Qeya River [m] ghosts

he inhales her scent like a greedy beast. tasting her on his tongue, rasping pink flesh across her ear, down her cheek. he will not just take her; he will not use her as if she is something to be discarded.

first, he will cherish her. afford her the affection she deserves; the affection he feels for her. nosing through the wavy rivulets of her raven fur, as strong forelegs push upon her body. not pushing but guiding her to the ground where his strong body bends and molds against hers. cupping her right cheek with a large, icy paw and pulling her face to his own.

a kiss pressed to her snout, then her nose, while his breath hitches as he strains. how his insides churn with discontent that he does not claim her here, now, take her to wife. but it is not the way of saatsine, the lanzadoii; this, now, is surely frowned upon in some way. but he cannot find himself to care. he has longed for this, desired this for the coming and going of plenty moon cycles.

neither do i. his response comes breathlessly, harsh in it's use like sandpaper. now his crown presses to her throat to beckon her to roll onto her backside, where he hovers half above her, feathering toothy kisses upon her throat she bares to him.