Dragoncrest Cliffs i could put my teeth on your throat—i could howl against your hair (mtr.)

So much could be said in the throbbing lull of coupling, so much you would only say in feverish throes. Aure had never been romanced, had never felt herself suitable; her own insecurities, her own doubts, and her overall inexperience made her flighty as well. But... the last thing she ever wanted to become was overwhelming. It didn't matter how, sometimes, she would flutter with impatience. What mattered was that time would tell. What mattered was that they continue to become intimate to another beyond passion and flesh — if her suitor so chose.

And yet, she'd meant what she said. Even as early as her heart had begun to beat to his own rhythm, when she knew nothing of romantic love, she knew it to be true. All the same, she... wouldn't chase him, wouldn't try to mold him into that "ideal male." Instead, she would allow him to return to her, and would wait as patiently as she may — with fervence — for him, even if it meant after their litter was born. Her only wish, if anything, was that he would choose her alone for her.

In the meantime... ”You’ve only heard, dragostea? Would you please show me instead?” Her narrow hips were curving into his ribs as he kissed her; gentle, tugging waves as she pressed her sex impishly into his belly. Despite it, her eyes remained soft with her own ardor, considerate, unassuming. Voice taking on a simpering, lilting edge, ”...After all, practice makes perfect, no?” The doting appreciation in her gaze was being gleamed over with her fever once more as she practically talked herself into arousal. All she knew was that she wanted him to make her writhe -- against him, beneath him, around him. Wanted something smoldering, compared to their inferno from earlier.

Her breath was already shivering from her flaring, pink nose once more; pupils becoming blown as she stared into his own, ravenous. Her heat roused from its slumber, prowling from her core; sensual and self-torturous. If nothing else, she suddenly strained, quivering against him and needing to be made a moaning mess of. ”Please say my n-name, diavol.” A weak command, throaty and stuttering, but she was already moving. Standing and stretching luxuriously over him, so that her hips swiveled longingly above his dark chest.