Moonstone Quarry [M] Do you dare to tame my fire?

All she could hear were waves crashing around in her skull, the storm within her rumbled for release. It drowned out all thought; everything but the desperate want. A need she had not dared to act upon—at least, not since she could remember, but even then she could not fathom giving herself to anyone else. No one had been worthy—not until him. Not until the steady rhythm of Solharr’s presence danced its way into her heart.

And he had come, her storm breaking in the calm wake of his arrival. 

Her voice was small, strained. Nervous. Solharr…please.

Her body trembled, now with a heat that unfurled in waves as he drew near. She ached—deep, bone-deep—for him. An ocean of wildfire lived beneath her skin, fierce and hungry, and only his touch could name it, claim it, let it burn the way it was meant to.

Fleur did not suppress the noise that left her at his touch, at his words, nor did she shy away. She wanted him to hear her, to see and to feel the way his nearness provoked this side of her. He would never need her permission, not when his name was on her lips in a soft, reverent plea.

Then, she felt it—doubt and fear—crawling along her spine. Not of him—never of him. No, it had to do with the aftermath, when the fire stopped its burning to leave ashes to fall and settle. What if something rose from those ashes? What if their love brought forth tiny paws and little cries? Did he want that?

Did she?

If this were any other time, she would have laughed at the tiniest flicker of doubt in what she wanted out of life with Solharr at her side. She wanted everything. Her answer was yes—she may have even spoken the word aloud, softly, only to be carried away by the gods’ wind-song.

The feral woman had no use for words, now. Her scent, the quickness in the rise and fall of her chest, the way she positioned herself for him, and the dark seduction in her eyes as her gaze bore into his spoke everything that words could never convey:

I am yours and you are mine.