The Floodlands like a dog with a bird at your door

apologies for the late reply, i've been out of town D:

Accepting his embrace with a low, rumbling hum, the crown of her forehead presses into the crux of his shoulder. Solemnly intimate, and only lasting a fleeting moment before her tongue pokes from between her lips and hungrily presses into the fur that lay there.

Don't let it get to your head. she teases, pulling away to meet his eyes. Oh, how she'd missed those eyes, much more than she would ever let on.

Surprised to be met with something like a serious expression, she meets him where he's at with a quirk of a brow, smile falling and only lingering on one side of her mouth.

 I don't want a family, she blows a puff of air from between her lips, shaking her head. I'm never gonna be a 'ma', either. An odd thing to reassure someone about. Usually, she'd figured, it would be the opposite, in the form of half-hearted coos about how great growing one to four parasites within her would be, going on to birth them and be responsible for them. All because either the sire wanted it, or her supposed "maternal instincts" kicked in. Just the thought of it earns a wrinkle to her nose in disgust. Admittedly, it brought her some sense of relief that he sought not for children from her.

Perhaps it was sort of a gamble, an inherently reckless act to have crawled back to him like this, but maybe God would be on her side. She could only hope Colt would be, too. But I do want you.