Deepwood Weald Construct my summer home.

When he dared to make contact, a flurry of little girlish giggles erupted from her throat. There was no more need for words now, he was scarcely himself, controlled only by thoughtless desire. And she had become the same in only moment's time. The heat was like her puppetmaster, and her like a doll on strings. When he preened her fur, she made her own daring move, (daring for her, at least), to crane her neck and lap little kisses at his jawline, down his throat.