Duck Lake dife a ap kontinye

There had never been a lady lovelier.

She quells their distance. Her touch is a flame that sears pathways into his fur. Her dance encircles him, she invites his lust. He is teased and baited and stoked. In rapt reception he stands motionless against her slithering.

She needn’t enchant him.

If instinct were to prevail he would tuck her swiftly beneath him, so he might know how his seadancer tastes. Yet, his eyes find her scars. Is this her preference, for a violent exchange? Does she wish to be a vessel for his teeth?

He sets upon the cuts with his mouth and slowly his lips graze her bare skin. He whispers against her, “I am no father.”

But he was a maker.

He slides two limbs over her spine, enclosing her blushing shade into his darkness. She would know gentleness. The devil is a gentleman.