Breathe in. Breathe out. The scent of sex and her woody musk is delightfully intoxicating; even now it reminds you of everything you just experienced, sending jolts of latent pleasure down your spine. The bark that presses into your forearm is thankfully grounding with its slight discomfort, because otherwise you might have forgotten entirely where you are and
Still aroused and amused, you can only chuckle at her declaration. "Next time?" you question entirely half-heartedly, raising an eyebrow that she cannot see because your face is still up against hers. "Is that so? I s'pose I can pencil in time fer ya."
Honestly, Zeph, like there was ever any chance of you declining a repeat performance of that. Even now with your cock flaccid and your face numb you can feel interest brewing and igniting down at the pit of your belly, drawn forth by the purr of her voice and the promise of more illicit adventures tucked between her thigh. LongNight may be a week, but you somehow suspect it will go much faster this year. And if the sun comes up and she can still stand to look at you, hey, you aren't going to stare a gift partner in the cunt.
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
