Rising Sun Valley [m] We'll wish for weightless knees

There was thunder in the distance. The sky broke open above them, but for once, the sensory overload didn't bother the coywolf. His hind brain had all but taken over, and his body was buzzing from exertion and anticipation both.

They wrestled in brief fits. Dusty Rose corrected each escape attempt with a show of force or violence that ended as soon as compliance was regained. The last was his teeth on her muzzle, and it dissolved just as quickly as the rest into amorous, almost conciliatory kisses. She would have found that, if she'd kept up any kind of struggle, he would be easy to buck off. As it was, he clung tightly to his prized, blunted nails flexing for purchase each time he thought she might make another bid for freedom.

It was a game until he won it. Only then did he accept that there had been promise in her teasing, and he had a brief moment of clarity to think — Huh. Maybe Tybault had been right to worry after all.

But that thought was fleeting. Most of them were, for a time.

[insert sensual jazz music]

He knew nothing but the scent and feel of her, and the sound of her voice, until, long minutes later — still catching his breath —he gradually became aware of the fact that he was soaked to the bone.