"There you are." She whispers with pride and desire both, as his various shifts fight for purchase on his skin. He is a motley arrangement of predators and gods if he isn't magnificent. Leaning back as his claws shred the side of her dress leaving it to fall to the ground like discarded moonlight, her hands trail up the side of his face and into his hair, gripping the base of his horns as her legs tighten around him.
His wandering hands are afforded whatever investigations they might want to pursue as her head tips back, and her hair falls like waves against his feathers. Capable of occupying whatever size and space she chooses, that her breasts are perfectly suited to the palm of his hands and that her body easily fits within the fold of his wings is no coincidence.
Letting her head rise, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted in a moan she doesn't try and stiffle, she presses herself against him anew, her own hips rolling softly against his. Letting one of her hands fall away from the base of his horn, she lets her fingertips flutter down his cheek before pulling them away that he might watch as they too become dark claws. With a smile that's as feral as it is breathtaking, Safrin's hand scrapes down the Flood's side until she finds the resistance of his pants. With a sharpness nearly unimaginable, it takes no effort at all for her to cut away the waistband of one side of his waistband.
His wandering hands are afforded whatever investigations they might want to pursue as her head tips back, and her hair falls like waves against his feathers. Capable of occupying whatever size and space she chooses, that her breasts are perfectly suited to the palm of his hands and that her body easily fits within the fold of his wings is no coincidence.
Letting her head rise, her cheeks flushed and her lips parted in a moan she doesn't try and stiffle, she presses herself against him anew, her own hips rolling softly against his. Letting one of her hands fall away from the base of his horn, she lets her fingertips flutter down his cheek before pulling them away that he might watch as they too become dark claws. With a smile that's as feral as it is breathtaking, Safrin's hand scrapes down the Flood's side until she finds the resistance of his pants. With a sharpness nearly unimaginable, it takes no effort at all for her to cut away the waistband of one side of his waistband.
SAFRIN
