Whitebark Stream put your ring back on honey-tits, you haven't had enough porridge this morning (mtr.)

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: sex n' stuff.

for a moment, even though she remained touching him the entirety of her consideration, wintersbane considers that she might change her mind. it would no doubt seem like a waste, coming this far only to turn away from the flames that have stoked between them by the other. wintersbane is a firm believer in making his own fate, stringing along his own destiny and he does not go forth as she arches against him with the consideration that this means anything beyond what it was. attraction; a pull of the season that will dull and fade with the intoxicating perfume. until the next season.

she turns in place, her svelte figure slipping beneath him. she is small and she fits in the leonine cut of his own. the elegant curve of her spine presses flush against the taunt musculature of his underside and he takes a moment — because he does not fool himself into thinking this chance will ever come to him again — to relish in it. to explore the feel of her and how it almost reminds him of relmyna. desire vocalizes in the form of a rumbled growl as she arches her hips against the cradle of his own, against the physical evidence of his desire for her. the roll of her shoulder, begging for attention does not go unnoticed. lips and teeth latch upon her delicate shoulder curve, a hairsbreadth from the last mark, sinking into her soft flesh, nipping and suckling and laving his tongue against the mark as he nudges her up to bear his weight with a roll of his hips.

he would take her like a queen, instead of a warlord's prize. the pose he'd found her in had certainly been sensual but hardly befitting a woman of her status. she was not a prize even though this was fated to only be a one night stand. wintersbane's forelegs lock as he rises up along her spine, peppering it in small, teasing nips. he rolls the majority of his weight back upon his hind legs. they join with a throaty groan from the sotaherra, muffled as he grasps her scruff betwixt his jaws, as he guides her hips back into the cradle of his own.