-Diorae-
Suddenly she’s extremely aware of his body. She cannot say if her shivering is caused by the cold water that splashes up her sides or by Longclaw’s almost pressing presence. He’s radiating heath and Marigold wants more of it. She presses her golden buttocks against him more firmly as a shaky breath escapes past her still red and bloody lips.
She is not new to this. He wasn’t her first – how else could she have killed what she loved most; her grandson – but never before had she felt this desired. Not loved, Marigold knows that what they have isn’t love, but desire and lust. And she wants it. Because it means he wants her too, and that he would not yet cast her aside.
On instinct she wants to move her blonde tail out of the way, only to remember she doesn’t have a tail that could get in the way. His kiss sends a jolt down her spine and her muscles tense for what is coming. She is so very aware of each droplet of water that falls from his skin on hers.
Marigold doesn’t flee from the weight that now rests on her body and before long she’s locked in his embrace. His burning hot body is in stark contrast with the cold water. The first brief touch sends an anticipated tingling through her body and before she can push back for more – which she cannot beg for by the lack of a voice – he breaches her.
Her first reaction is to tighten around him, to fight the intrusion. The light brush of his muzzle among her neck snaps her out of it and soon her body is rocking with each violent thrust. He is everywhere. Inside of her, around her, completely surrounding her. It is as if her senses get numbed, the world around them disappearing into nothingness. Just their bodies dancing in the water. Soft puffs of air leave her lips, some louder and harder than others, much like she would’ve moaned, cried and grunted if she’d been able to.
She’s torn between pleasure and pain when he comes. More and more hot seed spills into her through his rapid thrusting and there is no way for her to escape. Longclaw holds her tightly, she could as well have been tied down. By the time he’s done, just one last jerk of his hips slapping against her buttocks, there are tears in her eyes. Her breathing is rapid, sharp and quick and her coat soaked with sweat and water.
For a moment she’s not in the here and now and Marigold barely notices that he slips down her back. His words fall to deaf ears, she’s simply staring ahead as her sides heave with every breath she takes. He had been so very unlike any other experience she had had. Intense, both pleasure and pain, and she cannot tell which one was stronger. It’s the mention of her name, or the one he had given her, that pulls her back to him. She shudders, presses back against his side. Oh yes, she desperately needs him, her need even bigger now.
Yet his last words made her blink. A little drunk she tilts her head and bends her neck, so she can glance back at him. That sounded like he wanted to do it more often, but to practise for what? Not that Marigold would complain, she’d do anything he would ask of her. And thus she reaches out, her hot breath ghosting over his nose, but she does not yet touch.
A sharp intake of breath is the only sound she makes, though her discomfort shows in the expression on her face when she moves. First she dips her bloodied muzzle into the water, washing away the blood by rubbing her lips over her own chest. A couple of steps forward make her realise her muscles ache, and she snorts softly. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, just as her crest which he had held on to pretty tightly.
She has the need to bathe, desperately too so, but Marigold doesn’t per say know what the reason is of that. She does blame it on the blood though, making her feel all dirty and trouble. Especially after their deed, Marigold desperately wanted to forget which blood she had on her hands.
A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.