Nova Peak ε

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Ayovi is mad to have— to feel, to scent. She tastes Skorpa's salt. He ripens beneath her touch, pressing the tautness of himself into her. She swills him under the reign of Ashēeran judgement, whorling navel with eager paws and rolling her tongue in a corkscrew as if speaking northern.
When the huntress can bear it no longer she lifts onto Skorpa with a rhythmic lunge, steady and slow in adjustment. Quickly his cadence is found and she grinds them, spurting whimpers into the domed blue granite above.
Ayovi desires to be fettered to him the remainder of the day and moans as much in numic.