Swiftcurrent Creek [m] half a mind that keeps the other second guessing

Salty kisses are pressed against lips, pleasantly drowsy and sloppy in placement. There is something so innocent about it, now, the vulnerability of two women, and Wren feels like a bumbling teen just learning where to put her mouth. 
Yes-- yeah, is her response, throaty and dripping with the remnants of desire. It's now that she breaks into a sheepish grin, which is then hidden behind a forepaw. Under her gaze, she feels small. God, you're so fuckin' pretty, Silver. 
She thinks of the Creek men, briefly, and how they will surely notice Wren's imprint on Silver's body should either see her again before she leaves. And for that, she feels proud of herself. 
And really, why shouldn't she be a vessel if it's what she's good at?