Swiftcurrent Creek Night snake

Akavir’s kiss is the heat that precedes a fire. A breathy simper is freed from her throat and she snaps at his tongue with her teeth, writhing within his engirdled arms. It is not the body of obedience she had given to her visitors, nor does his possession overwhelm in a way to earn her ire. She slips herself against the dark captivity of his arms, hungered eyes finding his own. She will remember this; Akavir's deeply handsome face glinting amusement, the two of them locking in a den near the river with laughter reverberating over the walls.

When the dust in the valley nile swarmed her she put it from her mind. She wanted to worship this dark man with her teeth until he dropped in her arms like a spent priest.

“First you must catch 'it', river-wolf,” she curls her lip and wriggles from his grasp, storming currents of her blood beating through surging steps. She falls to her feet in a playbow, teasing him before tearing off through the sylvan woods.