You own me like whispers in poetry

Basilisk lusted after Ignita far more than was practical. But he had long given up on roping himself in. When she asked his thoughts on taking back the traditional den, he grinned at her. There would always be a hurt at what he had lost. But it had soothed a little, and the scent of her had faded from that space. It no longer felt taboo to claim it as their own.

“I think we should claim it properly, right now.” He told her, and scooped her off her paws and trotted into the den. Pressing his back against the door to open it, and swinging them both into the first chamber, and then into the second.

He deposited her onto the bedding that lay on the floor. Idly he wondered if they couldn’t incorporate her den into this one using the secret chamber, to give her a space to call her own. But the idea was quickly swamped by the heat of her body against hiss, the taste of her skin on his lips when he pulled at it. “My Ignita. Mine, mine, mine.” He teased, pressing the weight of his lust against her legs. He dug his teeth into her fur, his paws on her. He was utterly unable to keep his paws to himself. He wanted to take his time with her, but he could smell a subtle change in her scent. Not just her desire, but something else as well. His eyes were already cloudy with desire, and he pressed into her then and there with a forceful thrust. Claiming her, claiming this den. Claiming this life for themselves. Well, round two could always be slower, more focused on Ignita. She already knew he was a greedy bastard.