Wapun Meadow honeywine

Donovan feels a bolt of electric pleasure spindle down his spine to the more southern regions of his body at the others growl and approach. A trouble filled smirk spreads across his maw as he eyes down his latest meal. He even dares  to lean down closer to the others face, voice dancing between the two, absolutely sultry — a shameless flirt.

“No.” He sings. “Does your pretty little black bird know?” He asks low, a whisper into the ruined ear. Heat evident in his voice as he dares to nudge his nose closer to attempt and lap at the lobe.