Sleepy Fox Hollow [m] nomajoka

Something unspeakable rippled through them both — they wanted terribly, but for something neither party could offer. 

He buried the last of his reticence in the sharp crook of the widow’s throat, breathing deep of the bloodpulse there as it simmered against his skin. 

Get down, He ordered as he caught her almost-obedient gaze, a growl of want thick in his throat. Where was the woman that had almost plucked his throat from his neck before? 

He angled his muzzle against her touch, moving around the slim points of her body. Even with a winter coat, he could see the outline of her spine as it rose like a thin mountain range from the cape of her flesh; here he traced her muzzle in shaky breaths, blood pounding as thoughts of both her body and Etienne’s flooded his mind. 

He stopped for a moment, searching along the thrumming of her body for her own consent. The last time he’d been in such distance it had been violent — while he was no tender man, and his handling of her presently was rough with brute desire, he waited for the press of her spine against his stomach and lower body, which now knotted with hard tension.