself joy or pleasure for the sake of propriety? 

"I do nae...I 'ave not," she stammered, shifting uncertainly and wincing at the splashing sound it caused which seemed sinfully loud between them. "Just...'ow to touch. 'ow to love." Her octaves had dropped, almost as if she were bashful, until they were almost inaudible over the sound of the burbling springs.