Black Morass [m] my time

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a gift meant for him alone.

he looms above her and he steps closer, pressing nose into her scruff, dragging down her spine as he inhales her deeply, greedily, his breath hot and uneven. her scent is maddening, her voice—those words—a challenge he cannot ignore.

mine, it is a rumble, the single word a claim, a vow, spoken like a growl of thunder. his teeth graze the tender fur of her neck, restraint hanging by a thread as he leans into her. then, he circles her, his golden gaze never leaving hers, a predator basking in the prey that willingly offers itself.

you are mine, he growls again, his tone rough, guttural, dripping with possession. he lowers himself to her level, his massive frame pressing close, dominating the space between them as his nose brushes along her exposed neck and shoulder. the way she splays before him, offering herself like a shrine for him to worship at, drives him to insanity. eyes flaring with the intensity of his urges. carnem tuam possidebo, sanguinem tuum bibam.

his jaws snap around her scruff, teeth piercing flesh; the metallic tang of her blood hits his tongue. he relishes in the way she does not fight, does not cower—how she coos with pleasure. a woman truly meant for him. and now she will be scarred with the etching of his jaws, binded to him and only him. hips coming to press against her, connection in entirety.

and when it is done, he is there to groom the blood from his wife’s fur, and to hold her in strong arms.