Moonspear [m] the suspension of disbelief

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The dizzy feeling was coming back, hot and sweet and urgent. When she moved against him, squirming as if in discomfort, he preened at her instead of just breathing in her scent, his teeth pinching gently, experimentally.

Kindle breathed out a juddering sigh, a low, quiet sound escaping his throat along with it.

He pulled a paw out from between them to drape it over her back, curling his toes to scrape his claws against her fanning ribcage. There were black stars obscuring his vision, and he felt disconnected from his auditory and visual senses. All that mattered was the scent and taste and feel of the moment — though he heard her words and understood them in a distant sort of way.

His own vocabulary had dwindled. He could not think of the right words to ask what she wanted, or for what he wanted, or even to describe such acts. His searching muzzle and grasping claws begged tacitly for permission instead, stalled as he was in this moment, desire and uncertainty warring between body and mind.