Bearclaw Valley [m] Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves

Arielle's words were a pleasant fizzing in his head, drowned out by his want for her. His parents hadn't exactly prepared him for this eventuality. Astara could not speak the words and Merrick would not, so he knew nothing about how a woman's scent changed when she was fertile. He knew only the intense arousal it stoked that only Arielle could cool.

For a brief moment, her words did get through to him. It was like being submerged in ice water after spending hours in a sauna. His stomach fluttered — what if she was? He didn't want children. He had no desire to bring young into this fucked up life they lived.

Then he shifted and her scent enveloped him again and turned his stomach to magma. Nonsense, he soothed, convincing himself in an instant that what he said next was true, because the alternative was unfathomable and because he did not want to hold himself back from her now: I am sure you have to want it for it to happen. Let's just enjoy it, mm?

He wanted to have her again, and again, and again, forever until they burnt down to embers. In the pursuit of that, he shoved all thought of possible consequences from his head. Surely it could not happen if they wished against it, and oh, how fervently he wished.