Lost little lamb

The possessive, obsessive Warlord tugged his teeth through her fur. Nipping and pulling as he made his way from her ear to her jawline, to her neck. He laughed, soft and husky at her words. “As my Lady demands.” He agreed. This freedom with her, to be with her, to explore her. He took his time, tugging her gently to the floor. His massive form above her as he leaned into her, kissing her neck, her chest, between her forepaws. He lingered there, digging his teeth into her coat.

He went low, finding her thighs, but he didn’t touch her there yet. No, he teased her first. Brushing past to nip at her knee. Brushing past again. He laughed softly, and finally found her spot. He remembered what had made her writhe and moan last time, and he took his time to build her up to it. Pressing other parts of his body down against her so he would feel every twitch she made.


"Basilisk Fatalis"