Jade Fern Grove chafa

the image opened in front of silvertongue as well, unfurling in intoxicant waves of color and sensation. no matter how many times it had been or how long between, akavir always drew from her the summertime glow which now heated in the gravid body, waking her as if he had kissed lightning beneath her skin. rote; wanting; silvertongue began to respond, to reach for him, to shift her hips for the velveteen love of his passionate rhythm — she let her arms fall back in the next, her glassblue eyes reaching for him, darkened with a near-telepathic answering want, and a piercing, limpid anguish. "akavir." her voice shook, silted with the ache of salt; she pulled away from him, from under him, toward the door, and rain brushed her shoulder as she looked into the muddy land, then to him; a breath swelling her chest; "oh, akavir;" and silvertongue ran from the little cave and the marrow-rending cry of her entire soul for the creekwolf and his knowing eyes.