Wheeling Gull Isle nemiyon

He felt a pang of guilt for asking when he’d meant to leave the ball entirely in Heda’s court. He just couldn’t quite help himself. His wife was, in a word, irresistible.

She nodded, though he could tell that she was nervous. Caracal was more excited than anything—that little dip of her head did things to him—but he was a little anxious too. He’d never done this before. He had a vague idea of what to do but he wanted to make sure it was as pleasant for the Mrs as he knew it would be for him.

Don’t worry, we’ll be awkward, fumbling virgins together, he quipped, nudging at her with an elbow before tucking a reassuring kiss behind her ear.

As much as Caracal wanted to take her right then and there, he bumped his hip against hers and then motioned forward with his vulpine snout. He led Heda downhill, toward the field of lavenders. They wouldn’t bloom until later in the spring—right around the time she bore pups, should they conceive today—but it was one of her favorite places, where she might feel the most comfortable.

When they arrived, Caracal turned to face her. He thought about checking in with her about what this likely meant: they would not just consummate their union, they would likely create life! That was kind of a big deal. But they’d already established that they wanted to be parents, so he decided they could discuss it afterward.

For now, he resumed showering her with affection, every kiss more sensual than the last. She was right. She was the sun at the center of his universe, the source of all things good and light in his world. He was right too. God was a girl and her name was Heda Wheeler.

I went for the fade, though I’d love a followup soon!