Wheeling Gull Isle nemiyon

Heda promptly tabled the conversation. Caracal gave an indignant squawk, then winked at her right before her gravity drew him back in again, like the moon tugging on the tides. But she was the sun, so what did that make him? Caracal inwardly rolled his eyes and stopped thinking about metaphors.

You are, he agreed in a happy murmur, peppering her neck and shoulder with kisses.

And from there, he couldn’t resist. She smelled so good. Caracal trailed kisses, licks and nips down her shoulder blade, sent a letter to her heart. His own heart thrummed in his chest as his nose skimmed down her ribs. When he reached her hip, he nibbled tenderly at the flesh beneath her pale fur.

Despite telling himself to yield a moment ago, he suddenly moved back to put his face close to hers, whispering huskily, I want to make love with you, sunshine. Can we?