Duskfire Glacier [m] diet mountain dew

faust growled low, a warning, but his grip on restraint was slipping—fast. her words, her touch, the way she knew what she was doing, how she played him like she had all the time in the world to break him down, piece by piece.
lousine. her name came rough, a rasp against his throat, but his paw closed around her wrist, halting her descent.
he shook his head, again. firmer. no.
his body said otherwise, his breath, the tension winding tight in his muscles—but he wouldn't let her win. not like this.
if i'm gonna do this, we're doing it my way, his grip loosened just enough, letting his thumb brush slowly over the inside of her wrist. not rushing. not just ‘cause you want it now.
his gaze locked on hers, heavy, dark with intent. nice and slow. 'm gonna treat you like a woman, yeah?