Herbalists' Cache hoof cache

he knew what her answer would be but it had been worth asking. he is not disappointed. he is not upset. he only tends to her more, grooming, touching her gently, showing her only the beginnings of how his passion may bloom. dressing her in his affections, so pure.

i know.

and he does. he has always known.

but knowing does not stop him from pressing the barest kiss to her collar. from pressing his weight into her just enough for her to feel the shape of him, the depth of his longing. it does not stop him from worshiping her in this way, quiet and reverent, nor from whispering against the shell of her ear, his voice a fragile, aching thing.

if we cannot be together, then give me one night. one night to pretend. it is a prayer, a promise, a desperate plea wrapped in the silk of his voice. when he is gone, i will make love to you beneath the stars.

his nose brushes her cheek, his mouth lingering just at the corner of hers, close enough that he can feel the ghost of her breath. but he does not take. not yet. his touch lasts only a moment longer before he pulls away, before he forces himself to let her go.

if he does not, he will not stop.