Morningside Cuesta [m] trottinggale

a wife's lips curved into a sly smile, a sound escaping her that was almost a giggle, light and teasing. she turned her gaze to him, eyes warm but challenging, a spark of playful defiance dancing within them.
not need for careful. she murmured, her voice low, molten. not when husband is with his wife. her tail flicked behind her, her confidence radiating as she tilted her head, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. this is what good marriage is.
her words hung in the air, carrying a quiet, unshakable certainty. she leaned closer, her muzzle brushing against his, the blood still fresh on her lips. it was an offering, a promise, a testament to the strength that burned between them. and honeymoon.