Black Morass in the middle of the night

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his lips curl into the faintest sneer of satisfaction at her invitation, at the way she tilts her neck so willingly, so assuredly.

but he does not bite.

his massive frame shifts slightly beneath her, his nose brushing along the exposed nape of her neck, inhaling her scent deeply, greedily. his breath huffs hot against her fur as he growls softly.

not yet. the words come rough. his teeth graze the tender fur at her neck, but he pulls back, his restraint palpable. i will not taste your blood until your womb burns with my seed, full of what i have given you. it is only right.

but his growl deepens as his nose drags along her neck once more, his breath heavy, hot, and filled with need. our eldest son, he rasps, he will be called tiberian. as he drags his nose along her neck, he pushes her off. rolls her to her back, only for him to be upon her now, his tail teasing upon the roundness of her hips. and tiberian will take our eldest daughter to mate. she will be his reverend mother. and they will only be the beginning of our immortal reign, my wife.