Otatso Wetlands When I get low I prefer the cold

Reverie hardly registered the sensation of his paw against her chest, aside the warmth it brought. Yet even that faint feeling drew her nearer. Her head dipped and she reached for his foreleg — not to harm but simply to take the limb between her teeth. To test the feeling of it, the scent, the taste.
If the contact was allowed, even briefly, she fixated for a moment on the pulse of blood beneath his skin. Warm, alive; everything she craved. She cared for nothing else. She knew nothing else.