Qeya River [m] ghosts

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: suggestion… fuck it we ball.

a spark grew into an inferno, devouring the distance they’d so carefully maintained. she feels his breath, hot and heavy against her ear, and it sends a shiver down her spine, a visceral response she cannot stifle.

her own breath hitches, chest rising and falling more rapidly now, betraying the fire blooming low in her gut. his scent fills her senses, overwhelms her composure. she doesn’t pull away at his suggestion, doesn’t tell him to stop. she tilts her head slightly, exposing the curve of her neck to him, an unspoken invitation. her weight shifts, pressed into his side. encourages.

she was not in heat. there would be no litter if he pressed his paws to her hips and dragged her back, sunk his teeth into the scruff of her neck. no consequence. he could take her, wanted to. she would not stop him.

his words enter the cusp of her ear warm, heavy. his intent is clear. she sucks in a tight breath. she tried to say no, she really, truly did. they should go back. they should.

she cannot bring herself to move from him. this was what they were; ice and fire. there is no room for restraint. only them.

“i do not want to,” she confesses.