Little Goat Mountain [m] eyetooth

Ebony fur blended to ivory—unabashed in their revelry for one another, the man was a flame to her ice in his attempt to melt her within his arms. Winter might have grazed the air around them, but the chill of it was more than welcome in the aftermath of their carnal delight, but it was with satisfaction that the Mayfair encircled a strong arm about the woman now, pulling the curve of her against a hardened chest, growling softly in her ear as he wondered salaciously if the cries of their interlude had graced the mountain top and the valley below with the sordid affair.

Exhaustion might have clung to his very muscles in that moment, but he was unable to stop the cold of his nose for angling against her once more, admiring the willow-limbed warrior next door. “Bòidheach,” he crooned, eyes wandering over her, wondering if sleep would take her instead. “Where are you from?”