Firestone Hot Springs mare's milk

Cool jade took in this sightly visage, admiring each woman for her disparity from the other. Dark and light. Warm and cool. A canine shown in crude desire as the women played off each other.
As if bid by the first, Jamukha rises, heavy, sopping, stalking through chin-high steam to round the pretty pair.

“The land I come from is the Khan’s high steppe.” He rumbles in a circling baritone, tail giving a dominant lift. “No trees, no mountains, but grass stretching endlessly into the horizon. The northern wind is sharp enough to freeze the marrow in your bones. We have no heated springs. There is only one way for men and women to warm themselves.”

Eyes pinning on one, then the other. He begins with the lady of ice, words dropping off into a suggestive note, seeking to push his wet chin along the silken slope of her winter spine if she does not first shift away. Then he approaches the other, the one haughty like a mare and takes in her scent, dragging his fangs through her nape before pulling back to the spring’s heated edge.