Tuktu Hinterlands [m] bite marks

he is careful as he circles her—too careful. she knows it is out of love, out of reverence for her, for what she is experiencing. gentle. he wants to be gentle. 

her ears flick back, and for a moment she considers it—considers letting him have her like the first time—careful, soft. but the fire in her does not crave softness; it burns hot, too wild, demanding. she does not want careful tonight; she wanted more. wanted him. all of him.

she turns her head, pressing into him, inhaling deeply at the thick ruff of fur along his throat. "lore," she breathes—half a moan—, and her teeth graze his skin—not enough to hurt, just enough to spark, to pull. She presses closer, her trembling not from fear but from anticipation. need. 

the words slip free before she can stop them; “don’t want gentle.” there is no taking it back now. her body betrays her, pushing into his, as if to urge him, to make him understand. 

she lifts her head, searching his face, searching for the flicker of control she is so desperate to break. "want you." a breath, "please,"