Blackfeather Woods [m] Gonna raise some sand in the dead o' night

This? This hurts her! She does not like this! She finds pain in this! He's going to leave her alone after allowing her the feel of fleeting comfort? After caressing her aching skin with his tongue? It didn't ache because he tore it with his mouth, it ached because he left it alone! This was her reward? And so, she tried to tempt him to stay for reasons no more than grooming amongst the ground and taking warmth in basic touch, to receive that same feeling of connection again, and he retreated! What was this? She despised this game! So, she fixed herself up more, visibly pouting and whipping her head slightly over to let him know her distaste in his neglectful behavior! 

Though, straighten up she would. Fine! She could play games, because excitingly, she knew that he was opening up a new one for her. She knew because the scent of her blood on his teeth told her so. Then she would play with the pieces he gave her. Gentle. What a gentle god he would become.

With a low head and shown flank, she paced in front of him with that sick smile on her face paired with pinned, fixated doe eyes. An airy whine pushed from her open lips, and it came out in trailed crossing into a laugh. With his mark on her throat weeping on her skin, forcing her to gently cry out in pathetic little dainty whines, she left him. She could not wait for what was next. This was thrilling!